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http://www.archive.org/details/dramaticworksofw01shakiala 


^,    ,- 


-  '"i-^S-- 


THE 


DRAMATIC  WORKS 


OF 


WILLIAM    SHAKSPEARE, 


ACCURATELY  PRINTED 


FR031  THE  TEXT  OF  THE  CORRECTED  COPY 


IiEFT  BY  THE  LATE 


GEORGE  STEEVENS,  Esq. 


WITH  A 

GLOSSARY,    AND    NOTES, 

AND  A  SKETCH  OF 

THE  LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE 


IN  TWO  VOLUMES. 
VOL.  L 


PUBLISHED  BY  ANDRUS  &  JUDD, 
LSfi  STREET. 


stack 
Annw 

5015789 

v.! 


bjlU^TCU 


OF  THE 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


VV  ILLIAM  SHAKSPEARE  was  borp  atStrat-  the  performance.  But  in  whaterer  situation  lie 
ford-upon-Avon,  in  Warwicksliire,  on  the  23d  day :  was  first  employed  at  the  theatre,  he  appears  to 
of  April,  1564.     His  family  was  above  the  vulgar !  have  soon  discorered  those  talents  which  afterward* 


made  him 

"  Th'  applause,  delight,  the  wondei,  of  our  stase.' 


rank.  His  father,  John  Shakspeare,  was  a  con- 
siderable dealer  in  wool,  and  had  been  an  officer ! 
of  the  corporation  of  Stratford.  He  was  likewise! 
a  justice  of  the  peace,  and  at  one  lime  a  man  of  Some  distinction  he  probably  first  acquired  as 
considerable  property.  This  la.-:t,  however,  ap-!^"  actor,  but  no  character  has  been  discovered 
pears  to  have  been  lost  by  some  means,  in  the  latter  j"*  which  he  appeared  to  more  advantage  than  in 
part  of  his  life.  His  wife  was  the  daughter  andl^''^^  °f  ^«  Ghost  in  Hamlet :  and  the  best  critica 
heiress  of  Robert  Arden,   of  Wellington,  in  the'^'i  inquirers  into  hb  life  are  of  opinion,  that  he 


county  of  \Varwick,  by  whom  he  had  a  family  of 

ten  cltildren. 

Our  illustrious  poet  was  the  eldest  son,  and  was 
educated,  probably,  at  the  frce-sehool  of  Stratford ; 


was  not  eminent  as  an  actor.  In  tracing  the  chro- 
nolojry  of  his  plays,  it  has  been  discovered,  that 
Romeo  and  Juliet,  and  Richard  H.  and  HI.,  were 
printed  in  lo97,  when  he  was  thirty-three  years 
old.    There  is  also  some  reason  to  think  that  he 


but  from  this  he  was  soon  removed,  and  placed  in  commenced  a  dramatic  ^vriter  in  1592,  and  Mr, 


the  office  of  some  country  attorney.  The  exact 
amount  of  his  education  has  been  Ion?  a  subject 
of  controversy.  It  is  generally  agreed,  that  he  did 
not  enjoy  what  is  usually  termed  a  literarv"  educa- 
tion; but  he  certainly  knew  enougrh  of  Latin  and  laypersons  of  the  higher  order,  as  we  are  certain 
French  to  introduce  scraps  of  both  in  his  plavs,  that  he  enjoyed  the  gracious  favour  of  Queen  Eli- 


Malone  even  places  his  first  play,  the  First  Part  of 
Henry  VI.,  hi  1589. 

His  plays  were  not  only  popular,  but  approved 


without  blunder  or  improprietj". 

AVhen  about  eighteen  years  old,    he  married 
Anne  Hathaway,  who  was  eight  years  older  than 


zabetii,  who  was  very  fond  of  the  stage  j  the  pa- 
tronage of  the  Earl  of  Southampton,  to  whom  he 
dedicated  some  ot'  his  poems  ;  and  of  King  James, 
who  wrote  a  very  gracious  letter  to  him  with  his 


himself.     His  conduct  soon  after  this  marriage  was 'own  hand,  probably  in  return  for  the  compliment 
not  very  correct.    Being  detected  with  a  gang  of^  Shakspearc  had  paid  to  his  majesty  in  the  tragedy 


deer-stealers,  in  robbing  the  park  of  Sir  Thomas 
Lucj-,  of  Charlecote,  near  Stratford,  he  was  obliged 
to  leave  his  family  and  business,  and  take  shelter 
in  London. 

He  was  twenty-two  years  of  age  when  he  arrived 
in  London,  and  is  said  to  have  made  his  first  ac- 
quaintance in  the  play-house.     Here  his  necessities 
obliged  him  to  accept  the  office  of  call-boy,  or  I  which  it  could  have  been  wbhed  he  had  been  more 
prompter's  attendant;  who  is  appointed  to  give  the  Sparing  in  his  writings, 
performers  notice  to  be  ready,  as  often  as  the  busi-  j 

ness  of  the  play  requires  their  appearance  on  the  Howlonghe  acted,  has  not  been  discovered ;  but 
stage-  According  to  another  account,  far  less  i he  continued  to  write  till  the  year  1614.  During 
probable,  his  first  employment  was  to  wait  at  the  .his  dramatic  career,  he  acquired  a  property  in  the 
door  of  the  play-house,  and  hold  the  horses  of  those  ;tlieatre,  which  he  must  have  disposed  of  when  he 
who  bad  no  servants,  that  they  might  be  ready  after  retired,  as  no  mention  of  it  occurs  in  his  will.   The 


of  Macbeth.  It  may  be  added,  that  his  uncom- 
mon merit,  his  candour,  and  good  nature,  are  sup- 
posed to  have  procured  him  the  admiration  and 
acquaintance  of  every  person  distinguished  for  such 
qualities.  It  is  not  diiHcult,  indeed,  to  trace,  that 
Shakspeare  was  a  man  of  humour,  and  a  social 
companion  ;  and  probably  excelled  in  that  species 
of  minor  wit,  not  ill  adapted  to  conversation,  of 


tr  SKETCH  OF  THE  LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 

latter  part  of  his  life  was  speut  in  ease,  retirement,  j  gentlemen  of  the  neighbourhood ;  and  here  he  u 
and  the  conversation  of  his  friends.  He  had  accu-ilhought  to  have  written  the  play  of  Twelfth  Night, 
roulated  considerable  property,  which  Gildon  (in  He  died  on  his  birth-day,  Tuesday,  April  23,  1610, 
his  Letters  and  Essays)  stated  to  amount  to  300.'.  I  when  he  had  exactly  completed  his  fifty-second 
per  ann.  a  sum  equal  to  1000/.  in  our  da}s.  Butjear;  and  was  buried  on  the  north  side  of  thechan- 
Mr.  Malone  doubts  whether  all  his  propertyj«iel,in  the  great  church  at  Stratford,  where  a  monu- 
amounted  to  much  more  than  2001.  per  ann.  which  jmcnt  is  placed  in  the  wall,  on  which  he  is  repre- 
yet  was  a  considerable  fortune  in  those  times ;  and! rented  under  an  arch,  in  a  sitting  posture,  a  cushion 

spread  before  him,  with  a  pen  in  his  right  hand, 
and  his  left  rested  on  a  scroll  of  paper.  The  fol- 
lowing Latin  distich  is  engraved  under  the  cushion : 

Judicio  Pylium,  genio  Socratem,  arte  Matonem, 
Terra  tegit,  popuhis  raoeret,  Olympus  babet. 

Perhaps  we  should  read  Sophoclem,  instead  of  So- 
cratem.    Underneath  are  the  following  lines : 

Stay,  passenger,  why  dost  thou  go  bo  fast  7 
Read,  if  thou  cauiit,  whom  envious  death  has  plac'd 
Witliin  this  monument:  Shakspeare,  with  wliom 
Quick  nature  died ;  whose  name  doth  deck  the  tomb 
Far  more  Uian  cost :  since  all  tliat  he  liath  writ 
Ijcaves  living  art  but  page  to  serve  his  wit. 

Obiit  ano.  Dni.  1^6, 
iEt.  53,  die  23  Apri. 

We  have  nof  any  account  of  the  malady  whico, 
at  no  very  advanced  age,  closed  the  life  and  la- 
bours of  this  unrivalled  and  incomparable  genius. 
The  only  notice  we  have  of  his  person  is  from 
Aubrey,  who  says,  "He  was  a  handsome  well- 
shaped  man;"  and  adds,  "verie  good  company, 
and  of  a  verie  ready  and  pleasant  and  smooth  wit.' 

His  family  consisted  of  two  daughters,  and  a  son 
named  Hamnet,  who  died  in  1596,  in  the  twelfth 
year  of  his  age.  Susaimah,  the  eldest  daughter, 
and  her  father's  favourite,  was  married  to  Dr.  John 
Hall,  a  physician,  who  died  Nov.  1635,  aged  60. 
Mrs.  Hall  died  July  11,  1649,  aged  66.  They  left 
only  one  cliild,  Elizabeth,  born  1607-8,  and  married 
April  22, 1626,  to  Thomas  Nashe,  esq.  who  died  in 
1647 ;  and  a(ler%vards  to  Sir  John  Barnard,  of 
Abington  in  Northamptonshire,  but  died  without 
issue  by  either  husband.  Judith,  Shakspeare's 
youngest  daughter,  was  married  to  Mr.  Thomas 
Quiney,  and  died  Feb.  1661-2,  in  her  77th  year. 
By  Mr.  Quiney  she  had  three  sons,  Shakspeare, 
Richard,  and  Thomas,  who  all  died  unmarried. 
The  traditional  story  of  Shakspeare  having  been 
the  father  of  Sir  William  Davenant,  has  been  ge- 
nerally discredited. 

From  these  imperfect  notices,*  which  are  all 
we  have  been  able  to  collect  from  the  labours  of 
his  biographers  and  commentators,  our  [readers 
will  perceive  that  less  is  known  of  Shakspeare 
than  of  almost  any  writer  who  has  been  consider- 


it  is  supposed,  that  he  might  hare  derived  2001.  an- 
nually from  the  theatre,  while  he  continued  to  act. 

He  retired  some  years  before  his  death  to  a 
house  in  Stratford,  of  which  it  has  been  thought 
important  to  give  the  history.  It  was  built  by  Sir 
Hugh  Clopton,  a  yonn^r  brother  of  an  ancient 
family  in  that  neighbourhood.  Sir  Hugli  was 
sheriff  of  London  in  the  reign  of  Richard  HI.  and 
lord  mayor  in  that  of  Henry  VH.  By  his  will  he 
bequeathed  to  his  elder  brother's  son  liis  manor  of 
Clopton,  &c.  and  his  house  by  the  name  of  the 
Great  House  in  Stratford.  A  good  part  of  the 
estate  was  in  possession  of  Edward  Clopton,  Esq. 
and  Sir  Hugh  Clopton,  Knt.  in  1733.  The  prin- 
cipal estate  had  been  sold  out  of  the  Clopton  family 
for  above  a  century,  at  the  time  when  Shakspeare 
became  the  purchaser,  who,  having  repaired  and 
modelled  it  to  his  own  mind,  changed  the  name  to 
JVeto  Place,  which  the  mansion-house  afterwards 
erected,  in  the  room  of  the  poet's  house,  retained 
for  many  years.  The  house  and  lands  belonging 
to  it  continued  in  the  possession  of  Shakspeare's 
descendants  to  the  time  of  the  Restoration,  when 
they  were  re^purchased  by  the  Clopton  family. 
Here,  in  May,  1742,  ivhen  Mr.  Garrick,  Mr.  Mack- 
lin,  and  Mr.  Delane,  visited  Stratford,  they  were 
hospitably  entertained  under  Shakspeare's  mul- 
berry-tree, by  Sir  Hugh  Clopton,  who  was  a  bar- 
rister, was  knighted  by  George  L  and  died  in  the 
80th  year  of  his  age,  1751.  His  executor,  about 
the  year  1752,  sold  New  Place  to  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Gastrel,  a  man  of  large  fortune,  who  resided  in  it 
but  a  few  years,  in  consequence  of  a  disagreement 
with  the  inhabitants  of  Stratford.    As  lie  resided 

part  of  the  year  at  Litchfield,  he  thought  he  was 

assessed  too  highly  in  the  monthly  rate  towards  the 

maintenance  of  the  poor,  and  being  opposed,  he 

peevishly  declared,  that  that  house  should  never 

be  assessed  again ;  and  soon  afterwards  pulled  it 

down,  sold  the  materials,  and  left  the  town.    He 

had  some  time  before  cut  down  Shakspeare's  mul- 
berry-tree, to  save  himself  the  trouble  of  showing 

it  to  visitors.    That  Shakspeare  planted  this  tree 

appears  to  be  sufficiently  authenticated.    WTiere 

JUcvr  Place  stood  is  now  a  garden.  ! 

_     .        „,    ,  ,       t-   J      •     »L-     1  .     '     *  The  first  regular  attempt  at  n  lifrf  of  Shakspeare  i«  pr» 

Dunng  Shakspeare's  abode  m  this  house,  he  L^ed  to  Mr.  A.  Chataer'.  variorum  edition,  published  in  i80» 

avowed  Uie  acfiuaintaucc  and  friendship  of  the  I  of  which  we  have  availed  ounelvesiatJie  above  Sketck. 


SKETCH  OF  THE  LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE.  V 

ed  as  an  object  of  laudable  curiosity.  Nothing  j  history.  The  indnstrj  of  his  illustrators  for  the 
could  be  more  highly  gratifying,  than  an  account! last  fort>-  years,  has  been  such  as  probably  nerer 
of  the  early  studies  of  this  wonderful  man,  the  j  was  surpassed  in  the  annals  of  literary  inrestiga- 
progress  of  his  pen,  his  moral  and  social  qualities,  tion  ;  yet  so  far  are  we  from  information  of  the 
his  friendships,  his  failings,  and  whatever  else  con- 'conclusive  or  satisfactory  kind,  that  even  the  order 
stitutes  personal  history.  But  on  all  these  topics  in  which  his  plays  are  written  rests  principally  on 
his  contemporaries,  and  his  immediate  successors,|'conjecture,  and  of  some  of  the  plays  usually  printed 
have  been  equally  silent;  and  if  aught  can  hereaf-j  among  his  works,  it  is  not  yet  determined  whether 
ter  be  discovered,  it  must  be  by  exploring  sources  he  wrote  the  whole,  or  any  part.  We  are,  how- 
which  have  hitherto  escaped  the  anxious  researches'  ever,  indebted  to  the  labours  of  liis  commentators, 
of  those  who  have  devoted  their  whole  lives,  and  |  not  only  for  much  light  thrown  upon  his  obscuri- 
their  most  vigorous  taleuts,  to  revive  his  memorj', !  ties,  but  for  a  text  purified  from  the  gross  blunders 
and  Ulustrate  his  writings.  i  of  preceding  transcribers  and  editors ;    and  it  is 

almost  unnecessary  to  add,  that  the  text  of  the  fol- 
It  is  equally  unfortunate,  thaw  we  know  as  littlel  lowing  volumes  is  that  of  the  last  corrected  edition 
of  the  progress  of  his  writings,  as  of  his  personal' of  Johusoa  and  Steevens. 


r^.. 


THE  TEMPEST. 
Act  1. — Scene  2. 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 

Act  v.— Scene  4. 


(  y  ) 


TEMPEST. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 

Alon«o,  kirtgofS'aples.  jMiranda,  daugliter  to  Protpero* 

Sebastian,  liis  brother,  I 

Prospero,  tht  rightful  rfufce  of  Milan.  (Ariel,  an  airy  spirit. 

Antonio,  hi^  brother,  thensitrningdukeo/MilaiiJlris, 


Ferdinand,  son  to  the  king  of.Y'anlr.i. 
Gonzalo,  an  honest  old  coumtUor  ofj^'aples. 

^'^"'^9'         I  lords. 
r  rancisco,    J 

Caliban,  a  savage  and  deformed  slave, 

Trinculo,  a  jester. 

Stephano,  a  drunken  butler. 

Master  of  a  ship.  Boatswain,  mid  J^Iariners. 


Ceres,         r 
Juno,  y  spirits. 

Nymphs,    k 
Reapers,    j 

Other  spirits  attending  on  Prospero. 

Scene,  the  sea,  vith  a  ship;  ofleitearda  anunin' 
habited  island. 


ACT  I. 

SCEJu'E  I. — On  a  ship  at  sea.  •,?  storm,  with 
thunder  and  lightning.  Enter  a  Ship-master 
and  a  Boatswain. 


B( 


Jilaslcr. 


fall  to't 
bestir, 
[Exit. 


»OATSWAIN,— 

Boats.  Here,  master:  what  cheer? 

.yfast.  Good:  speak  to  the  mariners: 
rarely,'  or  ive  run  ourselves  aground 
bestir. 

Enter  Mariners. 

Boats.  Heigh,  my  hearts ;  checrly,  cliC'Crly,  my 
hearts;  yare,  yare:  take  in  the  top-sail:  tend  to 
the  master's  whistle. — Blow,  till  thou  burst  thy 
wind,  if  room  enough  ! 

Ent^r  Alonso,  Sebastian,  Antonio,  Ferdinand, 
Gonzalo,  and  others. 

.Jlon.  Good  boatswain,  have  a  care.  AMiere's 
the  master  /    Play  the  men. 

Boats.  I  pray  now,  keep  below. 

*-2h(.  Where  is  the  master,  boastwain  ? 

Boats.  Do  you  not  hear  hini?  You  mar  our  la- 
bour! keep  your  cabins :  you  do  assist  the  storm. 

Gon.  Nay,  pood,  be  patient. 

Boats.  When  the.  sea  is.  Hence  !  What  care 
these  roarers  for  the  name  of  king  ?  To  cabin  : 
silence :  trouble  us  nttt. 

Gmi.  Good ;  yet  remember  whom  thou  hast 
aboard. 

Boats.  None  that  I  more  lore  than  myself.  You 
arc  a  counsellor;  if  you  can  command  these  ele- 
ments to  silence,  and  work  the  peace  of  tiie  present,' 
we  will  not  h md  a  rope  more ;  use  your  authority. 
If  Tou  cannot,  give  thanks  you  have  lived  so  lone, 
and  make  yoarself  ready  in  your  cabin  for  the  mis- 
chance of  the  hour,  if  it  so  hap. — Cheerly,  jrood 
hearts. — Out  of  our  way,  1  say.  [Exit. 

Gim.  I  have  creat comfort  from  this  fellow :  me- 

•tbinks  he  hath  no  drowning  mark  upon  him ;  his 

coipplcxiou  is  perfect  gallows.    Stand  fast,  good 

(1)  Readily.  (2)  Present  instant. 


fate,  to  his  hans/in? !  make  l!»e  rope  of  his  destiny 
our  cable,  for  our  own  doth  little  advantage  !  If  ha 
be  not  bom  to  be  hanyed,  our  case  is  miserable. 

[Exeunt. 

Re.enter  Boatswain. 

Boats.  Down  with  the  top-mast ;  yare ;  lower, 
lo%ver;  bring  her  to  try  with  main  course.  [.4  cry 
!'-f/7itH.]  A  plague  upon  this  howling!  theyara 
louder  than  the  w  eather,  or  our  oi&ce. — 

Re-enter  Sebastian,  Antonio,  and  Gonzalo  - 

Yet  again  ?  what  do  you  heie  ?  Shall  we  give  o'er, 
and  drown  ?     Have  you  a  mind  to  sink '! 

iSeb.  A  pox  o'  vour  throat !  you  bawling,  blas- 
phemous, uncharitable  dog ! 

Boats.  Work  you,  then. 
j    .'int.  Hang,  ciir,  hang!  you  whoreson,  insolent 
I  noise-maker,  we  are  less  afraid  to  be  drowned  than 
thou  art. 

Gon.  I'll  warrant  him  from  drowning ;  though 
the  ship  were  no  stronjrer  than  a  nut-shell,  and  as 
leaky  as  an  unstaunched'  wench. 

Boats.  Lay  her  a-hold,  a-hold  ;  set  her  two 
courses ;  off  to  sea  again,  lay  her  ort". 

Enter  Mariners,  iret. 
J\Iar.  All  lost!  to  prayers,  to  prayers!  all  lost! 

Boats.  What,  must  our  mouths  be  cold  ? 

Gon.  The  king  and  prince  at  prayers!  let  ua 
assist  them, 
For  our  case  is  as  theirs. 

Seb.  I  am  out  of  patience. 

tint.  We  are  merely*  cheated  of  our  lires  by 
drunkards. — 
This  wide-chapped  rascal ; — 'Would,  thou  might'st 

lie  drowninsr. 
The  washing  often  tides ! 

Gon.  He'll  be  hanged  yet ; 

Though  every  drop  of  water  swear  against  it. 
And  gape  at  wid'st  to  ?lnt  him. 
[Jl  confused  noise  xoithin.}     Mercy  on  n»! — ^W«» 
split,  we  split !    Farewell,  my  ^iTfe  and  children  !-- ■ 
Farewell,  brother '. — ^W^e  split,  we  split,  we  split.— 

(3^  Incontinent.        (4)  Atsclutclj, 


8 


TEMPEST. 


JktL 


Ant.  Let's  all  sink  with  the  king.  VExU. 

Seh.  Let's  take  leave  of  him.  [Exit. 

Gon.  Now  would  I  give  a  thousand  furlongs  of 
sea  for  an  acre  of  barren  ground ;  long  heath,  brown 
furze,  any  thing :  the  wills  above  be  done  I  but  I 
would  fain  die  a  dry  death.  [Exit. 

SCEJ^E  II.— The  island :  before  the  cell  of  Tros- 
pero.    Enter  Prospero  and  Miranda. 

^ir.  If  by  your  art,  my  dearest  father,  you  have 
Put  the  wild  waters  in  this  roar,  allay  them : 
The  sky,  it  seems,  would  pour  down  stinking  pitch, 
But  that  the  sea,  mounting  to  the  welkin's  cheek, 
Dashes  the  fire  out.    O,  I  have  suffer'd 
With  those  that  I  saw  suffer !  a  brave  vessel, 
Who  had  no  doubt  some  noble  creatures  in  her, 
Dash'd  all  to  pieces.    O,  the  cry  did  knock 
Against  my  very  heart !  Poor  souls !  they  perish'd. 
Had  I  been  any  god  of  power,  I  would 
Have  sunk  the  sea  withm  the  earth,  or  e'er' 
It  should  the  good  ship  so  have  swallow'd,  and 
The  freighting  souls  within  her. 

Pro.  Be  collected ; 

No  more  amazement :  tell  your  piteous  heart. 
There's  no  harm  done. 

Jtftro.       *  O,  wo  the  day ! 

Pro.  No  harm. 

I  have  done  nothing  but  in  care  of  thee. 

iOf  thee,  my  dear  one !  thee,  my  daug:hter !)  who 
irt  ignorant  of  what  thou  art,  nought  knowing 
Of  whence  I  am ;  nor  that  I  am  more  better 
Than  Prospero,  master  of  a  full  poor  cell, 
And  thy  no  greater  father. 

Mir  a.  More  to  know 

Did  never  meddle  with  my  thoughts. 

Pro.  'Tis  time 

I  should  inform  thee  ftirther.    Lend  thy  hand. 
And  pluck  my  magic  garment  from  me. — So ; 

[Lays  down  his  mantle. 
Lie  there  my  art — ^Wipe  thou  thine  eyes ;  have 

comfort 
The  direful  spectacle  of  the  wreck,  which  touch'd 
The  very  virtue  of  compassion  in  thee, 
I  have  with  such  provision  in  mine  art 
So  safely  order'd,  that  there  is  no  soul- 
No,  not  so  much  perdition  as  a  hair, 
Betid  to  any  creature  in  the  vessel 
Which  thou  heard'st  cry,  which  thou  saw'st  sink. 

Sit  down  ; 
For  thou  must  now  know  further. 

Jtftro.  You  have  often 

Begun  to  tell  me  what  I  am  ;  but  stopp'd 
And  left  me  to  a  bootless  inquisition  ; 
Concluding,  Stay,  not  yet. — 

Pro.  The  hour's  now  come ; 

The  very  minute  bids  thee  ope  thine  ear ; 
Obey,  and  be  attentive.    Canst  thou  remember 
A  time  before  we  came  unto  this  cell  ? 
I  do  not  think  thou  canst ;  for  then  thou  wast  not 
Out*  three  years  old. 

Mira.  Certainly,  sir,  I  can. 

Pro.  By  what  ?  by  any  other  house,  or  person  ? 
Of  any  thing  the  image  tell  me,  that 
Hath  kept  with  thy  remembrance. 

Jtfira.  'Tis  far'off; 

And  rather  like  a  dream  than  an  assurance 
That  my  remembrance  warrants :  had  I  not 
Four  or  five  women  once,  that  tended  me  ? 

Pro.  Thou  hadst,  and  more,  Miranda :  but  how 
is  it, 
That  thia  lives  in  thy  mind  ?  What  seest  thou  else 

(1)  Before.       (2)  Quite.       (3)  Abyss. 


In  the  dark  backward  and  abysm*  of  time  ? 
If  thou  remember'st  aught,  ere  thou  cam'st  here, 
How  thou  cam'st  here,  thou  may'st. 

J\Iira.  But  that  I  do  not 

Pro.  Twelve  years  since, 
Miranda,  twelve  years  since,  thy  father  was 
The  duke  of  Milan,  and  a  prince  of  power. 

Mira.  Sir,  are  not  you  my  father. 

Pro.  Thy  mother  was  a  piece  of  virtue,  and 
She  said — thou  wast  my  daughter;  and  thy  father 
Was  duke  of  Milan ;  and  his  only  heir 
A  princess ; — no  worse  issued. 

Mira.  O,  the  heavens ! 

What  foul  play  had  we,  that  we  came  from  thence  7 
Or  blessed  was't  we  did  ? 

Pro.  Both,  both,  my  girl ; 

By  foul  play,  as  thou  say'st,  were  we  heav'd  thence ; 
But  blessedly  holp  hither. 

Mira.  0,  my  heart  bleeds 

To  think  o'  the  teen*  that  I  have  turn'd  you  to. 
Which  is  from  my  remembrance!  Please  you  further. 

Pro.  My  brother,  and  thy  uncle,  call'd  Antonio,— 
I  pray  thee,  mark  me, — ^that  a  brother  should 
Be  so  perfidious  ! — he  whom,  next  thyself. 
Of  all  the  world  I  lov'd,  and  to  him  put 
The  manage  of  my  *ate  ;  as,  at  that  time. 
Through  all  the  signiories  it  was  the  first,  ^ 

And  Prospero  the  prime  duke ;  being  so  reputed 
In  dignity,  and,  for  the  liberal  arts. 
Without  a  parallel ;  those  being  all  my  study, 
The  government  I  cast  upon  my  brother. 
And  to  my  state  grew  stranger,  being  transported, 
And  wrapt  in  secret  studies.    Thy  false  uncle — 
Dost  thou  attend  me  ? 

Mira.  Sir,  most  heedfuUy. 

Pro.  Being  once  perfected  how  to  grant  suits, 
How  to  deny  them  ;  whom  to  advance,  and  whom 
To  trash'  for  over-topping  ;  new  created 
The  creatures  that  were  mine ;  I  say  cr  chang'd 

them. 
Or  else  new  form'd  them :  having  both  the  key 
Of  officer  and  office,  set  all  hearts 
To  what  tune  pleas'd  his  ear ;  that  now  he  was 
The  ivy,  which  had  my  princely  trunk. 
And  suck'd  my  verdure  out  on't    Thou  attend'st 

not: 
I  pray  thee,  mark  me. 

Mira.  O  good  sir,  I  do. 

Pro.  I  thus  neglecting  worldly  ends,  all  dedicate 
To  closeness,  and  the  bettering  of  my  mind 
With  that,  which,  but  by  being  so  retir'd, 
O'er-priz'd  all  popular  rate,  in  my  false  brother, 
Awak'd  an  evil  nature  :  and  my  trust. 
Like  a  good  parent,  did  beget  of  him 
A  falsehood,  in  its  contrary  as  great 
As  my  trust  was ;  which  had,  indeed,  no  limit, 
A  confidence  sans*  bound.    He  being  thus  lorded, 
Not  only  with  what  my  revenue-yielded. 
But  what  my  power  might  else  exact, — like  one. 
Who  having,  unto  truth,  by  telling  of  it. 
Made  such  a  sinner  of  his  memory. 
To  credit  his  own  lie, — he  did  believe 
He  was  the  duke ;  out  of  the  substitution. 
And  executing  the  outward  face  of  royalty, 
With  all  prerogative : — Hence  his  ambition 
Grooving, — Dost  hear  ? 

Mira.  Your  talc,  sir,  would  cure  deafness. 

Pro.  To  have  no  screen  between  this  part  bt 
play'd. 
And  him  he  play'd  it  for,  he  needs  will  be 
Absolute  Milan :  me,  poor  man ! — my  library 

(4)  Sorrow.       (5)  Cut  away.       (6)  Without. 


l^eM  U. 


TEMPEST. 


Was  dukedom  large  enough ;  of  temporal  royalties 
He  thinks  me  now  incapable :  confederates 
(So  dr}''  he  was  for  sway)  with  the  king  of  Naples, 
To  give  him  annual  tribute,  do  him  hoinage ; 
Subject  his  coronet  to  his  crown,  and  bend 
The  dukedom,  yet  unbow'd  (alas,  poor  Milan!) 
To  most  ignoble  stooping. 

Jtfira.  0  the  heavens ! 

Pro.  Mark  his  condition,  and  the  event ;  then 
tell  me, 
If  this  might  be  a  brother. 

Mira.  I  should  sin 

To  think  but  nobly  of  my  grandmother : 
Good  wombs  have  born  bad  sons. 

Pro.  Now  the  condition. 

This  king  of  Naples,  being  an  enemy 
To  me  inveterate,  hearkens  my  brother's  suit ; 
Which  was,  that  he  in  lieu-'  o'  the  premises, —        • 
Of  homage,  and  I  know  not  how  much  tribute, — 
Should  presently  extirpate  me  and  mine 
Out  of  the  dukedom  ;  and  confer  fair  Milan, 
With  all  the  honours,  on  my  brother :  whereon, 
A  treacherous  army  levied,  one  midnight 
Fated  to  the  purpose,  did  Antonio  open 
The  gates  of  Milan ;  and,  i'  the  dead  of  darkness, 
The  ministers  for  the  purpose  hurried  thence 
Me,  and  thy  cr}ing  self. 

J^Iira.  Alack,  for  pity ! 

I,  not  rememb'ring  how  I  cried  out  then, 
Will  cry  it  o'er  again  ;  it  is  a  hint,^ 
That  wrings  mine  eyes. 

Pro.  Hear  a  little  further, 

And  then  I'll  bring  thee  to  the  present  business 
Which  now's  upon  us ;  without  the  which,  this  storj' 
Were  most  impertinent. 

Mira.  Wherefore  did  they  not 

That  hour  destroy  us  ? 

Pro.  '  Well  demanded,  wench ; 

My  tale  provokes  that  question.    Dear,  they  durst 
not; 

iSo  dear  the  love  my  people  bore  me)  nor  set 
L  mark  so  bloody  on  the  business  ;  but 
With  colours  fairer  painted  their  foul  ends. 
In  few,  they  hurried  us  aboard  a  bark: 
Bore  us  some  leagues  to  sea  ;  where  tney  prepar'd 
A  rotten  carcase  of  a  boat,  not  rigg'd, 
Nor  tackle,  sail,  nor  mast ;  the  very  rats 
Instinctively  had  quit  it:  there  they  hoist  us, 
To  cry  to  the  sea  that  roar'd  to  us  ;  to  sigh 
To  the  winds,  whose  pity,  sigliing  back  again, 
Did  us  but  loving  WTong. 

Mvra.  Alack!  what  trouble 

Was  I  then  to  you ! 

Pro.  0  !  a  cherubim 

Thou  wast,  that  did  preserve  me  ?  Thou  didst  smile, 
Infused  with  a  fortitude  from  heaveti, 
When  I  have  deck'd'*  the  sea  with  drops  full  salt ; 
Under  my  burden  groan'd ;  which  rais'd  in  me 
An  undergoing  stomach,*  to  bear  up 
Against  what  should  ensue. 
Mira.  How  came  we  ashore  ? 

Pro.  By  Providence  divine. 
Some  food  we  had,  and  some  fresh  water,  that 
A  noble  Neapolitan,  Gonzalo, 
Out  of  his  charily  (who  being  then  aj:pointed 
Master  of  this  design,)  did  srive  us,  with 
Rich  garments,  linens,  stuffs,  and  necessaries. 
Which  since  have  steaded  much ;  so,  of  his  gentle- 
ness. 
Knowing  I  lov'd  my  books,  he  furnish'd  me, 

il)  Thirsty.     (2)  Consideration.     (3)  Suggestion. 
4)  Sprinkled.       (5)  Stubborn  resolution. 


From  my  own  library,  with  volumes  that 
I  prize  above  my  dukedom. 

Mira.  'Would  I  might 

But  ever  see  that  man ! 

Pro.  Now  I  arise  : — 

Sit  still,  and  hear  the  last  of  our  sea-sorrow. 
Here  in  this  island  we  arriv'd ;  and  here 
Have  I,  thy  school-master,  made  thee  more  profit 
Than  other  princes  can,  that  have  more  time 
For  vainer  hours,  and  tutors  not  so  careful. 

Jiira.  Heavens  thank  you  for't!    And  now,  I 
pray  youj  sir^ 

iFor  still  'tis  beatmg  m  my  mind,)  yoiu:  reason 
"or  raising  tliis  sea-storm"? 
Pro.  Know  thus  far  forth.— 

Bj  accident  most  strange,  bountiful  fortune, 
N  ow  my  dear  lady,  hath  mine  enemies 
Brought  to  this  shore :  and  by  my  prescience 
I  find  my  zenith  doth  depend  upon  ' 

A  most  auspicious  star ;  whose  influence 
If^now  I  court  not,  but  omit,  my  fortunes 
\\  ill  ever  after  droop. — Here  cease  more  questions ; 
Thou  art  inclin'd  to  sleep  ;  'tis  a  good  dulness. 
And  give  it  way ; — I  know  thou  canst  not  choose.-^ 
[Miranda  sleeps. 
Come  away,  servant,  come :  I  am  ready  now ; 
Approach,  my  .\riel ;  come. 


Enter  Ariel. 


.9ri. 


All  hail,  great  master!  grave  sir,  hail!  I 
come 
To  answer  thv  best  pleasure ;  be't  to  fly. 
To  swim,  to  dive  into  the  fire,  to  ride 
On  the  curl'd  clouds ;  to  thy  strong  bidding,  task 
Ariel,  and  all  his  quality. 

Pro.  '  Hast  thou,  spirit, 

Perform'd  to  point*  the  tempest  that  I  bade  thee  7 

.^n.  To  every  article. 
I  boarded  the  king's  ship ;  now  on  the  beak. 
Now  in  the  waist,  the  deck,  in  every  cabin, 
I  flam'd  amazement:  sometimes,  I'd  divide, 
And  burn  in  many  places ;  on  the  top-mast, 
The  yards,  and  bowsprit,  would  I  flame  distinctly ; 
Then  meet,  and  join :  Jove's  lightnings,  the  pre- 
cursors 
O'  the  dreadful  thunder-claps,  more  momentary 
And  sight-outrunning  were  not :  the  fire,  and  cracks 
Of  sulphurous  roaring,  the  most  mighty  Neptune 
Seem'd  to  besiege,  and  make  his  bold  waves  tremble; 
Yea,  his  dread  trident  shake. 

Pro.  My  brave  spirit ! 

Who  was  so  firm,  so  constant,  that  this  coil' 
Would  not  infect  his  reason  ? 

'irt.  Not  a  soul 

But  felt  a  fever  of  the  mnd,  and  play'd 
Some  tricks  of  desperation  :  all,  but  mariners, 
Plung'd  in  the  foaming  brine,  and  quit  the  vessel, 
Then  all  a-fire  with  me :  the  king's  son,  Ferdinand, 
With  hair  upstarins  (then  like  reeds,  not  hair,) 
Was  the  first  man  that  leap'd ;  cried.  Hell  is  empty. 
And  all  the  devils  are  here. 

Pro.  Why,  that's  my  spirit ! 

Bat  was  not  this  nigh  shore  ? 

.'?n.  Close  by,  my  master. 

Pro.  But  are  they,  Ariel,  safe? 

Art.  '  Not  a  hair  perish'd ; 

On  their  sustaining  carments  not  a  blemish. 
But  fresher  than  before  :  and,  as  thou  bad'st  me, 
In  troops  I  have  dispers'd  them  'bout  the  isle : 
The  king's  son  have  I  landed  by  himself; 

(5)  The  minutest  article.       (7)  Bustle,  tumult* 
B 


10 


TEMPEST. 


^d  t. 


Vfhorti  I  lefl  eooUncf  of  the  air  with  siglis, 
In  an  odd  ande  of  the  isle,  and  sitting, 
His  arms  in  this  sad  knot. 

Pro.  Oftheldng's  slup, 

The  mariners,  say,  hoiv  thou  hast  dispos'd, 
And  all  the  rest  o'  the  fleet  ? 

Ari.  Safely  in  harbour 

Is  the  kinar's  ship ;  in  the  deep  nook,  where  once 
Thou  call'dst  me  up  at  midnisrlit  to  letch  dew 
From  the  stiU-vcx'd  Bermoothes,'  there  she's  hid: 
The  mariners  all  under  Imlchcs  stowed ; 
Whom,  with  a  charm  join'd  to  tlieir  sulfer'd  la- 
bour, 
I  have  lefl  asleep :  and  for  the  rest  o'  the  fleet. 
Which  I  dispers'd,  they  all  hare  met  a&uiii ; 
And  are  upon  the  Mediterranean  flute,* 
Bound  sadly  honse  for  Naples ; 
Supposing  that  they  saw  the  long's  sliip  wrcck'd. 
And  his  great  person  perish. 

Pro.  Ariel,  thy  charcre 


Exactl)-  is  perfonu'd ;  but  there's  more  wofk 
What  is  the  time  o'  t'ue  day  ? 
»lri.  P.ist  the  mid  season. 


Pro.  At  least  two  glasses :  the  tixTie  'twbct  six 
and  now. 
Mast  by  us  both  oe  spent  most  preciously. 

.iri.  Is  there  more  toil?    Since  thou  dost  give 
me  pains. 
Let  me  remember  fhf;e  wh-Tt  thou  hast  promb'd, 
Which  is  not  yet  pertbrm'd  me. 

Pro.  How  now  ?  moody  ? 

What  is't  thou  canst  demand  ? 

»-2rt.  My  liberty. 

Pro.  Before  the  time  be  out?  no  more.' 

*1ri.  I  pray  thee 

Remember,  I  have  done  thee  worthy  ?cr\ieo';  ■ 
Told  thee  )io  lies,  made  no  mistakin?s,  serv'd 
Without  or  prud;.'e  or  grumblinjfs :  thou  didst  pro- 
mise 
To  bate  me  a  full  year. 

Pro.  '         Dost  thou  forget 

Froai  what  a  torment  I  did  free  thee  ? 

•■^rj.  No. 

Pro.  Thou  dost:  andthink'st 
It  much,  to  tread  tne  ooze  of  the  salt  deep ; 
To  run  upon  the  sharp  wind  of  the  north  ; 
To  do  me  business  in  the  veins  o'  the  earth, 
When  it  is  bak'd  with  frost. 

»^ri.  I  do  not,  sir. 

Pro.  Thou  liest,  malignant  thing!    Hast  thou 
forg-ot 
The  foul  witch  Sycorax,  who,  with  sire,  and  envy. 
Was  eroi^Ti  into  a  hoop  ?  hast  thou  forgot  her?  ' 

wiri.  ISo,  sir. 

Pro.  Thou  hast:  where  was  she  bom? 

speak ;  tell  m'i. 

»iri.  Sir,  in  Ar^er.' 

Pro.  O,  was  she  so?  Imust, 

Once  in  a  month,  recouiu  whnt  thou  hast  been. 
Which  thou  forprc  t*sl-  This  damn'd  nitch,  Sycorax, 
For  mischiefs  manifold,  and  sorceries  terrible 
To  enter  human  h^-arins',  from  Anrier. 
Thou  know'st,  was  banished;  for  one  thin^  she 

did, 
They  would  not  take  licr  life.    Is  not  this  true  ? 

Ari.  Av,  sir. 

Pro.  This   blue-ey'd  hag   was  hither  brought 
with  ciiild. 
And  here  was  Icll  by  the  sailor?.    Thou,  mv  slave. 
As  thou  report'st  thyself,  wast  then  her  acrvant : 
And,  for  thou  wast  a  spirit  too  delicate 

(1)  Bermudas.        (2)  Wave.        ^3)  Algiers, 


To  act  her  earthly  and  abhorr'd  commands, 
Refusing  her  giand  bests,*  she  did  confine  thee, 
By  help  of  her  more  potent  ministers, 
And  in  her  most  unmitia'able  raw. 
Into  a  cloven  pine ;  within  ^vhicli  rift  _ 
Imprison'd,  thou  didst  painfully  remain 
A  dozen  vears ;  within  which  space  she  died. 
And  left'tiiee  there;  where  thou  didst  vent  thy 

gro.Tus, 
As  fast  as  mill-ivheols  strike :  then  was  this  island 
(Save  for  the  son  that  she  did  litter  here, 
A  freckled  whelp,  hag-born,)  not  honoured  with 
A  human  shape. 

»5ri.     ••  Yes ;  Caliban,  her  son. 

Pro.  Dull  thinpr,  I  suy  so ;  he,  that  Caliban, 
Whom  now  1  keep  in  service.    Thou  best  know'st 
Wliat  torment  I  cUd  lind  thee  in :  thy  crroans 
Did  make  wolves  howl,  and  penetrate  the  breasts 
Of  ever  ang^ry  be;irs :  it  was  a  torment 
To  lay  upon  the  damn'd,  wliich  Sycorax 
Could  not  acrain  undo  ;  it  v.'as  mine  art, 
Wheij  I  arriv'd,  and  heard  thee,  that  made  gupe 
The  pine,  and  let  thee  ouL 

»J/-i.  '         I  thank  thee,  master. 

Pro.  If  tliou  more  murmtir'st,  I  will  rend  an  oak. 
And  pc2;lhce  in  his  knotty  entrails,  till 
Thou  hast  howl'd  away  twelve  winters. 

.?/•/.  Pardon,  master : 

I  ivill  be  correspondent  to  command, 
And  do  my  spiriting  gently. 

Pro.      '  Do  so ;  and  after  two  days 

I  will  discharge  thee. 

,Iirl.  "  That's  my  noble  master ! 

What  shall  I  do?  say  what:  what  shall  I  do? 

Pro.  Go  make  thyself  li'.ie  a  nymph  o'  the  sea, 
Bo  subject  to  no  siarht  but  mine ;  invisible 
To  everv  <>yc-ball  else.     Go,  take  this  shape. 
And  liithcr  come  in't :  hence,  ivitli  diiisence. 

\Exil  Ariel. 
Awake,  dear  heart,  awake !  thou  hast  slept  well ; 
A^vake ! 

Mira.  The  strangeness  of  your  story  put 
Heaviness  in  me. 

Pro,  Shake  it  off;  come  on ; 

We'll  visit  Caliban,  my  slave,  who  never 
Yields  us  kind  answer. 

Mira.  'Tis  a  villain,  sir, 

I  do  not  love  to  look  on. 

Pro.  But,  as  'tis, 

Wc  rinnot  miss*  liim :  he  does  make  our  fire, 
Fetch  in  our  wood  ;  and  serves  in  otTices 
That  profit  us.    What,  ho!  slave!  Caliban! 
Thou  earth,  tliou  !  speak. 

Cnl.  [Wilhii}.]  There's  wood  cnous^h  within. 

Pro.  Come  fortli,  I  say ;  there's  other  business 
for  tliee ; 
Come  forth,  thou  tortoise!  when  ? 

Re-cnier  Ariel,  like  a  icater-nymph. 

Fine  apparition  !  My  quaint  Ariel,  ^ 

Hark  in  thine  ear. 

.■7W.  My  lord,  it  shall  be  done.     [Exit. 

Pro.   Thou  poisonous  slave,  got  by  the  devil 
himself 
Upon  thy  wicked  dam,  come  forth ! 

Enter  Caliban. 

Cfd,  As  wicked  dew  as  e'er  mv  mother  brush'd 
A^'ith  raven's  I'lather  from  mnvholesome  fen, 
Drop  on  you  both  !  a  south- west  blow  on  ye. 


(i)  Commands. 


(j)  Do  without. 


Scene  It. 


TEMPEST. 


li 


And  blister  you  all  o'er ! 

Pro.  For  this,  be  sure,  to-night  thou  shalt  have] 
cramps, 
Side-stiches,  that  shall  pen  thy  breath  up ;  urchins* 
Shall,  for  that  vast  of  night  that  they  may  work, 
All  exercise  on  thee  :  thou  shalt  be  pincn'd 
As  thick  as  honey-combs,  each  pinch  mora  stinging 
l^an  bees  that  made  them. 

Cal.  I  must  eat  my  dinner. 

This  Island's  mine,  by  Sycorax,  my  mother. 
Which  thoutaJc'^lVomme.  When  thou  earnest  first, 
Thou  strok'dst  me,    and   mad'st  much  of  me; 

■vvould'st  give  me 
Water  with  berries  in't ;  and  teach  me  how 
To  name  the  bigger  light,  and  how  the  less. 
That  burn  by  day  and  night:  and  then  I  lov'd  tlice, 
And  show'd  thee  all  the  qualities  o'  tlie  isle. 
The  fresh  springs,  brme  pits,  barren  place,  and i This  miisic^iTept  by  me  upon  the  waters; 


Court*sied  when  you  havtj  and  kisi^df 

( The  wild  waves  whtal^) 
Foot  it  featly  here  aiul  there  ;  ' 

Jind,  sweet  sprites,  the  burden  bear. 

Hark,  hark  ! 
Bur.    Bowgh.  wowgh.  [disperaedly. 

The  watcn-dogs  bark  : 
Bur.     Bow^h,  wowgh.  [dispersedly. 

Hark,  hark!    fhear 
The  strain  of  strutting  chantidere, 
Crij,  Cock-a-doodle-doo. 

Fer.  Where  should  this  music  be  ?  i'  the  air,  ox 
the  earth  ? 
It  sounds  no  more  : — and  stire,  it  waits  upon 
Some  god  of  the  island.    Sitting  on  a  hank, 
Weeping  again  the  king  my  father's  wreck. 


fertile ; 

Cursed  be  I  that  did  so ! — All  the  charms 
Of  Svcorax,  toads,  beetles,  bats,  lio^it  unyou! 
For  t  am  all  the.  subjects  that  you  hai  c, 
"Which  first  was  mine  own  king ;  and  here  you  sty  me 
In  this  hard  rock,  wliiles  you  do  keep  from  me 
The  rest  of  the  island. 

Pro.  Thoa  most  lying  slave. 

Whom  st/ipes  may  move,  not  kindness ;  I  have 

us'd  thee. 
Filth  as  thou  art,  with  humuTi  care ;  and  lod'/'d  thee 
In  mine  own  cell,  till  tliou  didst  seek  to  violate 
Tin;  honour  of  my  child. 

CjI.  O  ho,  O  ho ! — 'v.ould  it  had  been  done ! 
Tliou  didst  prevent  me  ;  i  had  peopled  else 
This  isle  with  Calibans. 

Pro.  Abhorred  slave ; 

Which  any  print  of  goodness  will  not  take. 
Being  capable  of  all  ill !  1  pitied  thee. 


\llaying  both  their  fury,  and  my  passion, 
AV'ith  its  sweet  air :  thence  I  h;ivc  Ibllow'd  it. 
Or  it  hatli  drawn  me  rather : — But  'tis  gone. 
No,  it  begms  again. 

Ariel  sings. 

Fidl  fathom  fire  thy  father  lies  ; 

Of  Ills  //o/te.-7  are  coral  made  ; 
Those  are  pearls  that  were  his  eyes, 

J^Tothing  of  him  thai  doth  fcufe. 
But  doth  suffer  a  sea-ciumge 
Into  sonuthing  rich  and  strange. 
Sea-numphs  Iwurly  ring  his  knell: 
Hark !  twic  I  hear  them, — ding-don^,  bell. 

[Burden,  ding-dong. 

Fer.    The   dittv  does  remember  my  drown'd 
faUiPr:— 
Tills  is  no  mortal  business,  nor  no  sound 


Took  pams  to  make  thee  speak,  taught  thee  eachjThat  the  earth  OAves  i- — I  hear  it  now  above  me. 

hour  Pro.  The  fringed  curtains  of  tliine  eye  advance. 

One  thing  or  other :  when  thou  didst  not,  savatre.   And  say,  what  thou  seest  yond'. 
Know  thine  own  meaning,  but  would'st  gabble  like      Jilira.  '  What  is't  ?  a  spirit? 

A  thing  most  brutish,  I  endow'd  thy  purposes  'Lord,  how  it  looks  about !  Belie\'e  mcj  sir, 

It  parries  a  brave  form  : — But 'tis  a  spirit. 


spirit. 

Pro.  No,  wench ;  it  eats  and  sleeps,  and  hath 
such  senses 
A.S  wc  have,  such :  this  gallant  which  fhou  seest 
Was  in  the  wreck ;  and  l)ut  he's  something  stain'd 
With  grief,  that's  beauty's  canker,  thou  might'st 

call  him 
A  goodly  person  :  he  bath  lost  his  fellows. 


With  words  that  made  them  known :  But  thy  vile 

race. 
Though  thou  didst  learn,  had  that  in't  wliich  good 

natures 
Could  not  abide  to  be  with  •  therefore  wast  thou 
Deservedly  conQn'd  into  this  rock. 
Who  hadst  deserv'd  more  than  a  prison. 

CoZ.  You  taught  me  language  ;  and  my  profit  on't 
Is,  I  know  how  to  curse  .-"the" red  plaoriie  rid*  you,  [And  strays  about  to  find  them. 
For  learning  me  your  language !        "  j    J\Iira.  I  might  call  him 

Pro.  Hag-seed,  hence  I  (A  thing  divine  ;  for  nothing  natural 

Fetch  us  in  fuel ;  and  be  quick,  thoa  were  best.,      jl  ever  saw  so  noble. 

To  answer  other  business.     Shrn^'st  thou,  malice  ?      Pro.  It  goc  on,  [.'?nrf?. 

If  thou  neglecf'st,  o-- dost  unwiUindy  As  my  soul  prompts  it: — Spirit,  fine  spirit!  I'll 

^Vhat  I  command,  I'll  rack  thee  v.itJi  old  cramps  ; '  free  thse 

Fill  all  thy  bones  with  aches  :  make  thee  roar,        i  Within  two  davs  for  this. 
That  beasts  shall  tremble  at  thy  din.  |     Fer.  '  Mo^^t  sure,  the  goddess 

Cal.  No,  'pray  thee  ! —  lOn  whom  these  airs  attend  I — ^^'o^^chsafe  my  prayer 

I  must  obey:  his  art  ici  of  such  power,         [»Jsi<fe.!Mav  know,  if  you  remain  upon  tliis  island  ; 
It  would  control  my  dam's  god,  Setebos,  j  And  that  you  win  some  good  instruction  give, 

And  make  a  vassal  of  him.  I  How  I  may  bear  me  here  :  my  prime  request, 

■'''''•  So,  slave  ;  hsnce  !      Which  I  do  lust  pronounce,  is,  O  you  ivonder' 

[Krit  Caliban.  'If  vou  be  maid,  or  no  ? 

...       I    Mira.  No  wonder,  sir : 

and  singing;  jjut,  ceilainly  a  maid. 


JU-tnter  Ariel,  invisible,  playins. 

Ferdinand  following  him. 


ARIEL'S  SONG. 

Come  tm/o  these  yellow  sands, 
mind  then  take  hands  : 


(1)  Fairies. 


(2)  Destroy. 


Fer.  My  language  ?  heavens 

I  am  the  best  of  them  that  speak  this  speech. 
Were  I  but  where  'tis  spoken. 

Pro.  How!  the  best? 

What  wert  thoa,  if  the  king  of  Naples  heard  theo  1 


(3)  St:il,  silent. 


(4)  Owns. 


TEMPEST. 


Fef.  A  lingle  thing,  u  I  am  now,  that  wonders 
To  hear  thee  speak  oT  Naples :  he  does  hear  me ; 
And,  that  he  does,  I  weep  :  myself  am  Naples  ; 
Who  with  mine  eyes,  ne'er  since  at  ebb,  beheld 
The  king  my  father  wreck'd. 

J\Iira.  Alack,  for  mercy  ! 

Fer.  Yes,  faith,  and  all  his  lords ;  the  duke  of 
Milan 
And  his  brave  son,  being  t^vain. 

Pro.  The  duke  of  Milan, 

And  his  more  braver  daughter,  could  control'  thee. 
If  now  it  were  fit  to  do  'L    At  the  first  sight 

Inside. 
They  have  chang'd  eves : — Delicate  Ariel, 
I'll  set  thee  free  for  this ! — A  word,  good  sir ; 
I  fear,  you  have  done  yourself  some  wrong :  a  word. 

J^Iira.  Why  speaks  my  father  so  ungently  ?    Tliis 
Is  the  third  man  that  ere  I  saw ;  the  nrst 
That  ere  I  sigli'd  for :  pity  move  my  father 
To  be  inclin'd  my  way  • 

Fer.  '       '         O,  if  a  virgin. 

And  your  afiection  not  gone  forth,  I'll  make  you 
The  queen  of  Naples. 

Pro.  Soft,  sir ;  one  word  more. — 

They  are  both  in  cither's  powers :  but  this  swift 

business 
I  must  uneasy  make,  lest  too  liglit  winning  [.>3strfe. 
Make  the  prize  light. — One  word  more ;  1  charge 

thee. 
That  thou  attend  me :  thou  dost  here  usurp 
The  name  thou  ow'st  not :  and  hast  put  thyself 
Upon  this  island,  as  a  spy,  to  win  it 
From  me,  the  lord  on't. 

Fer.  No,  as  I  am  a  man. 

Mira.  There's  nothing  ill  can  dwell  in  such  a 
temple : 
If  the  ill  spirit  have  so  fair  a  house, 
Good  things  will  strive  to  dwell  with  't. 

Pro.  Follow  me.—    [To  Ferd. 

Speak  not  you  for  him  ;  he's  a  traitor. — Come, 
I'll  manacle  thy  neck  and  feet  together  : 
Sea-water  shall  thou  drink,  thy  food  shall  be 
The  fresh-brook  muscles,  witheV'd  roots,  and  husks. 
Wherein  the  acorn  cradled.    Follow. 

Fer.  No ; 

I  will  resist  such  entertainment,  till 
Mine  enemy  has  more  power.  [He  draws. 

J^ira.  O  dear  father. 

Make  not  too  rash  a  trial  of  him,  for 
He's  gentle,  and  not  fearful.^ 

Pro.  -  What,  I  say. 

My  foot  my  tutor ! — ^Put  tliy  sword  up,  traitor ; 
Who  mak'st  a  show,  but  dar'st  not  strike,  thy 

conscience 
Is  so  possess'd  with  guilt :  come  from  thy  ward ;' 
For  I  can  here  disarm  tliee  with  this  stict, 
And  make  thy  weapon  drop. 

J^Iira.  Beseech  you,  father ! 

Pro.  Hence  ;  hang  not  on  my  garments. 

Mira.  Sir,  have  pity ; 

I'll  be  his  surety. 

Pro.  Silence :  one  word  more 

Shall  make  me  chide  thee,  if  not  hate  thee.  What ! 
An  advocate  for  an  impostor?   hush  ! 
Thou  think'st,  there  are  no  more  such  shapes  as  he, 
Having  seen  but  him  and  Caliban :  foolish  wench  I 
To  the  most  of  men  this  is  a  Caliban, 
And  they  to  him  are  angels. 

Mira.  My  affections 

Are  then  most  humble ;  I  have  no  ambition 
To  see  a  goodlier  man. 


<1)  Confute.       (2)  Frightful.       (3)  Guard. 


^ctU, 


Pro.  Come  on:  obey: 

[To  Ferd. 
Thy  nerves  are  in  their  infancy  again, 
And  have  no  vigour  in  them. 

Fer.  So  they  are : 

My  spirits,  as  in  a  dream,  are  all  bound  up. 
My  father's  loss,  the  weakness  which  I  feel. 
The  wreck  of  all  my  friends,  or  this  man's  threats. 
To  whom  I  am  subdued,  are  but  light  to  me. 
Might  I  but  through  my  prison,  once  a  day, 
Behold  this  maid :  all  corners  else  o'  the  earth 
Let  liberty  make  use  of;  space  enough 
Have  I  in  such  a  prison. 

Pro.  It  works ; — Come  on.— 

Thou  hast  done  well,  fine  Ariel ! — Follow  me. — 

[To  Ferd.  and  Mira. 

Hark,  what  thou  else  shalt  do  me.  [To  Ariel. 

Mira.  Be  of  comfort, 

My  father's  of  a  better  nature,  sir. 
Than  he  appears  by  speech ;  this  is  unwonted, 
Which  now  came  from  him. 

Pro.  Thou  shalt  be  as  firM 

As  mountain  winds :  but  then  exactly  do 
All  points  of  my  command. 

^ri.  To  the  syllable. 

Pro.  Come,  follow :  speak  not  for  him.  [Extunt, 


ACT  II. 


SCEJSTE  I.— knottier  part  of  the  island.  Enter 
Alonso,  Sebastian,  Antonio,  Gonzalo,  Adrian, 
Francisco,  and  others. 

Gon.    'Beseech  you,  su-,  be  merry:  you  haira 
cause 
(So  have  we  all)  of  joy ;  for  our  escape 
Is  much  beyond  our  loss :  our  hint  of  wo 
Is  common  ;  every  day,  some  sailor's  wife. 
The  masters  of  some  merchant,  and  the  merchant. 
Have  just  our  theme  of  wo :  but  for  the  miracle, 
I  mean  our  preservation,  few  in  millions 
Can  spealc  like  us:  then  wisely,  good  sir,  weigh 
Our  sorrow  with  our  comfort. ' 

^^Im.  Pr'vthee,  peace. 

Seb.  He  receives  comfort  like  cold  porridge. 

Jlnt,  The  visitor  tvill  not  give  him  o'er  so. 

Seb.  Look,  he's  winding  up  the  watch  of  his  wit ; 
bv  and  bv  it  will  strike. 

Gon.  Sir. 

Seb.  One: Tell. 

Goji.  When  every  grief  is  entertain'd,that's  oflTer'd, 
Comes  to  the  entertainer — 
-  Seb.  A  dollar. 

Go»i.  Dolour  comes  to  him,  indeed ;  you  have 
spoken  truer  than  you  proposed. 

Seb.  You  have  taken  it  wiselier  than  I  meant 
you  should. 

Gon.  Therefore,  my  lord, — 

»?nf .  Fie,  what  a  spendthrift  is  he  of  his  tongue ! 

..ilon.  I  pr'ythee,  spare. 

Gon.  Wellj  I  have  done :  but  yet— 

Seb.  He  will  be  talking. 

j3uf.  Which  of  them,  he,  or  Adrian,  for  a  good 
wager,  first  begins  to  crow  ? 

Beb.  The  old  cock. 

Jinl.  Thecockrel. 

Seb.  Done :  the  wagfer  ? 

^nt,  A  laughter. 

Seb.  A  match. 

Mr.  Though  this  island  seem  to  be  desert,— 


Scene  II. 


TEMPEST. 


13 


Seb.  Ha,  ha,  ha!  I    Mm.  You  cram  these  words  into  mine  ears, 

winT.  So,  you've  pay'd.  |               against 

Mr.  Uninhabitable,  and  almost  inaccessible, —  j  The  stomach  of  my  sense :  'would  I  had  never 

Seb.  Yet,  j  Married  mv  daughter  there  !  for,  coming  thence, 

.idr.  Yet —  Mv  son  is  lost ;  and,  in  my  rate,  she  too, 

Ant.  He  could  not  mks  it.  \\'ho  is  so  far  from  Italy  remov'd, 

ddr.  It  must  needs  be  of  subtle,  tender,  and '  I  ne'er  again  shall  see  her.     0  thou  mine  heir 


delicate  temperance. ' 

*inl.  Temperance  was  a  delicate  wench. 

iieb.  Ay,  and  a  subtle  ;  as  he  most  learnedly  de- 
livered. 

,idr.  The  airbreathes  upon  us  here  most  sweetly. 

Seb.  As  if  it  had  lunsrs,  and  rotten  ones. 

Jlnt,  Or,  as  'twere  perfumed  by  a  fen. 

Gon.  Here  is  every  thintr  advantageous  to  life. 

*i)it.  True ;  save  means  to  live. 

Seb.  Of  that  there's  none,  or  little. 

Gon.  How  lush*  and  lusty  the  grass  looks !  how 
green ! 

tint.  The  ground,  indeed,  is  tawny. 

Seb.  With  an  eye'  of  green  in't. 

.3/l^  He  misses  not  much. 

Seb.  No ;  he  doth  but  mistake  the  truth  totally. 

Gon.  But  the  raritv  of  it  is  (-which  is,  indeed,  al- 
most beyond  credit — ^ 


Of  Naples  and  of  Milan,  what  strange  fish 
Hath  made  his  meal  on  thee ! 

Fran,  Sir.  he  may  live ; 

I  saw  him  beat  the  surges  tmder  him. 
And  ride  upon  their  backs  ;  he  trod  the  water, 
Whose  enmity  he  flun^;  aside,  and  breasted 
The  sur^e  most  swoln  that  met  him :    his  bold 

head 
'Bove  the  contentious  waves  he  kept,  and  oar'd 
Himself  willi  his  goo<l  anns.in  lusty  stroke 
To  the  sliore,  that  o'er  his  wave-worn  basis  bow'd 
As  stoopinsc  to  relieve  him.    I  not  doubt, 
He  came  alive  to  land. 

tilon.  No,  no,  he's  gone. 

Seb.  Sir,  you  may  thank  yourself  for  this  great 
loss ; 
That  would  not  bless  our  Europe  with  your  daugh^ 

ter, 
But  rather  lose  her  to  an  African ; 


Seb.  x\s  many  vouch'd  rarities  are. 

Gon.  That  our  garments,  being-,  as  they  were,  Where  she,  at  least,  is  banbh'd  from  your  eye, 
drenched  in  the  sea,  holdj  notwithstanding,  theirj  Who  hath  cause  to  wet  the  |riefon't.' 
freshnessj  and  (flosses  ;  bemg  rather  new  dy'd,  than      ^Hon.  Pr'ytnee,  peace, 

itain'd  with  salt  water.         ".  |     Seb.  Yon    were   kneel'd    to,    and   importun'd 

.2-1/.  If  but  one  of  his  pockets  could  speak,  would :  otherwise 

it  not  sav,  He  lies  ?  j  By  all  of  us  ;  and  the  fair  soul  herself 

Seb.  .\y,  or  verj-  falsely  pocket  up  his  report.      |\V'eigh'd,  between  lothness  and  obedience,  at 

Gon.  Methinks^  our  garments  are  now  as  fresh  pMiich  end  n'  the  beam  she'd  bow.     We  nave  lost 
as  when  we  put  them  on  first  in  .\fric,  at  the  mar- 1  your  son, 

riase  of  the  king's  fair  daughter  Claribel  to  the  king  I  fear,  for  ever :  Milan  and  Naples  have 
of  Tunis.  "  ,-More  widows  in  them  of  this  business'  making, 

Seb.  'Twas  a  sweet  marriage,  and  we  prosper! Than  we  bring  men  to  comfort  them:  the  fault's 
well  in  our  return.  "  Your  own. 

Mr.  Tunis  was  never  grac'd  before  with  such  a !    ^^lon.  So  is  tlie  dearest  of  the  loss 


paragon  to  their  queen. 

Gon.  Not  since  widow  Dido's  time, 

.int.  Widow?  a  pox  o'  that!  how  come  that 
widow  in  ?  Widow  Dido ! 

Seb.  What  if  he  had  said,  %ridower  iEneas  too  ? 
good  lord,  how  you  take  it ! 

.idr.  Widow  "Dido,  said  you?  you  make  me 
study  of  that:  she  was  of  Ciirthaire',  not  of  Tunis. 

Gon.  This  Tunis,  sir,  was  Carthage. 

Mr.  Carthage? 

Gon.  I  assure  you,  Carthage. 

Mt.  His  word  is  more  than  the  miraculous  harp. 

Seb.  He  hath  rais'd  the  wall,  and  houses  too. 

Mt.  What  impossible  matter  will  he  make  easy 
next  ? , 

Seb.  I  think  he  will  carrv  this  island  home  in  his 


Gon.  Ttlv  lord  Sebastian, 

The  truth  you  speak  doth  lack  some  gentleness, 
.\nd  time  to  speak  it  in  :  you  rub  the  sore, 
^Vhen  you  should  bring  the  plaster. 

Seb.  Very  well. 

.int.  x\nd  most  chirurgeonly. 

Gon.  It  is  foul  weather  in  us  all,  good  sir, 
AMien  you  arc  cloudy. 

Self).  Foul  weather  ? 

tint.  Very  foul. 

Gon.  Had  I  a  plantation  of  this  isle,  my  lord,— 

Mt.  He'd  sow  it  with  nettle-seed. 

Seb.  Or  docks,  or  mallows, 

Gon.  And  were  the  king  of  it.  What  would  I  do  ? 

Seb.  'Scape  being  drunk,  for  want  of  wine. 

Gon.  I'  the  commonwealth  I  would  bv  contraries 
Execute  all  thinsrs :  lor  no  kind  of  tratf.c 


pocket,  and  give  it  his  son  for  an  apple. 
Mt.  .\nd,  sowing  the  kernels  of  it  in  the  sea, '  Would  I  admit  ;"no  name  of  magistrate  ; 

bring  forth  more  blands.  j  Letters  should  not  be  known  ;  no  use  of  service, 

Gon.  x\v?  |0f  riches  or  of  poverty ;  no  contracts, 

Mt.  Why,  in  good  time.  j  Successions;  boundof  land,  tilth,  vineyard,  none 

Goti.  Sir,  we  were  talking,  that  our  garments  No  use  of  metal,  corn,  or  wine,  or  oil: 

seem  now  as  fresh,  as  when  we  were  at  Tunis,  at  the  No  occupation ;  all  men  idle,  all ; 

marriage  of  your  daughter,  who  is  now  queen. 


Mt.  And  the  rarest  that  e'er  came  there 
Seb.  'BatCj  I  beseech  you,  widow  Dido. 
^nt.  O,  widow  Dido  ;  av.  widow  Dido. 
Gon.  Is  not,  sir,  my  doublet  as  fresh  as  the  first 
dav  I  wore  it  ?    I  mean,  in  a  sort.* 
Mt.  That  sort  was  well  fish'd  for. 
Gon.  When  I  woreitatyour  daughter'smarriage? 

(1)  Tci&ixrehtre.  (3)  Rank.  (3)  Shade  of  colour. 


x\nd  women  too ;  but  innocent  and  pure : 
No  sovereignty : — 

Stb.  '       And  yet  he  woidd  be  king  on't. 

.int.  The  latter  end  of  his  commonwealth  for«. 
gets  the  beginning. 

Goji.  x\ll  things  in  common  nature  should  produce 
Without  sweat  or  endeavour :  treason,  felony. 
Sword,  pike,  knife,  gun,  or  need  of  any  engine,* 

(4)  Degree  or  qaalitjr,       (5)  The  rack. 


^d  n. 


Whiles  thou  art  waking. 
Htb.  Th 


Heb.  Thou  dost  snore  distinctly ; 

There's  meaning  in  thy  sn6res. 

Ant.  I  am  more  serious  than  my  custom :  you 
Must  be  so  too,  if  heed  me ;  which  to  do, 
lYebles  thee  o'er. 

Hth.  Well ;  I  am  standing  water. 

Jint.  I'll  teach  you  how  to  flow. 

Htb.  Do  so :  to  ebb 


0, 


Would  I  not  have :  but  nature  should  bring  forth, 
Of  its  own  kind,  all  foizon,'  all  abundance, 
To  feed  my  innocent  people. 

Stb.  No  marrying 'mons;  his  subjects  ? 

Jlnl.  None,  man  ;  all  idle  ;  whores  and  knaves. 

Gon.  I  would  with  such  perfection  govern,  sir, 
To  excel  the  golden  age. 

Seh.  'Save  hb  majesty  • 

.^Jit.  Long  live  Gonzalo !  tt      j-.         i  .t.  •    .      » 

Gen.  And,  do  vou  mark  me,  sir  ?_i  Hereditary  sloth  mstrucU  me 

.^/<»i.  Pr'vthee,  no  more : 'Thou  dost  talk  no-  .-^ftf.  '    „„„v,„,:.v. 

thing  to  me  If  you  but  knew,  how  you  the  purpose  cherish, 

Cm.  1  do  well  believe  vour  highness  ;  and  did  ^Vhiles  thus  you  mock  it !  how,  in  stripping  it, 
it  to  minister  occasion  to  these  gentlemen,  who  are  >ou  more  invest  it!  Ebbing  men,  indeed, 
Of  such  sensAle  and  nimble  hm-s,  that  the  v  alwavs  Most  ol.eu  do  so  near  the  bottom  run, 
use  to  laugh  at  nothing.  '  '  ^>'c>'?'=""  *'*'"  ^'''■'  *""  ^^''^'  p  ,  ,k  „  „„  . 

.int.  'Twas  vou  welaugh'd  at.  \^^b.  Vl^^'     ^i 

G<ni.  Who,  "in  this  kind  of  merrr  foolina;,  am!  f  he  settmg  of  thme  eye,  and  cheek,  proclaim 
nothing  to  vou  :  so  you  may  continue,  and  laugh  A  matter  Irom  thee  ;  ui.d  a  birth,  mdeed, 
at  nothing  still.  U hich  throes  Uiec  much  to  yield.  ^^^  ^ 

.int.  What  a  blow  was  there  eivcn : 

Heb.  An  it  had  not  fallen  flat-long. 

G<m.  You  arc  gentlemen  of  brave  mettle ;  you 
•would  lift,  the  moon  out  of  her  sphere,  if  she  would 
continue  in  it  five  weeks  without  changing. 

Etxttr  Ariel,  invisihle,  playing  solemn  music. 

Seb.  We  would  so,  and  then  ^o  a  bat-fowling. 

.int.  Nay,  good  my  lord,  be  not  angry. 

Gon.  No,  I  warrant  you:  I  mil  not  adventure 
my  discretion  so  weakly.'  Will  you  laugh  me  asleep, 
for  I  am  very  heavy  ? 

.4jU.  Gro  sleep,  and  hear  ns. 

(.ill  sleep  hit  Alon.  Seb.  and  Ant. 

•«.  What,  all  so  soon  asleep !  I  wish  mine  eyes 

Vi  .j.u,  with  themselves,  shut  up  my  thoughts:  I 

find, 
They  are  inclined  to  do  so. 

Seb.  Please  you,  sir, 

Do  not  omit  the  heavy  offer  of  it : 
It  seldom  visits  sorrow ;  ivhcn  it  doth. 
It  is  a  comforter. 

.int.  We  two,  my  lord. 

Will  guard  your  person,  while  you  take  your  rest. 
And  watch  your  safetv. 

.ilon.       '  Thank  you :  wondrous  heavy. 

[Alonso  sleeps.    Exit  Ariel. 

Seb.  What  a  strange  drowsiness  possesses  them ! 

.int.  It  is  the  quality  o'  the  climate. 

Seb.  Whv 

Doth  it  not  then  our  eye-lids  sink  ?    I  find  not 
Myself  dispos'd  to  sleep. 

.int.  Nor  I ;  my  s]nrits  are  niml)le 

They  fell  together  all,  as  hv  consent ; 
They  dropp'd,  as  by  a  thunder-stroke.  ^Miat  might, 
Worthv  Sebastian? — O,  what  might  ? — No  more: — 
And  yet  methinks,  I  see  it  in  thy  face, 
What  thou  should'st  be :  the  occasion  speaks  thee ; 

and 
My  strong  imagination  sees  a  crown 
Dropping  upon  thy  head. 

Seb.  What,  art  thou  waking? 

.int.  Do  you  not  hear  me  speak  ?        • 

Seh.  I  do ;  and,  surely, 

It  is  a  sleepy  language ;  and  thou  speak'st 
Out  of  thy  sleep  :  what  is  it  thou  didst  say? 
This  is  a  strange  repose,  to  be  asleep 
With  eyes  wide  open ;  standing,  speaking,  moving, 
And  yet  so  fast  asleep. 

w3n/.  Noble  Sebastian, 

Thou  let'st  UiT  fortune  sleep— die  rather ;  ■wir.k'st 


hit.  Thus,  sir ; 

Although  this  lord  of  weak  remembrance,  tliis 
(Who  shall  be  of  as  little  memorv. 
When  he  is  carth'd,)  hath  here  almost  persuaded 
(For  he's  a  spirit  of  persuasion  only,) 
The  king,  his  son's  alive  ;  'tis  as  impossible 
That  he's  undrown'd,  as  he  that  sleeps  here  swims . 

Seb,  I  have  no  hope 
That  he's  undrown'd. 

int.  O,  out  of  that  no  hope. 

What  great  hope  have  you  !  no  hope,  that  way,  is 
Another  way  so  high  a  hope,  that  even 
Ambition  cannot  pierce  a  wink  beyond. 
But  doubts  discovery  there.    Will'  you  grant,  with 

me. 
That  Ferdinand  is  drown'd  ? 

Sib.  He's  gone. 

.int.  Then,  tell  me, 

Who's  the  next  heir  of  Naples  ? 

Seb.  Claribel. 

^nt.  She  that  is  queen  of  Tunis ;  she  that  dwells 
Ten  leagues  beyond  man's  life;  she  that  from  Naples 
Can  have  no  note,  unless  the  sun  were  post, 
(The  man  i' the  moon's  too  slow,)  till  new-born  chins  ^ 
Be  rough  and  razorable :  she,  Irom  whom 
We  were  all  sea-swallowed, though  some  cast  again; 
And,  by  that,  destin'd  to  perform  an  act. 
Whereof  what's  past  is  prologue ;  what  to  come, 
In  yours  and  mv  discharge. 

Seb.  What  stuff  is  this  ? — How  sav  you  ? 

'Tis  true,  mv  brother's  daughter's  queen  of  I'unis  ; 
So  is  she  heir  of  Naples;  'twixt  which  regions 
There  is  some  space. 

.int.  A  space  whose  every  cubit 

Seems  to  cry  out.  How  shall  that  Claribel 
Measure  u.i  back  to  Jsi'aples  ? — Keep  in  Tunk, 
And  let  Sebastian  wake ! — Say,  this  were  death 
That  now  hath  seiz'd  them ;  %vhy,  they  were  no 

■worse 
Than  now  they  are :  there  be,  that  can  rule  Na- 
ples, 
As  well  as  he  that  sleeps ;  lords,  that  can  prate 
As  amplv,  and  unnecessarily. 
As  this  Gonzalo ;  I  myself  could  make 
A  chough*  of  as  deep  chat.     O,  that  you  bore 
The  mind  that  I  do !  what  a  sleep  were  this 
For  vour  advancement !  Do  you  understand  me? 

Seb.  Methinks  I  do. 

.int.  And  how  does  your  content 

Tender  your  own  good  fortune  ? 

Seb,  I  remember, 


(1)  Plenty, 


[•)  A  bircl  of  the  jack-daw  kind* 


Scene  U. 


TEMPEST. 


IS 


You  did  supplant  your  brother  Prospero.  ;  Formy  poor  son.  .1.  ,.t.«.  ♦  , 

"jiU        i'f        ■'  ^  True:  I     Gon.         Heavens  Jceep  him  from  these  beasts ! 

And  look,  how  well  my  garments  sit  upon  me ;       ;For  he  is,  sure,  i'  the  bland. 
Much  feater  than  before :  my  brother's  ser>  ants         Mon.  .     ,    l^ead  away. 


Were  then  mv  fellows,  now  they  are  my  men, 
Seb.  But,  for  your  conscience- 


Ari,  Prospero  my  lord  shall  Imow  what  I  hare 
done :  \.^side. 


%ii.  Ay^sir;  'wherriies'thar?  if  it  were  a  kibe,' So,  king,  go  safely  on  to  seek  thy  son.      [Exeunt. 

'Twould  put  me  to  my  sUpper ;  but  1  feel  not         j  gcEJ^E  Il.—Jinolher  part  of  the  Island.    Enter 

This  deity  in  my  bosom :  twenty  consciences,  .      r       .-/        .        ,       . 

That  stand  'twixt  me  and  Milan,  candied  be  they, 

And  melt,  ere  they  molest !  Here  lies  your  brother, 

No  better  than  the  earth  he  lies  upon, 

If  he  were  that  which  now  he's  like ;  whom  I, 

With  this  obedient  steel,  three  inches  of  it. 

Can  lay  to  bed  forever:  whiles  you,  doing  thus, 

To  the  perpetual  wink  for  aye'  might  put 


Caliban,  xcith  a  burden  of  wood.     A  noise  of 
thunder  heard. 

Cal.  All  the  infections  that  the  sun  sucks  up 
From  bogs,  fens,  flats,  on  Prosper  fall,  and  make 

him 
i  By  inch-meal  a  disease !  His  spirits  hear  me, 
I  And  yet  1  needs  must  curse.    But  they'll  nor  pinch. 


This  ancient  morsel,  this  sir  Prudence,  who  j  Fright  me  with  urchin  shows,  pitch  me  i'  the  mire, 

Should  not  upbraid  our  course.     For  all  the  rest,  iis'or  lead  me,  like  a  tire-brand,  in  the  dark, 
Thev'U  take  suggestion,"  as  a  cat  laps  milk ;  jOut  of  my  way,  unless  he  bid  them  ;  but 

They'll  tell  thc^clock  to  any  business  that  •  jFor  every  tritl'e  are  thev  set  upon  me : 

We  "say  berits  the  hour.  j  Sometimes  like  apes,  that  moe^  and  chatter  at  me, 

Seb.  Thy  case,  dear  friend,  And  after,  bhe  me ;  then  like  hedge-hoirs,  which 

Shall  be  my  precedent;  as  thou  got'st  Milan,        iLie  tumbling  in  my  bare-foot  way,  and  mount 
rU  come  by  Naples.     Draw  thy  sword :  one  sirokejTheir  pricks  at  my  foot-fall ;  sometime  am  I 
Shall  free  thee  from  the  tribute  wliich  thou  pay'st;lAll  wound  with  adders,  who,  with  cloven  tongues, 
And  I  the  king  shall  love  thee.  Do  hiss  me  into  madness ; — Lo  I  noAv !  lo ! 

.4«(.  Draw  together : 

And  when  1  rear  mv  hand,  do  you  the  like,  Enter  Trincido. 

To  fall  it  on  Gonzalo.  ^.  •  •.    <•  u-  1 .   . 

Seb.  O,  but  one  word.  Here  comes  a  spu-it  of  his :  and  to  torment  me, 

IThey  converse  apart.  I^or  brin'^nig  wood  in  slowly ;  I'll  fall  flat ; 


Xusic.    Re-enter  Ariel,  invisible. 


;Perchance  he  will  not  mind  me. 

Trin.  Here's  neither  bush  nor  shrub,  to  bear  off 

or 


_  ,    *  ,      '  ,       ' .    .'■        ^  ,  ..    i  any  weather  at  all,  and  another  storm  brewinjf;  I 

Ari.    My  master  through  his  art  foresees  the  ^ear  it  suig  i'  the  wind:  vond'  same  black  cloud. 


danger 

That  these,  his  friendsj  are  in ;  and  sends  me  forth, 
(For  else  his  project  die?,)  to  keep  them  living. 

[Sink's  in  Gonzalo's  ear. 

While  you  here^dc  snoring  lie, 
Open^ey'd  Conxpiracv 

His  time  doth  take  : 
If  of  life  you  keep  a  care, 
iiliake  off  slumber,  and  bereave  : 

»iwake !  awake ! 

.int.  Then  let  us  both  be  sudden. 

Gon.  Now,  good  angels,  preserve  the  king ! 


yond'  huge  one,  looks  like  a  foul  bumbard*  that 
'would  shed  his  liquor.  If  it  should  thunder,  as  it 
did  before,  I  knou-  not  where  to  hide  mv  head : 
yond'  same  cloud  cannot  choose  but  fall  "by  pail- 
tuls. — ^What  have  we  here?  a  man  or  a  fish? 
Dead  or  alive?  A  fish:  he  smells  like  a  fish;  a 
very  ancient  and  fish-like  smell ;  a  kind  ol',  not  of 
the  newest.  Poor  John.  A  strange  fish !  Were  I 
in  England  now,  (as  once  I  was,^  and  had  this  fish 
painted,  not  a  holiday  fool  there  but  woidd  five  a. 
piece  ot*  silver:  there  would  this  monster  make  a 
man ;  ;;ny  stranire  beast  there  makes  a  man :  when 
they  will  not  give  a  doit  to  relieve  a  lame  beggar, 


[They  tcakf.  Ithey  -jvill  lay  out  ten  to  see  a  dead  Indian.    Le^g'd 

Alon.  ^^Xv,  hownowjho!  awake!  Why  areyouiUke  a  man!  and  his  fins  like  arms!  Warm,  o'  my 

drawn?  Itroth!     I  do  now  let  loose  my  opinion,  bold  it  no 

Wherefore  this  ghastly  looking?  lont'cr;  this  is  no  fish,  but  an  islander,  tiiat  halh 

Gon.  '  What's  the  mattcr?jl;itelyst!ffercd  by  a  thunderbolt.  [T/jKTw/er.]  Alas! 

Seb.  Wliiles  we  stood  here  sect:ring your  repose,! the  storm  is  come  agahi :  my  best  way  is  lo  creep 
Even  now,  we  heard  a  hollow  burst  of  bellowing  under  his  gaberdine;^  there  is  no  other  shelter 
Like  bulls,  or  rather  lions ;  did  it  not  wake  you  ?  Ihereabout:  misery  acquaints  a  man  with  strange 
It  struck  mine  ear  mobt  terribly.  !  bed-fellows.    I  will  here  shroud,  till  the  dregs  of 

.3/0/1.  I  heard  nothing.  Itlic  storm  be  past. 

Ant.  O, 'twas  a  din  to  fright  a  monster's  enr;  j 
To  make  an  earthquake!  sure  it  was  tlic  roar  j 
Of  a  whole  herd  of  lions.  j 

Mon.  Heard  vou  this,  Gonzalo  ?| 

Gon,  Upon  mine  honour,  sfr,  I  heard  a  hum- 

And  that  a  strange  one  too,  which  did  a«-ake  me :  i^ell,  here's  my  comfort 


Enter  Sfephano,  singiti^;  a  bottle  in  his  hand, 

Stc.  /  shall  HO  wiore  to  aea,  lo  sea, 

Here  shall  I  die  ashore ; — 

This  is  a  very  scurvv-  tunc  to  sing  at  a  man's  funeral : 

[Drinks, 


1  shak'd  you,  sir,  and  crj-'d  ;  as  mine  eyes  opon'd, 
I  saw  their  weapons  drawn : — there  was  a  noise. 
That's  verity :  'best  stand  upon  our  gTiard ; 
Or  that  we  quit  this  place :  let's  draw  our  weapons. 
Mon.  Lead  olTthis  ground ;  and  let's  make  fur- 
ther search 


(1)  Ever. 

(3)  Make  mouths, 


^2)  .\nj'  hint. 


The  master,  the  svuhbtr,  the  hoaststcaiA,  and  I, 

The  srunner,  and  hi<i  mate, 
Jj}V^d  J^Intl,  JV/e^--,  and  Marian,  and  Margery, 
But  Jiwe  of  us  enr't/  for  Kate  : 
For  she  had  a  tong^ie  with  a  tang, 
Wmdd  cry  to  a  sailor.  Go,  hang : 

(4)  A  black  jack  of  leather,  to  hold  beer^ 
{b)  The  fiocu  of  a  peasant. 


Id 


TEMPEST. 


Jict  0. 


She  lov^d  not  the  savour  oftarMor  of  pitch, 

Yet  a  tcdlor  might  scratch  her  wherever  she  did  itch : 

Then  to  sea,  boys,  and  let  her  go  hang. 
This  is  a  scurry  tune  too :  but  here's  my  comfort. 

[Drinks. 

Cal.  Do  not  torment  me ;  O ! 

Ste.  What's  the  matter  ?  Have  we  devils  here  ? 
Do  you  put  tricks  upon  us  with  savages,  and  men  of 
Inde?'  Ha!  I  have  not 'scap'd  drowning,  to  be 
afeardnow  of  your  four  legs ;  for  it  hath  been  said, 
As  proper  a  man  as  ever  went  on  four  le^s,  cannot 
make  him  give  ground :  and  it  shall  be  said  so  again 
while  Stephano  breathes  at  nostrils. 

Cal.  The  spirit  torments  me :  O  ! 

Ste.  This  is  some  monster  of  the  isle,  with  four 
legs  •  who  hath  got,  as  I  take  it,  an  asrue :  where 
the  aevil  should  he  learn  our  language?  1  will  give 
him  some  relief,  if  it  be  but  for  that :  if  I  can  reco- 
ver him,  and  keep  him  tame,  and  get  to  Naples  with 
him,  he's  a  present  for  any  emperor  that  ^ver  trod 
on  neat's  leather.  ' 

Cal.  Do  not  torment  me,  pr'ythee ; 
I'll  brin^  my  wood  home  faster. 

Sle.  He's  in  his  fit  now ;  and  does  not  talk  after 
the  wisest.  He  shall  taste  of  my  bottle :  if  he  have 
never  drunk  wine  afore,  it  will  go  near  to  remove 
his  fit :  if  I  can  recover  him,  and  keep  him  tame^  I 
will  not  take  too  much  for  him :  he  shall  pay  for  hun 
that  hath  him,  and  that  soundlv. 

Cal.  Thou  dost  me  yet  but  fittle  hurt ;  thou  wilt 
Anon,  I  know  it  by  thy  trembling: 
How  Prosper  works  upon  thee. 

Ste.  Come  on  your  ways;  open  your  mouth; 
here  is  that  which  will  give  language  to  you,  cat : 
open  your  mouth  :  this  will  shake  your  shaking,  I 
can  tell  you,  and  that  soundly :  you  cannot  tell 
who's  your  friend :  open  your  chaps  again. 

Trin.  I  sliould  know  that  voice  :  it  should  be — 
but  he  is  drowned ;  and  these  are  devils :  O !  de- 
fend me! — 

Ste.  Four  legs,  and  two  voices  ;  a  most  delicate 
monster !  His  forward  voice  now  is  to  speak  well 
of  his  friend ;  his  backward  voice  is  to  utter  foul 
speeches,  and  to  detract.  If  all  the  wine  in  my  bot- 
tle will  recover  him,  I  will  help  his  ague :  come, 

Amen !  I  will  pour  some  in  thy  other  mouth. 

Trin.  Stephano, — 

Ste.  Doth  thy  other  mouth  call  me?  Mercy! 
mercy !  this  is  a  devil,  and  no  monster :  I  will  leave 
him  ;  I  have  no  long  spoon. 

Trin.  Stephano ! — if  thou  beest  Stephano,  touch 
me,  and  speak  to  me ;  for  I  am  Trinculo ; — be  not 
afeard, — thy  good  friend  Trinculo. 

Ste.  If  thou  beest  Trinculo,  come  forth  ;  I'll  pull 
thee  by  the  lesser  legs :  if  any  be  Trincuio's  legs, 
these  are  they.  Thou  art  very  Trinculo,  indeed  : 
how  cam'st  thou  to  be  the  siege*  of  tliis  moon-cedf  ? 
Can  he  vent  Trinculos? 

Trin.  I  took  him  to  be  kill'd  with  a  thunder- 
stroke:— But  art  thou  not  drowned,  Stephano?  I 
hope  now,  thou  art  not  drowned.  Is  the  storm 
over-blown  !  I  hid  me  under  the  dead  moon-calPs 
gaberdine,  for  fear  of  the  storm :  and  art  thou  living, 
Stephano  ?  O  Stephano,  two  Neapolitans  'scap'd ! 

Ste.  Pr'ythee,  do  not  turn  me  about ;  my  stomach 
is  not  constant. 

Cal.  These  be  fine  tlyn^s,  an  if  they  be  not  sprites. 
That's  a  brave  god,  and  bears  celestial  Uquor : 
I  will  kneel  to  him. 

Ste.  How  didst  thou 'scape?  How  cam'st  thou 
hither?  swear  by  this  bottle,  how  thou  cam'st  hither. 

(1)  India.     (3)  Stool,     (3}  Sea-gtdls. 


I  escap'd  upon  a  butt  of  sack,  which  the  sailors 
heav'd  over-board,  by  this  bottle !  which  I  made  of 
the  bark  of  a  tree,  with  mine  own  hands,  since  I 
was  cast  a-shore. 

Cal.  I'll  swear,  upon  that  bottle,  to  be  thy 
True  subject ;  for  the  liquor  is  not  earthly. 

Ste.  Here ;  swear  then  how  thou  escap'dst. 

Trin.  Swam  a-shore,  man,  like  a  duck ;  I  can 
swim  like  a  duck,  I'll  be  sworn. 

Ste.  Here,  kiss  the  book :  though  thou  canst  swim 
like  a  duck,  that  art  made  like  a  goose. 

Trin.  O  Stephano,  hast  any  more  of  this? 

Ste.  The  whole  butt,  man ;  my  cellar  is  in  a  rock 
by  tjhe  sea-side,  where  my  wine  is  hid.  How  now, 
moon-calf?  How  does  thine  ague? 

Cal.  Hast  thou  not  dropped  from  heaven? 

Ste.  Out  o'  the  moon,  I  do  assure  thee :  I  was  the 
man  in  the  moon,  when  time  was. 

Cal.^  I  have  seen  thee  in  her,  and  I  do  adore  thee ; 
My  mistress  showed  me  thee,  thy  dog,  and  bush. 

Ste.  Come,  swear  to  that ;  kiss  the  bock :  I  will 
furnish  it  anon  with  new  contents  :  swear. 

Trin.  By  this  good  light,  this  is  a  very  shallow 
monster: — I  afeard  of  him  ? — a  very  weak  monster: 
— The  man  i'  the  moon  ? —  a  most  poor  credulous 
monster :— well  drawn,  monster,  in  good  sooth. 

Cal.  I'll  show  thee  every  fertile  inch  o'  the  island ; 
And  kiss  thy  foot :  I  pr'ythee,  be  my  god. 

Trin.  By  this  Ught,  a  most  perfidious  and  drunken 
monster ;  when  his  god's  asleep,  he'll^-ob  his  bottle. 

Cal.  I'll  kiss  thy  foot :  I'll  swear  myself  thy  sub- 
ject. 

Ste.  Come  on  then ;  down,  and  swear. 

Trin.  I  shall  laugh  myself  to  death  at  this  puppy- 
headed  monster :  a  most  scurvy  monster !  I  could 
find  in  my  heart  to  beat  him, — 

Ste.  Come,  kiss. 

Trin.  — but  that  the  poor  monster's  in  drink:  an 
abominable  monster ! 

Cal.  I'll  show  thee  the  best  springs ;  I'D  pluck 
thee  berries ; 
111  fish  for  thee,  and  get  thee  wood  enough. 
A  plague  upon  the  tyrant  that  I  serve ! 
I'll  bear  him  no  more  sticks,  but  follow  thee, 
Thou  wondrous  man. 

Trin.  A  most  ridiculous  monster;  to  make  a 
wonder  of  a  poor  drunkard. 

Cal.  I  pr'ythee,  let  me  bring  thee  where  crabs 
grow ; 
And  I,  with  my  long  nails,  will  dig  thee  pig-nuts ; 
Show  thee  a  jay's  nest,  and  instruct  thee  how 
To  snare  the  nimble  marmozet ;  I'll  bring  thee 
To  clust'ring  filberds,  and  sometimes  I'll  get  thee 
Young  sea-mells'  from  the  rock.  Wilt  thou  go  with 
me? 

Ste.  I  pr'ythee  now,  lead  the  way,  without  any 
more  talking. — Trinculo,  the  king  and  all  our  com- 
pany else  being  drowned,  we  will  inherit  here. — 
Here ;  bear  my  bottle :  Fellow  Trinculo,  we'll  fill 
him  by  and  by  again. 

Cal.  Farewell  master  ;  farewell,  farewell. 

[Sings  drunkenly. 
Trin.  A  howling  monster ;  a  drunken  monster. 
Cal.       J\ro  more  dams  PU  make  for  fish  ; 
J\''or  fetch  in  firing 
At  requiring, 
J^or  scrape  trenchering,  nor  wash  dish  ; 
'Ban,  'Ban,  Co— Caliban, 
Has  anew  master— Get  a  new  man. 
Freedom,  hey-day !   hey-day,  freedom :  freedom, 
hey-day,  freedom ! 
Sle,  0  brave  monster !  lead  the  way,'    [Extunt, 


iktiu  I,  n. 


TEMPEST. 


ACT  III. 


SCEJ^E  L— Before  Prospero's  cell.    Enter  Fer- 
dinand, bearing  a  log. 

Fer.  There  be  some  sports  arc  painful;   but 

tlicir  labour 
Delight  in  them  sets  ofi':  some  kinds  of  baseness 
Are  nobly  undergone ;  and  most  poor  matters 
J'oint  to  rich  ends.    This  my  mean  task  would  be 
As  heavy  to  me,  as  'tis  odious  ;  but 
The  mistress,  which  I  serv'e,  quickens  what's  dead, 
And  makes  my  labours  pleasures :  O,  she  is 
Ten  times  more  gentle  than  her  father's  crabbed  ; 
And  he's  compos'd  of  harshness.     I  must  remove 
Some  thousands  of  these  log^,  and  pile  them  up. 
Upon  a  sore  injunction  :  my  sweet  mistress 
Weeps  when  she  sees  me  work;  and  says,  such 

baseness 
Had  ne'er  like  executor.    I  forget : 
But   these   sweet  thoughts  do  even  refresh  my 

labours  ; 
Most  busy-less,  %vhen  I  do  it. 

£aier  Miranda;  and  Prospero  at  a  distance. 

Mira.  Alas,  now !  pray  you. 

Work  not  so  hard :  I  would,  the  lightning  had 
Burnt  up  those  logs,  that  you  are  enjoin'd  to  pile  ! 
Pray  set  it  down,  and  rest  you  :  when  this  burns, 
'Twill  weep  for  having  wearied  you.     My  father 
Is  hard  at  study  ;  pray  now,  rest  yoursell : 
He's  safe  for  these  three  hours. 

Fer.  O  most  dear  mistress, 

The  sun  will  set,  before  I  shall  discharge 
What  I  must  strive  to  do. 

Mira,  If  you'll  sit  down, 

I'll  bear  your  logs  the  while :  pray  give  me  that ; 
I'll  carry  it  to  the  pile. 

Fer.  No,  precious  creature  : 

I  had  rather  crack  my  sinews,  break  my  back, 
Than  you  should  such  dishonour  undergo, 
While  I  sit  lazy  by. 

Mira.      _  It  would  become  me 

As  well  as  it  does  you :  and  I  should  do  it 
With  much  more  ease ;  for  my  good  will  is  to  it, 
And  yours  against. 

Pro.  ,  w  Poor  worm !  thou  art  infected ; 

This  visitation  shows  it. 

Mira.  You  look  wearily. 

Fer.  No,  noble  mistress ;  'tis  fresh  mornmg  with 
me, 
>Vhen  you  are  by  at  night.    I  do  beseech  you 
(Chiefly,  that  I  might  »et  it  in  my  prayers,) 
What  is  your  name  ? 

Mira.  Miranda : — O  my  father, 

I  have  broke  your  hest'  to  say  so ! 

Ftr.  Admir'd  Miranda ! 

Indeed,  the  top  of  admiration ;  worth 
What's  dearest  to  the  world.    Full  many  a  lady 
I  have  ey'd  with  best  regard  ;  and  many  a  time 
The  harmony  of  their  tongues  hath  into  bondage 
Brought  my  too  diligent  ear  :  for  several  virtues 
Have  I  lik'd  several  women  ;  never  any 
With  so  full  soul,  but  some  defect  in  her 
Did  quarrel  with  the  noblest  grace  she  ow'd,* 
And  put  it  to  the  foil :  but  you,  O  you. 
So  perfect,  and  so  peerless,  are  created 
Of  every  creature's  best. 

Mira.  I  do  not  know 

One  of  my  sex ;  no  woman's  face  remember. 
Save,  from  my  glass,  mine  own ;  nor  have  I  seen 

(1)  Commana.    (2)  Own'd.    (S)  Whatsoever. 


More  that  I  may  call  men,  than  you,  gfood  fnend, 
And  my  dear  father :  how  features  are  abroftd, 
.  am  sKill-le«s  of;  but  by  my  modesty 
(The  jewel  in  my  dower,)  I  would  not  wish 
Any  companion  m  the  world  but  you; 
Nor  can  imagination  form  a  shape, 
Besides  yourself,  to  like  of:  but  1  prattle 
Something  too  wildly,  and  my  father's  preeepU 
Therein  forget. 

Fer.  I  am,  in  my  condition, 

A  prince,  Miranda ;  I  do  think,  a  king ; 
(I  would,  not  so ! )  and  would  no  more  endure 
This  wooden  slavery,  than  I  would  sutler 
The  flesh-fly  blow  my  mouth.  Hear  my  soul  speak ; 
The  very  instant  that  I  saw  you,  did 
My  heart  fly  to  your  service ;  there  resides, 
To  make  me  slave  to  it ;  and,  for  your  sake, 
Am  I  this  patient  log-man. 

Mira.  Do  you  love  me  7 

Fer,   0  heaven,  O  earth,  bear  witness  to  tlui 
sound. 
And  crown  what  I  profess  with  kind  event. 
If  I  speak  true  ;  if  hollowly,  invert 
What  best  is  boded  me,  to  mischief !  I, 
Beyond  all  limit  of  what  else'  i'  the  world^ 
Do  love,  prize,  honour  you. 

Mira.  I  am  a  fool, 

To  weep  at  what  I  am  glad  of. 

Pro.  Fair  encounter 

Of  two  most  rare  affections  !  Heavens  rain  grace 
On  that  which  breeds  between  them ! 

Fer.  Wherefore  weep  you  ? 

Mira.  At  mine  unworthiness,  that  dare  not  offer 
^yhat  I  desire  to  give  ;  and  much  less  take. 
What  I  shall  die  to  want :  But  this  is  trifling  ; 
And  all  the  more  it  seeks  to  hide  itself, 
The  bigger  bulk  it  shows.  Hence,  bashful  cunning* 
And  prompt  me,  plain  and  holy  innocence ! 
I  am  your  wife,  if  you  will  marrj'  me  • 
If  not,  I'll  die  your  maid  :  to  be  your  fellow 
You  may  deny  me ;  but  I'll  be  your  servant. 
Whether  you  will  or  no. 

Fer.  My  mistress,  dearest, 

And  I  thus  humble  ever. 

Mira.  My  husband  then  ? 

Fer.  Ay,  with  a  heart  as  willing 
As  bondage  e'er  of  freedom  :  here's  my  hand. 

Mira.  And  mine,  with  my  heart  in't :  And  now 
farewell. 
Till  half  an  hour  hence. 

Fer.  A  thousand  !  thousand  ! 

[Exeunt  Fer.  and  Mir. 


Pro.  So  glad  of  tliis  as  they,  I  cannot  be, 
Who  are  surpris'd  with  all ;  but  my  rejoicing 
At  nothing  can  be  more.    I'll  to  my  book : 


For  yet,  ere  supper  time,  must  I  perform 
Much  business  appertaining, 


[Exit, 


SCEjVE  II.— Another  part  qf  the  Island.  Enter 
Stephano  and  Trine  ulo ;  Caliban /oU«wtnfir  %iUh 
a  bottle. 

Sle.  Tell  not  me ; — when  the  butt  is  out,  ire  will 
drink  water ;  not  a  drop  before :  therefore  bear  up, 
and  board  'em:  Servant-monster,  drink  to  m«. 

Trin.  Servant-monster  ?  the  folly  of  this  island ! 
They  say.  there's  but  five  upon  this  isle :  we  are 
three  of  them  ;  if  the  other  two  be  brained  like  ut, 
the  state  totters. 

Ste.  Drink,  servant-monster,  when  I  bid  tlMC; 
thy  eyes  are  almost  set  in  thy  head. 

Tnn.  Where  should  they  be  set  else?  hewtre 
a  brave  monster  indeed,  if  the/  wert  Mi  k  ki*  Ml* 


TEMPEST, 


Act  III. 


Ste.  My  man-monster  hath  drowned  histonjjue!     Trin.  \Vliy,  what  did  I?  I  did  nothing;  I'll  go 
in^ck:  for  my  part,  the  sea  cannot  drown  me:  1 1 further  oft". 

svvam,  ere  I  could  recover  the  shore,  five-and-lhirty      Ste.  Didst  thou  not  say,  he  lied  7 
leaffues,  off  and  on,  by  this  light.— Thou  shall  be     w3>-i.  Thou  llest. 
my  lieutenant,  monster,  or  my' standard.  j     Ute.  Do  I  so?  take  thou  that..  [slri.Vti  him.]  A« 

Tiin.  Your  lieutenant,  if  you  list ;  he's  no  stand- 1  you  like  this,  give  me  the  lie  another  time, 
ard.  1     Trin.  I  did  not  <rive  the  lie  : — Out  o'  your  wits, 

Ste.  We'll  not  run,  monsieur  monster.  f and  hearinif  too  .'—A  pox  o'  your  bottle'!  this  can 


sack  and  diinkinsf  do. — A  murrain  on  your  mon- 
ster, and  the  devil  take  ypur  fingers  ! 

Cal.  Ha,  ha,  ha! 

Ste.  How,  forward  with  your  tale.    Pr'ythee, 


after  a  little  time. 


Trin.  Nor  go  neither :  but  you  lie,  like  dogs ; 
and  yet  say  notliing  neither. 

Sl'e.  Moon-calf,  speak  once  in  thy  life,  if  thou 
beest  a  frood  moon-calf. ,  — 

Vol.  How  does  Ujy  honour?    Let  me  lick  thy  stand  further  off. 

shoe ;  j     Cal.  Beat  him  enough 

I'll  not  serve  him,  he  is  not  valiant  '  I'll  beat  him  too. 

Trin.  Thou  liest,  most  ignorant  monster ;  I  ami     Ste.  Stand  further. — Come  proceed, 

in  case  to  justle  a  constable :  Why,  thou  deboshed'  ]  Cat.  Why,  as  I  toid  thee,  'lis  a  custom  with  him 
hsh  thou,  was  there  ever  man  a  coward,  that  hath 1 1'  the  aflornoon  to  sleep :  there  thou  may'st  braia 
drunk  so  much  sack  as  I  to-day  ?    Will  thou  tell  a  >         ,       him, 

pionstrous  he,  being  but  half  a  fisli,  and  half  a  I  Having  first  seiz'd  his  books;  or  with  a  log 
inonsLe'r?  Batter  his  skull,  or  paunch  him  with  a  stake, 

Cal.  1,0,  how  jic  mocks  mc !  wilt  thou  let  him,' O'"*^"*^'^'*  ^^'^^z^^""^*  ^*''th  thy  knife:  Remember, 
my  lord  ?  i  First  to  possess  his  books  ;  lor  without  them 

Tiin.  Lord,  quoth  he! — that  a  monster  should 'He's  but  a  sot.  as  I  arn,  nor  hath  not 
be  such  a  natural !  C^'ie  spirit  to  command  :  Thev  all  do  I 


Cdl.  Lo,  lo,  again !  bite  him  to  death,  I  pr'vthee, 

Ste.  Trinculo,  keep  a  good  tongue  in  your  liead ; 
if  you  prove  a  mutineer,  the  next  tree — The  poor 
monster's  my  subject,  and  he  shall  not  suffer  indi: 
nitv, 

Cal.  I  thank  my  nohle  lord.  Wilt  thou  be  pleas'd 
To  hearken  once  again  the  suit  I  made  thee  ? 

Sle.  Marry  will  1 :  kneel,  and  repeat  it ;  I  will 
itind,  and  so  shall  Trinculo. 

Enter  Ariel,  invisible. 

Cal.  As  I  told  thee 
Before,  I  am  subject  to  a  tyrant ; 
A  sorcerer,  that  by  his  cunning  hath 
Cheated  me  of  this  island. 

,iri.  ^  Thou  liest. 

Cal.  Thou^icst,  thou  jesting  monkey,  thou : 
I  would  my  vaiiaiit  master  would  destroy  thee  ; 
I  do  not  lie. 

Ste.  Trinculo,  if  you  trouble  him  any  more  in  his 
tale,  by  tliis  hand,  I  will  supplant  some  of  your 
teeth. 

Trin.  Why,  I  said  nothing. 

Ste.  Mum  then,  and  no  more. — [To  Caliban.] 
Proceed.  ■* 

Ca.  I  say,  by  sorcery  he  got  this  isle ; 
From  me  he  got  it    If  thy  greatness  will 
Revenge  it  on  liim — for,  1  know,  thou  dar'st ; 
But  this  thing  dare  not 

Ste.  That's  most  certain. 

Cal.  Thou  shall  be  lord  of  it,  and  I'll  serve  thee. 

Ste.  How  now  shall  tliis  be  compassed  ?  Canst 
thou  bring  me  to  the  party  ? 

Cal.  Yea,  yea,  my  lord :  I'll  yield  him  thee  asleep. 
Where  thou  may'st  knock  a  nail  into  his  head. 

.^rj.  Thou  liestj  thou  canst  not 

Cal.  What  a  pied  ninny's  this!*    Thou  scurry 
patch! — 
I  do  beseech  thy  greatness,  give  him  blows. 
And  take  his  botlle  from  him  :  when  that's  gone. 
He  shall  drink  nought  but  brine ;  for  I'll  not  show 
Where  the  quick  freshes^  are.  [him 

Ste.  Trinculo,  run  into  no  further  danger ;  inter- 
rupt Uie  monster  one  word  further,  and,  by  this 
hand,  I'll  turn  my  mercy  out  of  doors,  and  make  a 
•tock-fish  of  thee. 

.  /1|  Debauched. 
<2)  Alluding  to  Trwculo's  party-coloured  dress. 


hate  him. 
As  roolcdiy  as  I :  Burn  but  his  tooks  : 
He  has  brave  utensils  (for  so  he  calls  them,) 
Which,  when  he  has  a  house,  he'll  deck  withal. 
And  that  most  deeply  to  consider,  is 
The  beauty  of  his  daughter  ;  he  himself  ' 

Calls  her  a  nonpareil :  I  ne'er  saw  v.oman. 
But  only  Sycorax  my  dam,  and  she ; 
But  she  a?  far  surpasseth  Sycorax, 
As  srreatc?t  does  least. 

Ste.  I?  it  Fo  brave  a  laps  ? 

Cal.  Ay,  lord ;  she  will  become  thy  bed,  I  ivarrant. 
And  bring  thee  forth  brave  brood. 

Ste.  Monster,  I  will  kill  this  man :  his  daughter 
and  I  will  be  king  and  queen :  (save  our  sraces  !) 
and  Trinculo  and  thvsclf  shall  be  vicerovs  : — Dost 
tliou  liice  the  plot,  Trinculo  / 

Trin.  Excellent. 

Sle.  Give  me  thy  hand  ;  I  am  sorry  I  beat  thee ; 
but,  while  thou  livest,  keep  a  good  tongue  in  thy 
head. 

Cal.  Withui  this  half  hour  will  he  be  asleep : 
Wilt  thou  destroy  him  then  ? 

Ste.  Ay,  on  mine  honour. 

.Iri.  This  will  I  tell  my  master. 

Cal.  Thou  mak'st  me  merry :  I  am  full  of  plea- 
sure; 
Let  us  be  jocund :  Will  you  troll  the  catch 
You  taught  me  but  while-ere  ? 

Sic.  At  thy  request,  monster,  I  will  do  reason, 
any  reason :  Come  on,  Trinculo,  let  us  sing. 

[9ins3. 

Flout  'em,  end  sJcmU  '«n  ;  and  shout  'cm,  and 

flout  'em; 
TlwuglU  is  free. 

Cal.  That^s  not  the  tune. 

[Ariel  plays  the  tune  on  a  tabor  and  pipe. 

Sle.  What  is  this  same  ? 

Tri)i.  This  is  the  tune  of  oiu-  catch,  played  by 
the  picture  of  No-body. 

Ste.  If  thou  beest  a  man.  show  thyself  in  thy 
likeness  ;  if  thou  beest  a  devil,  take't  as  thou  list 

Trin.  O,  forgive  me  my  sins  ! 

Ste.  He  that  dies,  pays  all  debts:  I  defy  thee:— 
Mercy  upon  us ! 

Cal.  Art  thou  afeard  ? 

Ste.  No,  monster,  not  I. 


(3)  Springs, 


(4}  ThroKt, 


Mine  m. 


TEMPEST. 


Mr 


Cal,  Be  not  aPeard ;  the  isle  iz  full  of  noises. 
So  jnds,  and  sweet  airs,  that  give  delight,  and  hurt 

not. 
Sometimes  a  thousand  twangling  instruments 
Will  hum  about  mine  cars ;  and  sometimes  voices, 
That,  if  I  then  had  wak'd  after  long  sleep, 
^Vill  make  me  sleep  again :  and  then,  in  dreaming, 
The  clouds,  methougnt,  would  open,  and  show 

riches 
Roady  to  drop  upon  me  ;  that,  when  I  wak'd, 
I  cry'd  to  dream  again. 

SU.  This  will  "prove  a  brare  kingdom  to  me, 
where  I  shall  have  my  music  for  nothing. 

Cal.  When  Prospero  is  destroyed. 

Sle.  That  shall  be  by  and  by :  I  remember  the 
story. 

Trin.  The  sound  is  going  away :  let's  follow  it, 
and  aller,  do  our  work. 

St:.  Leadj  monster ;  we'll  follow. — I  would,  I 
could  see  this  taborer  :  he  lays  it  on. 

Trin.  Wilt  come  ?  I'll  follow,  Stephano. 

[Exeunt. 

SCEXE  III.— .Another  part  of  the  Island.  En- 
ter Alonso,  Sebastian,  Antonio,  Gonzalo,  Adrian, 
Francisco,  and  others. 

Gon.  By'r  lakin,>  I  can  eo  no  further,  sir ; 
My  old  bones  ache:  here's  amaze  trod,  indeed, 
Tlu-ough  forth-rights,  and  meanders !  by  your  pa- 
tience, 
I  needs  must  rest  me. 

.*io»j.  Old  lord,  I  cannot  blame  thee. 

Who  am  mvself  attach'd  with  weariness. 
To  the  dulling  of  my  spirits  :  sit  down,  and  rest. 
I.vcn  here  I  will  put  off  my  hope,  and  keep  it 
No  longer  for  my  flatterer :  he  is  drown'd, 
Whom  thus  we  stray  to  find  :  and  the  sea  mocks 
Our  frustrate  search  on  land:  Well,  let  him  go. 

»4)it.  I  am  right  glad  that  he's  so  out  of  hope. 

[^side  to  Sebastian. 
Do  not,  for  one  repulse,  forego  the  purpose 
That  you  resolv'd  to  effect. 

Stb.  The  next  advantage 

Will  we  take  thoroughly. 

•^nt.  Let  it  be  to-night ; 

For,  now  they  are  oppress'd  with  travel.'they 
Will  not,  nor  cannot,  use  such  vigilance, 
As  when  they  are  fresh. 

fieb.  I  say,  to-night :  no  more. 

Solemn  and  strange  miisie;  and  Prospero  above, 
invisible.  Enter  several  strange  Shapes,  bring- 
trt<  in  a  banquet ;  they  dayice  about  it  with  gen- 
tle e.'-.tions  of  salutation  ;  and  inviting  the  king, 
4-e.  to  eat,  they  depart. 

,ilon.  What  harmony  is  this  ?  my  good  friends, 
hark! 

fSon.  Marvellous  sweet  music  ! 

,ilon.  Give  us  kind  keepers,  heavens ! — WTiat 
were  these  ? 

Seb.  A  living  drollery:*  Now  I  will  believe, 
That  there  are  unicorns  ;  that  in  Arabia 
There  is  one  tree,  the  phcenix'  throne  ;  one  phcRnix 
At  this  hour  reigning  there. 

"Int.  I'll  believe  both : 

And  what  does  else  want  credit,  come  to  me, 
And  I'll  be  sworn  'tis  true :  Travellers  ne'er  did  lie, 
Though  fools  at  home  condemn  them. 

Con.  If  in  Naples 

I  shsuld  report  this  now,  would  they  believe  mc  ? 
if  I  should  say  I  saw  such  islanders 

(l}OwMf.      (2)Sb«w.      (3)  Certainly. 


(For,  certes,^  these  are  people  of  the  island,) 
SVho,  though  theyare  of  monstrous  shape,  yet  note, 
Their  manners  are  more  gentle-kind,  tha!a  of 
Our  human  generation  you  shall  find 
Many,  nay,  almost  any. 

Pro.  Honest  lord, 

Thou  hast  said  well ;  for  some  of  you  there  present, 
Are  worse  than  devils.  [Jisidt. 

Jilon.  I  cannot  too  much  muse,* 

Such  shapes,  such  gesture,  and  such  sound,  ex- 

»  pressing 
(Although  they  want  the  use  of  tongue,)  a  kind 
Of  excellent  dumb  discourse. 

Pro.  Praise  in  departing. 

[Asidt. 

Fran.  They  vanish'd  strangely. 

Seb.  No  matter,  since 

They  ha>  e  left  their  viands  behind ;  for  we  have 

stomachs. — 
Will't  please  you  taste  of  what  is  here  ? 

Mon.  Not  I. 

Gon.  Faith,  Sir,  you  need  not  fear :  When  wc 
were  boys, 
Who  would  believe  that  there  were  mountaineers, 
Dew-lapp'd  like  bulls,  whose  Uu-oats  had  hanging 

at  them 
W'allets  of  rie-sh?  or  that  there  were  such  men, 
Whose  heads  stood  in  their  breasts  ?  which  now  we 

find, 
Each  putter-out  on  five  for  one,  will  bring  u« 
Good  warrant  of. 

JUon.  I  will  stand  to,  and  feed, 

Although  my  last :  no  matter,  since  I  feci 
The  best  is  past : — Brother,  my  lord  the  duke, 
Stand  too,  and  do  as  we. 

Thunder  end  lightning.  Enter  Ariel  like  a  hnr-' 
py  :  claps  his  trtn^j  upon  the  table,  and  leith  a 
quaint  device,  the  banquet  vanishes. 

.?n.  You  are  three  men  of  sin,  whom  destiny 
(That  hath  to  instrument  this  lower  world, 
And  what  is  in't,)  the  never-surfeited  sea 
Hath  caused  to  belch  up ;  and  on  this  island 
Where  man  doth  not  inhabit ;  you  'mongst  men 
Being  most  unfit  to  live.    I  have  made  you  mad  5 
[Seeing  Alon.  Seb.  «J*c.  draw  their  svsords. 
x\nd  even  with  such  like  valour,  men  hang  and 

drown 
Their  proper  selves.    You  fools !  I  and  my  fellows 
Are  ministers  of  fate  ;  the  elements 
Of  whom  your  swords  are  temper'd,  may  as  well 
W'ound  the  loud  winds,  or  with  bemock'd-at  itaba 
Kill  the  still-closing  waters,  as  diminish 
One  dowle*  that's  in  my  plume;  my  fellow-ministers 
Are  like  invulnerable :  if  you  could  hurt. 
Your  swords  are  now  too  massy  for  your  strengths. 
And  will  not  be  uplifted  :  But,  remember 
(For  that's  mv  business  to  you,)  that  you  three 
From  Milan  did  supplant  good  Prospero  ^ 
Expos'd  unto  the  sea,  which  hath  requit  it, 
Him,  and  his  innocent  child ;  for  which  foul  deed 
The  powers,  delaying,  not  forgettine,  have 
Incens'd  the  seas  and  shores,  yea,  all  the  creatures. 
Against  your  peace  :  Thee,  of  thy  son,  Alonso, 
They  have  bereft :  and  do  pronounce  by  me, 
Lingering  perdition  (worse  than  any  death 
Can  be  at  once)  shall  step  by  step  attend 
You,  and  your  ways ;  whose  wrath  to  guard  you 

from 

t Which  here,  in  this  mOit  desolate  isle,  else  falls 
Jpon  your  heads,)  is  nothing,  but  heart's  sorroir. 


(4)  Wonder. 


(6)  Pown, 


TEMPEST. 


Act  rP 


And  X  clcar>  life  ensuin*. 

He  vanishti  in  thunder:  tktn,  to  soft  nutsic,  enter 
the  Shapes  again,  and  dance  vUk  mops  and 
mowes,  and  carry  out  the  table. 

Pro.  [.3$ide.]  Bravely  the  figure  of  this  harpy 
ha»t  thou 
VerfortnM,  my  Ariel ;  a  grace  it  had,  devouring : 
<?f  my  instruction  hast  thou  nothing  'bated. 
In  what  thou  hadat  to  say  :  so,  ivith  good  life, 
And  observation  strange,  my  meaner  ministers 
Their  several  kinds  have  done :  uy  Uigh  charms 

work. 
And  these,  mine  enemies,  are  all  knit  up 
In  their  distractions :  they  now  are  in  my  power ; 
And  in  these  fits  I  leave  them,  whilst  I  visit 
Youn^  Ferdinand  (whom  they  suppose  is  drown'd,) 
And  his  and  my  lov'd  darlin<r. 

[Exit  Prospero /rom  above. 

Iron.  I*  the  name  of  something  holy,  sir,  why 
stand  you 
In  this  strange'starc  ? 

^Urn.  0,  it  is  monstrous !  monstrous ! 

Methought,  the  billows  spoke,  and  told  me  of  it; 
The  winds  did  sing  it  to  me ;  and  the  thunder. 
That  deep  and  dreadful  ort^an-pipe,  pronounc'd 
The  name  of  Prosper ;  it  did  bass  my  trespass. 
Therefore  my  son  i'  the  ooze  is  bedded ;  and 
I'll  seek  him  deeper  than  e'er  plummet  sounded, 
And  with  him  there  lie  mudded.  [Exit. 

Seb.  But  one  fiend  at  a  time, 

111  fight  their  legions  o'er. 

Jint,  I'll  be  thy  second. 

[Exettnt  Sen.  and  Ant. 

Gen.  All  three  of  them   are  desperate ;    their 
great  guilt, 
Like  poison  given  to  work  a  great  time  after. 
Now  'gins  to  bite  the  spirits : — I  do  beseech  you 
That  are  of  suppler  joints,  follow  them  swiftly, 
And  hinder  them  from  what  this  ecstacy^ 
May  now  provoke  them  to. 

Adr.  Follow,  I  pray  you. 

[Exeunt. 


iCT  IV. 

St'E^E  J.— B^/ore  Prospero'sceW.    Enter  Pros- 
pero, Ferdinand,  and  Miranda- 
Pro.  If  I  have  too  austerely  punish'd  you. 
Your  compensation  makes  amends  ^  for  I 
Hve  fiv<:n  you  here  a  thread  of  mme  own  life, 
Or  that  for  which  I  live  ;  whom  once  again 
I, tender  to  thy  hand :  all  thy  vexations 
Were  but  my  trials  of  thy  love,  and  thou 
Hast  strangely  stood  the' test :  here,  afore  Heaven, 
I  ratify  this  my  rich  gift.     O  Ferdinand, 
Do  not  smile  at  me,  that  I  boast  her  off', 
For  thou  shalt  find  she  will  outstrip  all  praise, 
And  make  it  halt  behind  her. 

Fer.  I  do  believe  it. 

Against  an  oracle. 

Pro.  Then,  as  my  scift,  and  thine  own  acquisition 
Worthily  purchas'd,  take  my  daughter :  But 
If  thou  dost  break  her  virgin  knot  before 
AU  sanctimonious  ceremonies  may 
With  full  and  holy  rite  be  ministered, 
No  sweet  aspersion'  shall  the  heavens  let  fall 
To  make  this  contract  grow  ;  but  barren  hate, 

(1)  Pve,  ManwIcM,    (2)  AUeafttivn  9f  inind. 


Sour-ey'd  disdain,  and  discord,  shall  be^treir 
The  union  of  your  bed  with  weeds  so  loatSly, 
That  you  shall  hate  it  both :  therefore,  take  ue«d, 
As  Hymen's  lamps  shall  light  you. 

Fer.  As  I  hope 

For  quiet  days,  fair  issue,  and  long  lite. 
With  such  love  as  'tis  now ;  the  markiest  den, 
The  most  opportune  place,  the  strongest  suggestioQ 
Our  worser  Genius  can,  shall  never  melt 
Mine  honour  into  lust ;  to  take  away 
The  ed^e  of  that  day's  celebration, 
When  I  shall  think^  or  Phoebus'  steods  are  fouDder'd 
Or  night  kept  chain'd  below. 

Pro.  Fairly  spoke  : 

Sit  then,  and  talk  with  her,  she  is  tnine  own.— * 
What,  Ariel:  my  industrious  servant  Ariel! 

Enter  ArieL 

,1ri.  What  would  my  potent  marter  ?  here  I  tSk 

Pro.  Thou  and  thy  meaner  fellows  your  faut 
service 
Did  worthily  perform ;  and  I  must  use  you 
In  such  another  trick :  go,  bring  the  rabble, 
O'er  whom  I  give  thee  power,  here,  to  this  placet 
Incite  them  to  quick  motion  ;  for  I  must 
Bt'stow  upon  the  eyes  of  this  joung  couple 
Some  vanity  of  mine  art ;  it  is  my  promise, 
And  they  expect  it  from  me. 

.4rt.  Presently? 

Pro.  Ay,  with  a  twink. 

^Iri.  Before  you  can  say.  Come,  and  go,    . 
And  breathe  twice ;  and  ci^',  so,  so ! 
Each  one,  tripping  on  his  toe. 
Will  be  here  with  mop  and  mowe : 
Do  you  love  me,  master  ?  no. 

Pro.  Dearly,  my  delicate  Ariel :  Do  not  approach. 
Till  thou  dost  hear  me  call. 

>.iri.  Well  I  coneeire. 

[Exit. 

Pro.  Look,  thou  be  true ;  do  not  give  dallianee 
Too  much  the  rein ;  the  strongest  oaths  are  straw 
To  the  lire  i'  the  blood :  be  more  abstemious, 
Or  else,  good  night,  your  vow ! 

Fer.  I  warrant  you,  nr ; 

The  white-cold  virgin  snow  upon  my  heart 
Abates  the  ardour  of  my  liver. 

Pro.  Well.— 

Now  come,  my  Ariel ;  bring  a  corollary,* 
Rather  than  want  a  spirit ;  appear,  and  pertly.— 
No  tongue ;  all  eyes ;  be  silent.  [isojl  ntiak, 

»l  .Basque.    Enter  Iris. 

Iris.  Ceres,  most  bounteous  lady,  thy  rich  lean 
Of  wheat,  rye,  barley,  vetches,  oats,  and  pease ; 
Xhy  turfy  mountains,  where  live  nibbling  sheep. 
And  flat  "meads  thatch'd  with  stover,  them  to  keep ; 
Thy  banks  with  peonied  and  lilied  brims. 
Which  spongy  April  at  thy  hest»  betrims. 
To  make  cold  nymphs  chaste  crowns;    and  thy 

broom  groves. 
Whose  shadow  flie  dismissed  bachelor  love^ 
Being  lass-lorn ;  tliy  pole-clipt  vineyard  ; 
And  thy  sea-marge,  steril,  and  rocky-hard. 
Where  thou  thyself  dost  air :  The  queen  o'  thatky- 
Whose  watery  arch,  and  messeneer,  am  I, 
Bids  thee  leave  these;   and  with  her  sovcreigii 

grace. 
Here  on  this  grass-plot,  in  this  very  place. 
To  come  and  sport :  her  peacocks  fly  aaiain ; 
Approach,  rich  Ceres,  her  to  entertain. 

(3)  Sprinklmf.     (4)  Surplai.     (4)  Cmmvd, 


•itmi  I, 


tEMPEST. 


EnttT  Cttti. 


•There's  somethin^f  else  to  it :  hu»h,  aAd  ht  mutt, 
^         ,  .,                                                ,              'Or  else  our  spell  is  marr'd. 
C«r.  Hail,  many;-eolour'd  messenger,  th&t  ne'er         -    --  

Dost  di%yj^j  liv.  wife  of  Jupiter^ 

Wh«,  jritn  thy  KafTron  winj^s,  upon  my  flowers 

DifliMCH^.  ri<jr,ey-drops,  refreshin;^  showers  : 

And  wjfji  each'cnd  of  thy  blue  bow  dost  crown 

My  bosKv'  acres,  and  my  unshrubb'd  down, 

Rich  scar'fto  ray  proud  earth;   Whyhalhthyqueen  A  contract  of  true  love;  be  not  too  late 

Summon'd  me  hither,  to  this  short-grass'd  green ! 


Irit.  You  nymplia,  call'd  Naiads,  ofthe  wand'riAff 
I  brooks, 

I  With  your  sedg'd  crowns,  and  ever  harmless  looks. 
Leave'your  crisp  channels,  and  on  this  green  land 
'Answer  your  summons ;  Juno  docs  command : 
Come,  temperate  nvmphs,  and  help  to  celebrate 


uiiiii(v/M  \A  lilt-  iiib**vi|  I.W  vt»«j  »(fvi  *  b*  U.-JVJ  "  is^ ' 

Iris.  A  contract  of  true  love  to  celebrate ; 
And  some  donation  freely  tc  estate 
■On  the  bless'd  lovers. 

Ctr.  Tell  me,  heavenly  bow, 

If  Venus,  or  her  son,  as  Ihou  dost  know^ 
Do  now  attend  the  queen  /  since  they  did  plot 
The  menns,  that  dusky  Dis'  my  ciaucrhter  irof, 
Her  and  her  blind  boy's  scandal'd  company 
I  have  forsworn. 

Iris.  O  f  her  society 

Be  not  afraid  :  I  met  her  deity 
Cutline  the  clouds  towards  Paphos  ;  and  her  son 
Dore-orawn  with  her :  here  thought  they  to  have 

done 
Some  wanton  charm  upon  this  man  and  maid. 
Whose  TOWS  are,  that  no  bed-rite  shall  be  paid 
Till  Hymen's  torch  be  lighted :  but  in  vain ; 
Mars'  hot  minion  is  rcturn'd  again  ; 
Her  waspish-headed  son  has  broke  his  arrows, 
Swears  he  will  shoot  no  more,  but  play  with  spar- 
rows, 
And  be  a  boy  right  out. 

Cer.  Highest  queen  of  state, 

Great  Juno  comes  ;  I  know  her  by  her  gaiU 

Enter  Juno. 

Juno.  How  does  my  bounteous  sister  7  Go  with 
me 
To  bless  this  twain,  that  they  may  prosperous  be, 
And  honour'd  in  their  issue. 

SONG. 

Juno.  Honour,  riches,  marriai^e-blessin^. 
Long  continuance,  and  increasing. 
Hourly  joys  be  sliil  upon  you .' 
Juno  sings  her  blessings  on  you. 

Cer.    Earlh^s  increase,  ondfoizon^  plenty  ; 
Bams,  and  gamers  never  empty ;  ' 
Vines,  toith  chisVring  bunches  growing  ; 
Plants,  with  goodly  burden  botcing  ; 
Spring  come  to  you,  at  the  farthest, 
In  the  very  end  of  harvest ; 
Scarcity,  and  want,  shall  shim  you  ; 
Ceres'  blessing  so  is  on  you. 

Fer.  This  is  a  most  majestic  vision,  and 
Harmonious  charminirly :  May  I  be  bold 
To  think  these  spirits  ? 

Pro.  Spirits,  which  by  mine  art 

I  have  from  their  confines  call'd  to  enact 
M  V  present  fancies. 

Ttr.  Let  me  live  here  ever ; 

So  rare  a  wonder'd*  father,  and  a  wife, 
Make  this  place  Paradise. 

[Juno  and  Ceres  whisper,  and  aenrf  Iris  on 

employment, 

'«.  Sweet  now,  silence  ; 

iuBO  and  Ceres  whisper  seriougly ; 

(1)  Woody.       (2)  Pluto.       (S)  Abundance. 
(4)  Abk  to  prdduce  sueh  wonden.  (5)  Vanished. 


Enter  eerlain  lymphs. 

iYou  sun-bum'd  sicklemen,  of  August  weary, 
ICome  hither  from  the  furrow,  and  be  merry ; 
[Make  holy-day :  your  rje-straw  hats  put  on, 
i  And  these"  fresh  nymphs  encounter  every  one 
In  counliy  footing. 

Enter  certain  Reapers,  jn-operly  habited ;  theyjoth 
with  the  J^i^ymphs  in  a  gracejul  dance  ;  towards 
the  end  whereof  Prospero  starts  suddenly,  mid 
speaks ;  after  which,  to  a  strange,  hollow,  and 
confused  noise,  they  heavily  vanish. 

Pro,  [^side.]  I  had  forgot  that  foul  conspiraey 
Ofthe  beast  Caliban,  and  his  confederates, 
Against  my  life ;  the  minute  of  their  plot 
is  almost  come. —  [To  the  Spirits,]    Well  done  ;— 
avoid  ; — no  more. 

Fer.  This  is  most  strange:  your  father's  in  some 
passion 
That  works  him  strongly. 

.Mira.  Never  till  this  day. 

Saw  I  him  toucli'd  with  anger  so  distemper'S. 

Pro.  You  do  look,  my  son,  in  a  mov'd  sort. 
As  if  you  were  dismay'd:  be  cheerful,  sir: 
Our  revels  now  are  ended :  these  our  actors. 
As  I  foretold  you,  were  all  spirits,  and 
Are  melted  into  air,  into  thin  air : 
And,  like  the  baseless  fabric  of  this  vision. 
The  cloud-capp'd  towers,  the  gorgeous  palaces. 
The  solemn  temples,  the  great  globe  itself^ 
Yea,  all  which  it  inherit,  shall  dissolve ; 
And,  like  this  insubstantial  pageant  faded,' 
Leave  not  a  rack*  behind :  We  are  such  stuff 
As  dreams  are  made  of,  and  our  little  life 
Is  rounded  with  a  sleep. — Sir,  1  am  vex'd  ; 
Bear  with  my  weakness  ;  my  old  brain  is  troubled. 
Be  not  disturb'd  with  my  infirmity: 
If  you  be  pleas'd,  retire  into  my  cell, 
And  there  repose ;  a  turn  or  two  I'll  walk, 
To  still  my  beating  mind. 

Fer.  J^Iira.  We  wish  your  peace. 

[Exennt, 

Pro,  Come  with  a  thought:— I  thank  you:— 
Ariel,  come. 


£n/er  Ariel. 


^ri. 


Thy  thoughts  I  cleave  to;   What's  thy 
pleasure  ? 

Pre.'  Spirit, 

We  must  prepare  to  meet  with  Caliban. 
„iri.    Ay,  my  commander:    when  I  presented 
Ceres, 
I  thought  to  have  told  thee  of  it ;  but  I  fear'd 
Lest  I  might  anger  thee. 
Pro.   Say  again,  where  didst  thou  leave  thes0 

rarlets?  -^ 

,iri.   I  told  you,  sir,  they  were  red-hof  with 
drinking  ? 

(6)  A  body  of  clouds  in  motion ;  but  R  is  bmcC 
probable  that  the  author  wrote  tra<k. 


TEMPEST. 


\sar. 


So  tu)l  of  ralour,  that  they  smote  th«  air 
For  breathing  in  their  faces ;  beat  the  ground  i 
For  tdssinff  of  their  feet:  yet  always  bending 
Towards  their  project :  Then  I  beat  my  tabor, 
At  which,  like  unback'd  colts,  they  p'rick'd  their 

ears, 
Advanc'd  their  eye-lids,  lifted  up  their  noses, 
As  they  smelt  music ;  So  I  charm'd  their  ears. 
That,  calf-like,  they  my  lowing  follo^v'd,  through 
Tooth'd  briers,  sharp  furzes,  pricking  goss,  and 

tliorns, 
Which  entered  their  frail  shins :  at  last  I  left  them 
I'  the  filthy  mantled  pool  beyond  your  cell, 
Tlicre  dancing  up  to  the  chins,  that  the  foul  lake 
U'er-stunk  their  iieet. 

Pro.  This  was  well  done,  my  bird : 

Thy  shape  invisible  retain  thou  still : 
The  trumperj-  in  my  house,  go,  bring  it  liithcr, 
for  stale,'  to  catch' these  thieves. 

^Iri.  I  go,  I  go.     [Exit. 

Pro.  A  devil,  a  born  devil,  on  whose  nature 
Nurture-"  can  never  stick :  on  whom  my  pains, 
Humanely  taken,  all,  all  lost,  quite  lost ; 
And  as,  with  age,  his  body  ujrlier  grows, 
So  his  miud  cankers :  I  will  plague  tliem  all, 

Xe-tnttr  Ariel  loaden  K'Uh  glistering  apparel,  S,-c 
£ren  to  roaring :  Come,  hang  them  on  this  line. 
Prospero  and  Ariel  remain  invisible.     Enter  Cali- 
ban, Stephano,  and  Trinculo ;  all  wet. 

Cal.  Pray,  you,  tread  softly,  that  the  blind  mole 
may  not 
Hear  a.  foot  fall :  we  now  are  near  his  cell. 

Ste.  Monster,  your  fairy,  which,  you  say,  is  a 
harmless  fairy,  has  done  little  better  tfian  played  the 
Jack'  with  us. 

Trm,  Monster^  I  do  smell  all  horse-piss ;  at 
which  my  nose  is  in  great  indignation. 

Ste.  So  is  mine.  Do  you  hear,  monster?  If  I 
should  take  a  displeasure  against  you ;  look  you, — 

Trin.  Thou  wert  but  a  lost  monster. 

Cal.  Good  my  lord,  give  me  thy  favour  still : 
Be  patient,  for  the  prize  I'll  bring  thee  to 
Shall  hood-wink  tiiis  mischance :  therefore,  speak 

softly. 
All's  hush'd  as  midnight  yet. 

Trfn.  Ay,  but  to  lose  our  bottles  in  the  pool, — 

Ste.  There  is  not  only  disgrace  and  dishonour  in 
that,  monster,  but  an  infinite  loss. 

Trtn.  That's  more  to  mc  than  my  wetting :  yet 
this  is  your  harmless  fairy,  monster. 

Ste.  I  will  fetch  off  my  bottle,  though  I  be  o'er 
ears  for  my  labour. 

Cal.  Pr'ythcc,  my  king,  be  quiet :  Seest  thou  here. 
This  is  the  mouth  o'  the  cell :  no  noise,  and  enter : 
Do  that  good  mischief,  which  may  make  this  island 
Thine  own  for  ever,  and  I,  thy  Caliban, 
For  aye*  thy  foot-licker. 

Ste.  Give  me  thy  hand :  I  do  begin  to  have  bloody 
thoughts. 

Trin.  O  king  Stephano!  O  peer!  O  worthy 
Stephano !  look,  what  a  wardrobe  here  is  for  thee ! 

Cal.  Let  it  alone,  thou  fool ;  it  is  but  trash. 

Trin.  O,  ho,  monster;  we  know  what  belongs  to 
a  frippery : ' — 0  king  Stephano ! 

Ste.  Put  off  that  gown,  Trinculo ;  by  this  hand, 
m  have  that  gown. 

Trin.  Thy  grace  shall  hare  it. 

Cot.  The  dropsy  drown  this  fool !  what  do  you 
mean, 

t\)  Bait    (2)  Education.    (3)  Jack  with  a  lantern. 
(4)  Brer.    (5)  A  shop  for  sale  of  old  clothes. 


To  doat  thus  on  such  luggage?  I^t's  along, 
And  do  the  murder  first ;  «f  ne  awake. 
From  toe  to  crown  he'll  dU  our  skins  with  pinches ; 
Make  us  strange  stuff. 

Ste.  Be  you  quiet,  monster. — Mistress  line,  is  not 
this  my  jerkin?  Now  is  the  jerkin  under  the  line: 
now,  jerkin,  you  are  like  to  lose  your  hair,  aod 
prove  a  bald  jerkin. 

Trin.  Do,  do :  W«  steal  by  line  and  lerel,  ant 
like  your  grace. 

Ste.  I  tliank  thee  for  that  jest ;  here's  a  garment 
for't :  wit  shall  not  go  unrewarded,  while  I  am  king 
of  this  country :  Steal  by  line  and  level,  is  an  excef 
lent  pass  of  pate ;  there's  anoli»er  f^nrment  for't. 

Trin.  Monster,  come,  put  some  lime"  upon  your 
fingers,  and  away  with  the  rest. 

Ctd.  I  will  have  none  on't :  we  shall  lose  our  time, 
And  all  be  turn'd  to  barnacles,  or  to  apes 
With  foreheads  villanous  low. 

Ste.  Monster,  lay  to  your  fingers ;  help  to  beM 
this  away,  where  mv  hogshead  of  wine  Is,  or  I'll 
turn  you  out  of  my  kingdom  ;  go  to,  carry  this. 

Tri7i.  And  Uiis. 

Ste,  Aye,  and  this. 

»J  Moi'c  of  hunters  heard.  Enter  divers  Spirits, 
in  shape  of  hounds,  and  hunt  them  about  ;  Pros- 
per© and  Ariel  setting  them  on. 

Pro.  Hey,  fountain,  hey ! 

.iri.  Silver !  there  it  goes.  Silver  ! 

Pro.  Furu,  Fury!  there,  Tyrant,  there!  hark, 
hark! 

[Cal.  Ste.  and  Trin.  are  driven  out. 
Go,  charge  my  goblins  that  they  grind  tl>eir  joints 
With  dry  convulsions ;  shorten'up  their  sinews 
With  aged  cramps  ;  and  more  pinch-spottcd  make 

them. 
Than  pard,'  or  cat  o'  mountain. 

»^"-  Hark,  they  roar. 

Pro.  Let  them  be  hunted  soundly :  at  this  hour 
Lie  at  mv  mercy  all  mine  enemies ; 
Shortly  shall  all  my  labours  end.  and  thou 
Shalt  have  the  air  at  freedom :  lor  a  little. 
Follow,  and  do  me  service.  \Extvnt. 


ACT  V. 

SCEJ^E  I.— Before  the  ce«  of  Prosper©.    Enler 
Prospero  tn  his  magic  robes,  and  Ariel. 

Pro.  Now  does  my  project  gather  to  a  head ; 
My  charms  crack  not ;  my  spirits  obey  ;  and  time 
Goes  upright  with  his  carnage.— How'*s  the  day? 

»?r».  On  the  sixth  hour ;  at  which  lime,  my  lord, 
You  said  our  work  should  cease. 
„.-P'-<'-        ,  I  did  say  so. 

When  first  I  rais'd  the  tempest.    Say,  my  spirit. 
How  fares  the  king  and  his  ? 

*5"'.  ,  Confm'd  together 

In  the  same  fashion  as  vou  gave  in  charge  ; 
Just  as  vou  left  them,  s"ir ;  all  prisoners 
In  the  lime  grove  which  weather-fends^  your  cell  • 
They  ca  inot  budge,  till  you  release.    The  king, 
His  brother,  and  yours,  abide  all  three  distracted ; 
And  the  remainder  mourning  over  them. 
Brim-full  of  sorrow,  and  dismay ;  but  chiefly 
Him  you  term'd,  sir.  The  ^ood  old  lord  Gonzalo; 
His  tears  run  down  his  beard,  like  winter's  dropa 

(6^  Bird-lime.  (7)  Leopard. 

(8)  Defends  front  bad  weather. 


^Mtt. 


TEMPEST. 


m 


From eavMofrecds:  I  your charmsojtrengly works]  Didst  thou,  Alonso,  use  me  and  my  daughter: 


tJiem, 

That  if  you  now  beheld  them,  your  affections 
Would  become  tender. 
Pro.  Dost  thou  think  so,  spirit? 

t3ri.  Mine  would,  sir,  were  I  human.  , 
Pro.  And  mine  shall. 

Hast  thou,  which  art  but  air.  a  touch  of  feeling 
Of  their  aitiictions;  and  shall  not  myself, 
One  of  their  kind,  that  relish  all  as  s'harj/iy, 


quick' 


Thy  brother  was  a  furtherer  in  the  act ; — 
Thou'rt  pinch'd  for't  now,  Sebastian. — Flesh  *nd 

blood, 
Y'ou  brother  mine,  that  entertain'd  ambition, 
Expell'd  remorse^  and  nature ;  Vr  ho,  with  Sebastian, 
(Whose  inivard  pinches  therefore  are  most  stronjr,) 
Would  here  have  kill'd  yoarkin^ ;  1  do  forgive  thee. 
Unnatural  though  thou  art ! — Their  understanding 
Begins  to  swell :  and  the  approaching  tide 
Passion  as  tiiev,  lie  kindlier  mov'd  iJian  thou  art  ?    Will  shortly  Cil  the  reasonable  shores, 
Though  with  their  high  wrongs  I  an  struck  to  the'Tliat  now  lie  foul  and  muddy.    Not  one  of  them, 

Tliat  yet  looks  on  me,  or  would  know  me : — Ariel, 
i'ctch  me  tlic  hat  and  rapier  in  m)  cell : 

[Exit  Ariel. 
I  will  dis-case  me,  and  mj'self  present. 
As  i  wr.s  sometime  3Iilan  i^^juickly, spirit; 
Thou  shall  ere  long  be  free. 

Ariel  re-entersy  .ffn^iji"",  and  helps  to  attire 
Prospero. 

Arl.  Where  ike  bee  sucks,  there  sitck  I; 
In  a  cowslip's  bell  J  lie  : 
Tlitre  I  cmich  tchcn  owls  do  cry. 
On  ti'te  bai's  bficic  I  dojly, 
Jljicr  summer,  merrily : 
.Merrihi,  merrily,  shall  /"i[irc  noip, 
Under  the  biosaoin  tliat  luuigs  on  the  bough. 

Pro.  »Why,  that's  my  dainty  Ariel ;  I  shall  mist 

tliee; 
But  Tct  thou  shalt  have  freedom :  so,  so,  so 
To  the  kiui^'s  ship,  invisible  as  thou  art : 
There  shall  thou  find  the  mariners  asleep 
Under  the  batches ;  the  master,  and  the  boatswain. 
Being  awake,  enforce  them  to  this  place  ; 
And  presently,  I  pr';j-tjiee. 

..in.  I  drink  the  air  bcibre  me,  and  return 
Or  e'er  your  pulse  t^vicc  beat,  [Exit  Ariel. 

Gen.  All  toiTuent,  trouble,  wonder,  and  ameze- 
ment 
Inhabits  here :  Some  heavenly  power  guide  us 
Out  of  this  fearful  country ! 

Pro.  Behold,  sir  king. 

The  wrdng'd  duke  of  Milan,  Prospero ; 
For  more  assurance  that  a  living  prince 
Docs  now  speak  to  thee,  I  embrace  thy  body ; 
And  to  thee,  and  thy  company,  I  bid  ' 
A  hearty  welcome. 

dlcn.  Whe'r'  Ihou  beest  he,  or  no. 

Or  some  enchanted  triCe  to  abuse  mc. 
As  late  I  have  been,  I  not  know :  thy  pu]s<! 


Yet  with  my  nobler  reason,  'gainst  my  fury 
Do  I  take  part:  tiic  rarer  iiciioiiis 
In  virtue  than  in  venj;oaiice:  liicy  beln^  penitent, 
Tfie  sole  drift  of  my  ]>urposc  dotri  extciiu 
ISot  a  frown  further:  Go,  release  tjiem,  Ariel ; 
My  charms  I'll  break   their  senses  I'll  restore. 
And  they  shall  be  themselves. 
*iri.  .  I'll  fetch  them,  sir. 

[Exit. 
Pro.  Yc  elves  of  hills,  brooks,  standing  lakes, 
ana  groves ; 
And  ye,  tiiat  on  tlie  sands  with  printless  foot 
Do  chase  the  ebbinjr  Neptune,  anil  do  llyliim. 
When  he  comes  back;  you  demy-puppets,  that 
By  rnoon-shine  do  the  crcen-sou'r  liiigiets  m.ake. 
Whereof  the  ewe  not  bites  ;  and  you,  whose  pas- 
time 
Is  to  make  midnight-mushrooms;  that  rejoice 
To  hear  tiie  solemn  curfew ;  by  vrliose  aid 
nVeak  maslers  though  ye  be,)'l  have  be-dimm'd 
The  noon-tide  sun,  cail'tl  fartii  tlie  mutinous  winds, 
And  'twLxt  the  screen  sea  and  the  azur'd  vault 
Set  roaring;  war :  to  the  dread  ratUine;  thunder 
Have  I  jriven  fire,  aiid  rifted  Jove's  stout  oak 
With  his  own  bolt:  tiie  stroni,'-bas'd  promontorv 
Have  I  made  siiakc ;  and  by  the  spurs  pluck'd  iip 
The  pine  and  cedar :  graves,  at  my  ccmmand. 
Have  wal;'d  their  sleepers;    op"d",  and  let  them 

forth 
By  my  s'j  potent  art :  But  this  rough  ma^ic 
I  here  abjure :  and,  wiien  I  have  requir'a 
Some  heavenly  music  (which  even  nov.- 1  do,) 
To  work  mine  end  upon  their  senses,  that 
Tills  airy  cinnn  is  for,  I'll  break  my  sla-'f, 
Bury  it  certain  fathoms  in  the  earth. 
And.  deeper  tiian  did  ever  plummet  sound, 
I'll  drown  my  book.  [HoUmii  music. 

Re-enter  Ariel :  afltr  hii)t,  Alonso,  wllk  a  frantic 


gesture,  attended  by  Gonz-jlo;    Sebastian  anrfj  Beats,  as  of  flesh  and  blood  ;  and,  sir.ce  I  saw  thee, 
Antonio  in  like  nianner,  attended  by  Adrian  anii  The  adliction  of  my  mind  amends,  with  which, 
Francisco :    They  all  enter  the  circle  which  Pros- '  I  fear,  a  madness  held  me :  this  must  crave 
pero  had  mzde,  and  there  stand  ciuunned ;  tc/u<;Al(An  if  this  be  at  all)  a  most  strang-e  story. 


Prospero  observing,  speaks. 

A  solemn  air,  and  the  best  comforter 
To  an  unsettled  fancy,  care  thy  bnin?, 
Now  useless,  boil'd  within  thy  skull!  Thar: 

For  yo!i  are  spell-stopp'd. 

Holy  Gonzalo,  honourable  man, 

Mine  eves,  even  sociable  to  the  show  of  tlune. 


Full  fellowly  drops. — The  charm  dissolves  apace ;  I  Or  he  not,  I'll  not  swear, 


Tliy  dukedom  I  resign ;  and  do  entreat 
iTbbu  pardon  me  my  wrongs: — But  how  should 
I  Prospero 

Be  living,  and  be  here  ? 

I    Pro.  First,  noble  friend, 

I  Let  me  embrace  thine  a;;c ;  whose  honour  cannot 
[  Be  raeasur'd,  or  comin'd. 

Gon.  Whether  this  be. 


And  as  the  mornmg  steals  upon  the  night, 
McUin;j  the  darkness,  so  their  rising  senses 
Bfi^in  to  chase  the  ignorant  fumes  that  mantle 
Tl-.eir  clearer  reason. — 0  mv  good  Gonzalo, 
My  true  preserver,  and  a  loval  sir 
To  him  thou  fbliow'st;  I  will  par  thv  graces 
Home,  boUi  in  word  and  deed. — ^Nloit  cruelly 

(1)  Thatch.    (2)  Pity,  or  tenderness  of  heart. 


Pro.  You  do  yet  taste 

Some  subtleties  o'the  isle,  that  will  not  let  you 
Believe  things  certain  : — ^V\''clcome,  mv  friend* 

all:— 
But  you,  my  brace  of  lords,  were  I  so  minded, 

{.iside  to  Scb.  and  Ant, 
I  here  could  pluck  his  highness'  frown  upon  you, 

(S)  ^\TieUicr. 


91 


tempf;st. 


Ml  V. 


And  Justity  y«u  traitors ;  at  this  time 
ril  tell  no  t^les. 

Stb.  The  devil  speaks  in  him.    Upside, 

Pro.  No;— 

For  you,  most  wicked  sir,  whom  to  call  brother 
Would  even  infect  mv  mouth,  I  do  forgive 
Thy  rankest  fault ;  all  of  them  ;  and  require 
My  dukedom  of  thee,  which,  perforce,  I  know, 
Thou  must  restore. 

Jllon,  If  thou  beest  Prospero, 

Give  us  particulars  of  thy  preservation  : 
How  thou  hast  met  us  here,  who  three  hours  since 
Were  wreck'd  upon  this  shore  ;  where  I  have  lost. 
How  sharp  the  point  of  tliis  remembrance  is ! 
My  dear  son  Ferdinand. 

Pro.  I  am  wo'  for't,  sir. 

^lon.  Irreparable  is  the  loss ;  and  Patience 
Says,  it  is  past  her  cure. 

Pro.  I  rather  think 

You  have  not  sought  her  help ;  of  whose  soft  grace. 
For  the  like  loss,  1  have  her  sovereign  aid. 
And  rest  myself  content. 

^lon.  You  the  like  loss  ? 

Pro.  As  great  to  me,  as  late ;  and,  portable'' 
To  make  the  deai-  loss,  have  I  means  much  weaker 
Than  you  may  call  to  comfort  you  ;  for  I 
Have  lost  my  daughter. 

Jllon.  A  daughter? 

0  heavens !  that  they  were  living  both  in  Naples, 
The  king  and  queen  there !  that  they  were,  I  wish 
Myself  were  mudded  in  that  oozy  bed 

Wnere  my  son  lies.    When  did  you  lose  your 

daughter  ? 
Pro.  In  this  last  tempest.    I  perceive,  these  lords 
At  this  encounter  do  so  much  admire, 
That  they  devour  their  reason  ;  and  scarce  think 
Their  eyes  do  offices  of  truth,  their  words 
Arc  natural  breath  ;  but,  howsoe'r  you  have 
Been  juslled  from  your  senses,  know  for  certain, 
That  I  am  Prospero,  and  that  very  duke 
Which  was  thrust  forth  of  Milan  ;    who  most 

strangely 
Upon  this  shore,  where  you  were  wreck'd,  was 

landed. 
To  be  the  lord  on't.    No  more  yet  of  this ; 
For  'tis  a  chronicle  of  day  by  day, 
Not  a  relation  for  a  breakfast,  nor 
Befitting  this  first  meeting.    Welcome,  sir ; 
This  cell's  my  court :  here  have  I  few  attendants, 
And  subjects  none  abroad  :  pray  you,  look  in. 
My  dukedom  since  you  have  dven  me  again, 

1  will  requite  you  with  as  good  a  thing ; 

At  least,  bring  forth  a  wonder,  to  content  ye, 
As  much  as  me  my  dukedom. 

The  entrance  of  the  cell  opens,  and  discovers  Ferdi- 
nand and  Miranda  playing  at  chess. 

Jtftro.  Sweet  lord,  you  play  me  false. 

Fer.  No,  my  dearest  love, 

I  would  not  for  the  world. 

Jtfira.  Yes,  for  a  score  of  kingdoms  you  should 
wrangle, 
And  I  would  call  it  fair  play. 

.^lon.  If  this  prove 

A  vision  of  the  island,  one  dear  son 
Shall  I  twice  lose. 

Seh.  A  most  high  miracle  ! 

Fer.  Though  the  seas  threaten,  they  are  merciful; 
I  have  eurs'a  them  without  cause. 

(Ferd.  kneels  to  Alon. 

tikm.  Now  all  the  blessings 

Oft  glad  father  compass  thee  about ' 


(I)  Sorry. 


(2)  Bearable. 


Arise,  and  say  how  thou  cam'st  here. 

J\lira.  0  !  wonder ! 

How  many  goodly  creatures  are  there  here ! 
How  beauteous  mankind  is !    0  brave  new  world, 
That  has  such  people  in't ! 

Pro.  'Tis  new  to  thee. 

»ilon.  What  is  this  maid,  with  whom  thou  wast 
at  play  ? 
Your  eld'st  acquaintance  cannot  be  three  hours : 
Is  she  the  goddess  that  hath  sever'd  us, 
And  brouglil  us  thus  together  ? 

Fer.  Sir,  she's  mortal ; 

But,  by  immortal  Providence,  she's  mine ; 
1  chose  her,  when  I  could  not  ask  my  father 
For  his  advice ;  nor  thought  I  had  one :  she 
Is  daughter  to  this  famous  duke  of  Milan, 
Of  whom  so  often  I  have  heard  renown. 
But  never  saw  before  ;  of  whom  I  have 
Receiv'd  a  second  life,  and  second  father 
This  lady  makes  him  to  me. 

Jllon.  I  am  her's : 

But  0,  how  oddly  will  it  sound,  that  I 
Must  ask  my  child  forgiveness  ! 

Pro.  .   There,  sir,  stop : 

Let  us  not  burden  our  remembrances 
With  a  heaviness  that's  gone. 

Gon.  I  have  inly  wept, 

Or  should  have  spoke  ere  this.    Look  down,  you 

eod-. 
And  on  this  couple  drop  a  blessed  croivn ; 
For  it  is  you,  that  have  chalk'd  forth  the  way 
Which  brought  us  hitlier  ! 

»^/o?i.  I  say.  Amen,  Gonzalo ! 

Gon.  Was  Milan  thrust  from  Milan,  that  his  issue 
Should  become  king  of  Naples  ?  0,  rejoice 
Beyond  a  common  joy  :  and  set  it  down 
With  jrold  on  lasting  pillars :  In  one  voyage 
Did  Claribel  her  husband  find  at  Tunis  ; 
And  Ferdinand,  her  brother,  found  a  wife. 
Where  he  himself  was  lost ;  Prospero  his  dukedom, 
In  a  poor  isle  ;  and  all  of  us,  ourselves. 
When  no  man  was  his  own.^ 

•4/o«.  Give  me  your  hands : 

[To  Fer.  and  Mira. 
Let  grief  and  sorrow  still  embrace  his  heart. 
That  doth  not  wish  you  joy ! 

Gon.  Be't  so !  Amen ! 

Re-enter  Ariel,  icilh  the  Master  and  Boatswain 
amazedly  following. 

0  look,  sir,  look,  sir :  here  are  more  of  us ! 

1  prophesied,  if  a  gallows  were  on  land. 

This  fellow  could  not  drown  : — Now,  blasphemy, 
That  s wcar'st  grace  o'erboard,  not  an  oath  on  shore? 
Hast  thou  no  mouth  by  land  ?  What  is  the  news  .' 

Boats.  The  best  news  is,  that  we  have  safely  found 
Our  kin^  and  company :  the  next,  our  ship, — 
Which,  out  three  glasses  since,  we  gave  out  split,— 
Is  tight  and  yare,"  and  bravely  rigg'd  as  when 
We  hrst  put  out  to  sea. 

Jiri.  Sir,  all  this  service  ) 

Have  I  done  since  I  went.  >  [^side. 

Pro.  My  tricksy'  spirit !  ) 

Mon.    These   are   not   natural   events ;   they 
strengthen, 
From  strange  to  stranger.— Say,  how  came  you 
hither? 

Boats.  If  I  did  think,  sir,  I  were  well  awake, 
I'd  strive  to  tell  you.    We  were  dead  of  sleep. 
And  (how,  we  know  not)  all  clapp'd  under  hatches. 
Where,  but  even  now,  with  strange  and  several 
noises 

'S)  In  his  senses.    (4)  fieady.   (5;  Clercr  adroit. 


Bctnt  I. 


TEMPEST. 


or  roaring,  shriekin?,  howling,  ^nglinz  chains, 
And  more  diversity  of  sounds,  all  horrible, 
We  were  awak'd  ;  straightway,  at  liberty ; 
Where  we,  in  all  her  trim,  freshly  behslH 
Our  royal,  good,  and  <rallant  ship;  our  master 
Cap'ring  to  eye  iier:  On  a  trice,  so  please  you, 
Even  in  a  dream,  were  we  divided  from  them. 
And  were  brought  mopincr  hither. 

»ir!.  Was't  well  done  ?  ) 

Pn.    Bravely,    my  diligence.     Thou  >  [*3stJe. 
shalt  be  free.  ) 

iMlon.  This  is  as  strange  a  maze  as  e'er  men  trod : 
And  there  is  in  this  busmess  more  than  nature 
Was  ever  conduct'  of:  some  oracle 
Must  rectify  our  knowledge. 

Pro.  Sir,  my  liege, 

Do  not  infest  your  mind  with  beating  on 
The  strangeness  of  this  business;  alpick'd  leisure, 
Which  shall  be  shortly,  single  I'll  resolve  you 
(\Vhich  to  you  shall  seem  probable,)  of  every 
These  ha ppen'd  accidents;  till  when,  be  cheerful, 
And  think  of  each  thing  well.— Come  hither,  spirit ; 

i^iside. 
Set  Caliban  and  his  companions  free : 
Untie  the  spell.  [Exit  Ariel.]  How  fares  my  gra^ 

cious  sir  ? 
There  are  yet  missing  of  your  company 
Some  few  odd  lads,  that  you  remember  not. 

Re-enter  Ariel,  driving  in  Caliban,  Stephano,  ana' 
Trinculo,  in  tiieir  stolen  apparel. 

Ste.  Every  man  shift  for  all  the  rest,  and  let  no 
man  take  care  for  himself;  for  all  is  but  fortune : — 
Cora^io,  bully-monster,  Coragio ! 

Tnn.  If  these  be  true  spies  which  I  wear  in  mv 
head,  here's  a  goodly  sight. 

Cal,  O  Setebos,  these  be  brave  spirits,  indeed ! 
How  fine  my  master  is !  I  am  afraid 
He  will  chastise  me. 

Seb.  Ha,  ha ; 

What  things  are  these,  my  lord  Antonio  ? 
Will  money  buy  them  ? 

•Ant.  '  Very  like;  one  of  them 

Is  a  plain  fish,  and,  no  doubt,  marketable. 

Pro.   Mark  but  the  badges  of  tlicse  men,  mv 
lords. 
Then  say,  if  they  be  true :' — This  mis-shapen  knave, 
His  mother  was  a  witch ;  and  one  so  strong 
That  could  control  the  moon,  make  flows  and  ebbs, 
And  deal  in  her  command,  without  her  power: 
These  three  have  robb'd  me  ;  and  this  demi-devil 
(For  he's  a  bastard  one,)  had  plotted  with  them 


(1)  Conductor. 


(2)  Honest. 


To  take  mj  life :  two  of  these  fellows  you 
Must  know,  and  own ;  this  thing  of  darkness  I 
Acknowledge  mine. 

Cal.  I  shall  be  pinch'd  to  death. 

^ilon.  Is  not  thi?  StephaiiOj  my  drunken  butler? 

Heb.  He  is  drunk  now  :  W  here  had  he  wine  ? 

.?/oJi.  And  Trinculo  is  reeling  ripe :  where  should 
they 
Find  this  grand  hquor  that  hatli  gilded  them  7 — 
How  cam'sl  thou  iii  this  pickle  ? 

Trin.  I  have  been  in  such  a  pickle,  since  I  saw 
you  last,  that,  I  fear  me,  will  never  out  of  my  bonds : 
1  shall  not  fear  fly-blowins-. 

Seb.  Why,  how  now,  Stephano  ? 

8lc.  O,  touch  mc  net ;  I  am  not  Stephano,  but 
a  cramp. 

Pro.  You'd  be  king  of  the  isle,  sirrah? 

Sit.  I  should  have  been  a  sore  one  then. 

„ilon.  This  is  as  strange  a  thing  as  e'er  I  look'd  on. 
[Pointing  to  Caliban. 

Pro.  He  is  as  disproportion'd  in  his  manners, 
As  in  his  shape  : — Go,  sirrah,  to  my  cell ; 
Take  v.ith  you  your  companions ;  as  you  look 
To  have  rny  pardon,  trim  it  handsomely. 

Cal.  Ay,  that  I  will ;  and  I'll  be  wise  hcreatler, 
And  seek  for  grace :  What  a  thrice-double  ass 
Was  I,  to  take  this  drunkard  for  a  god, 
And  worship  this  dull  fool ! 

Pro.  Go  to ;  away ! 

Alon.  Hence,  and  bestow  your  luggage  where 
you  found  it. 

Seb.  Or  stole  it,  rather. 

[Exeunt  Cal.  Ste.  and  Trin. 

Pro.  Sir,  I  invite  your  highness,  and  your  train. 
To  my  poor  cell :  wl\ere  you  shall  take  vour  rest 
For  this  one  night ;  which  (part  of  it)  1*^11  waste 
With  such  dkcourse,  as,  I  not  doubt,  shall  make  it 
Go  quick  away:  the  story  of  my  life. 
And  the  particular  accidenL?,  gone  by, 
Since  1  came  to  this  isle  :  And  in  the  mom. 
I'll  bring  you  to  your  ship,  and  so  to  Naples, 
Where  I  have  hope  to  see  the  nuptial 
Of  these  our  dear-beloved  solemniz'd  : 
And  ther.ce  retire  mc  to  my  Milan,  where 
Every  third  thought  shall  be  my  grave. 

Jlon.  1  long 

To  hear  the  story  of  vour  life,  which  must 
Take  the  ear  strangely. 

Pro.  I'll  deliver  all; 

And  promise  you  calm  sens,  auspicious  gales, 
And  sail  so  expeditious,  that  shall  catch 
Vour  royal  (l:et  far  odl— My  Ariel ;— chick,— 
That  is  thy  charge  ;  tiien  to'the  elements 
Be  free,  ami  fare  thou  well  l—[(vnde\  Please  you 
draw  near.  [Exeunt. 

»> 


n 


TEMPEST. 


EPILOGUE. 

Spoken  by  Prospero. 

?COW  my  charms  are  all  o'ert/troion, 
jJnrf  wiiat  strength  I  navels  mine  own; 
Which  is  most  Jainl :  now,  His  true, 
I  mxist  be  here  confined  by  ymt. 
Or  sent  to  J^aplcs :  Let  me  not, 
Since  I  have  my  dukedom  got, 
^Ind  nwrdmCd  the  deceiver,  dwell 
In  this  bare  island,  by  your  spell  j 
But  release  me  from  my  bands. 
With  the  help  of  your  good  kanils.* 
Gentle  breath  of  yours  my  sails 
.Must  fill,  or  eLie  my  project  fails, 
Which  was  to  please  :  now  I  want 
Spirits  to  enforce,  art  to  enchant  J 
.inrf  my  endine  is  despair, 
Ijnless  I  be  relieved  by  prayer; 

{\)  Applause :  noise  was  apposed  to  dissolve  i 


Which  pierces  so.  that  it  eismdts 
Mercy  itself,  and  frees  all  faults. 

M  you  from  crimes  wiuld  pardon  d  ((, 
Let  your  indulgence  set  me  free. 
» 
It  is  observed  of  The  Tempest,  that  its  plan  Is 
regular;  this  the  author  of  The  llevisal  thinks, 
what  I  think  too,  an  accidental  effect  of  the  story, 
not  intended  or  re<?ardcd  by  our  author.  But, 
whatever  mipht  be  Shakspeare's  intention  in  form- 
ing or  adopting  the  plot,  he  has  made  it  instrumen- 
tal to  the  production  of  many  characters,  diversi- 
fied with  boundless  invention,  and  preserved  with 
profound  skill  in  nature,  extensive  knowledge  of 
opinions,  and  accurate  observation  of  lite.  In  a  sin- 
Igle  drama  are  here  exhibited  princes,  courtiers,  and 
'  sailors,  all  speaking  in  their  real  characters.  There 
is  the  agency  of  airy  spirits,  and  of  an  earthly  gob- 
lin ;  the  operations  of  majjic,  the  tumults  of  a 
storm,  the  adventures  of  a  desert  island,  the  native 
effusion  of  untaug'ht  affection,  the  punishment  of 
guilt,  and  the  final  happiness  of  the  pair  for  w  hom 
our  passions  and  reasons  arc  equally  interested. 

JOHNSON. 


(    27    ) 


m 


^^•flfeir 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


puke  ot'iAila.xt,  father  to  SUvia. 
?rl^!^^'  }sen"'"''n  of  Verona, 
Antonio,  father  to  Proteus. 
Thiirio,  a  foolish  rival  to  Valentine. 
Kglamour,  agent  for  Hilvia  in  her  escape 
Speed,  achwiiisn  servant  to  Valenline. 
LiiU!ice,  servant  to  Proteus. 
Panthino,  strva7it  to  ^intmiio. 
Host,  where  Julia  lodges  in  J\Iilan. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTI 
Out'laus, 


D. 


Julia,  a  lady  cf  Verona^  beloved  by  Proteits. 
Silvia,  tht  iitike's  daugiiter,  beloved  by  Valentirii. 
Lucctta,  icailiug-icomaii  to  Julia. 

Servants,  miisicitvts. 

Scene,  SQinitimes  in  Verona;  sometimes  in  J\iilan  ; 
and  on  the  frontiers  of  Jtiantiui, 


Enter 


ACT  I. 

SCE^'E  /.— .fn  open  place  in  Verona, 
Valentine  and  Proteus. 

Vcdentine. 

\^EASE  to  persuade,  my  loving  Proteus ; 
Home-keeping  youth  have  ever  homely  wits : 
Wcr't  not,  aflection  chains  thy  lender  days 
To  the  sweet  glances  of  thy  honour'd  love, 
1  rather  would  entreat  thy  company. 
To  see  the  wonlers  of  the  world  abroad, 
Than  Urine  dully  sluggardiz'd  at  home, 
Wear  out  thy  youth  with  shapeless  idleness. 
But,  since  thou  lov'st,  love  still,  and  thrive  therein, 
Even  as  I  would,  when  I  to  love  begin. 

Pro.    Wilt  thou  be  gone?    Sweet  Valentine, 
adieu ! 
Think  on  thy  Proteus,  when  thou,  haply,  seest 
Rome  rare  note-worthy  object  in  thy  travel : 
Wish  me  partaker  in  thy  happiness, 
When  thou  dost  meet  good  hap ;  and,  in  thy  dan- 
ger, 
If  ever  danger  do  environ  thee, 
Commend  Uiy  grievance  to  mv  holy  prayers. 
For  I  will  bethy  beads-man,  Valcntme. 

Vol.  And  on  a  love-book  pray  for  my  success. 

Pro.  Upon  some  book  I  love,  I'll  pray  for  thee. 

Vol.  That's  on  some  shallow  storv  of  deep  love, 
How  young  Leander  cross'd  the  Hellespont. 

Pro.  That's  a  deep  story  of  a  deeper  love. 
For  he  was  more  than  over  shoes  in  love. 

Vol.  'Tis  true ;  for  you  arc  over  boots  in  love. 
And  yet  you  never  swam  the  Hellespont. 

Pro.  Over  the  boots?    nay,  give  me  not  the 
boots. '  '  j 

VaL  No,  I'll  not,  for  it  boots  thee  not. 

Pro.  \Vhat? 

Vol.  To  bc[ 

In  lore,  where  scorn  is  bought  with  groans ;  coy  i 
looks,  I 

With  heart-sore  sighs ;  one  fadine  moment's  mirth,  [ 
With  twenty  watchful,  weary,  tedious  nights  : 
If  baply  won,  perhaps,  a  hapless  gain ; 

(I)  A  humorous  punishment  at  hanrest-homc 

fe«Bt9,  &c. 


If  lost,  why  tlien  a  grievous  labour  won ; 
However,  but  a  foiiv  bought  with  wit. 
Or  else  a  wit  by  ioUy  vanquished. 

Pro.  So,  by  your  circumstance,  you  call  me  fool. 

Vol.  So,  by  your  circumslan(^e,  I  fear,  you'll 
prove. 

Pro.  'Tis  love  you  cavil  at :  I  am  not  Love. 

Vat.  Love  is  your  master,  for  he  masters  you : 
And  he  that  is  so  yoked  by  a  fool, 
Metiunl;s  should  not  be  chronicled  for  wise. 

Pro.  Yet  v.-riters  sa^',  As  in  the  sweetest  bud 
The  eating  canker  dwells,  so  eating  lore 
Inhabits  in  the  finest  wits  of  all. 

Val.  And  writers  say.  As  tlie  most  forward  bud 
Is  eaten  by  the  canker  ere  it  blow. 
Even  so  by  love  the  young  and  tender  wit 
Is  turn'd  to  folly ;  blasting  in  the  bud. 
Losing  his  verdure  even  in  tiie  prime. 
And  all  tlie  fair  effects  of  future  hopes. 
But  wherefore  waste  I  time  to  couosel  thee. 
That  art  a  votary  to  fond  desire? 
Once  more  adieu :  my  father  at  the  road 
Expects  my  coming,  there  to  see  me  shipp'd. 

Pro.  And  thither  will  I  bring  thee,  Valentine. 

Val.  Sweet  Proteus,  no ;  now  let  us  take  our 
leave. 
At  Milan,  let  me  hear  from  thcc  by  letters, 
Of  thy  success  in  love,  and  what  news  else 
Betiifelh  here  in  absence  of  thy  friend ; 
And  I  likev/ise  will  visit  thee  witli  mine. 

Pro.  All  happiness  bechance  to  thee  in  Milan ! 

Val.  As  much  to  you  at  home  I  and  so,  farewell ! 
[Exit  Valentine. 

Pro.  He  after  honour  hunts,  I  after  lore  : 
He  leaves  his  friends,  to  dignify  them  more ; 
I  leave  myself,  my  friends,  and  all  for  love. 
Thou,  Julia,  thou  hast  metamorphos'd  me ; 
Made  me  neglect  my  studies,  lose  mv  time, 
War  with  good  counsel,  set  the  world  at  nought; 
Made  wit  with  musing  weak,  heart  sick  with 
thought, 

E:iter  Speed. 

Speed.  Sir  Proteus,  save  you :    saw  you  07 

master  ? 
Pro,  But  now  he  parted  hence,  to  embark  for 

Milan. 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA, 


JetL 


Spted.  Twenty  to  one  then,  he  is  shipp'd  al  ready; 
Ana  I  have  play'd  the  sheep,  in  losing  him. 

Pro.  Indeed  a  sheep  dotn  very  often  stray. 
An  if  the  shepherd  be  awliile  away. 

Speed.  You  conclude  that  my  master  is  a  shep- 
herd then,  and  I  a  sheep  7 

Pro.  I  do. 

Speed.  Why  then  my  horns  are  his  horns,  whether 
I  wake  or  sleep. 

•  Pro.  A  silly  answer,  and  fitting  well  a  sheep. 

Speed.  This  proves  me  still  a  sheep. 

Pro.  True ;  and  thy  master  a  shepherd. 

Speed.  Nay,  that  I  can  deny  by  a  circumstance 

Pro.  It  shall  so  hard,  but  I'll  prove  it  by  another. 

Speed.  The  shepherd  seeks  the  sheep,  and  not 
the  sheep  the  shepherd ;  but  I  seek  my  master, 
and  my  master  seeks  not  mc :  therefore,  I  am  no 
ehcep. 

Pro.  The  sheep  for  fodder  follow  the  shepherd, 
the  shepherd  for  food  follows  not  the  sheep ;  thou 
for  wages  followest  thy  master,  thy  master  for  wa- 
ges follows  not  thee :  therefore,  thou  art  a  sheep. 

Speed.  Such  another  proof  will  make  me  cry 
baa. 

Pro.  But  dost  thou  hear?  gav'st  thou  my  letter 
to  Julia  I 

Speed.  Ay.  sir ;  I,  a  lost  mutton,  gave  your  let 
ter  to  her,  a  laced  mutton ; '  and  she,  a  laced  mut- 
ton, gave  me,  a  lost  mutton,  nothing  for  mv  labour. 

Pro.  Here's  too  small  a  pasture  for  sucli  a  store 
of  muttons. 

Speed.  If  the  ground  be  overcharged,  you  were 
best  stick  her. 

Pro.  Nay,  in  that  you  are  astray ;  'twere  best 
pound  you. 

Speed.  Nay,  sir,  less  than  a  pound  shall  serve 
me  for  carrjin^  your  letter. 

Pro,  You  mistake;  I  mean  the  pound,  a  pin- 
fold. 

Speed.  From  a  pound  to  a  pin  ?  fold  it  over  and 
over, 
Tis  threefold  too  little  for  carrying  a  letter  to  your 
lover. 

Pro.  But  what  said  she?  did  she  nod  ? 

[Speed  nods. 

Speed.  I. 

Pro.  Nod,  I  ?  why,  that's  noddy.* 

Speed.  You  mistook,  sir ;  I  say,  she  did  nod : 
and  you  ask  mc,  if  she  did  nod,  and  I  say,  I. 

Pro.  And  that  set  together,  is — noddy. 

Speed.  Now  you  have  taken  the  pams  to  set  it 
toother,  take  it  for  your  pains. 

Pro.  No,  no,  you  shall  have  it  for  bearing  the 
letter. 

Speed.  Well,  I  perceive,  I  must  be  fain  to  bear 
with  you. 

Pro.  Why,  sir,  how  do  you  bear  with  me  ? 

Speed.  Marrj-,  sir,  the  letter  very  orderly ;  having 
nothing  but  the  word,  noddy,  for  my  paiiis. 

Pro.  Beshrew'  me,  but  you  have  a  quick  wit. 

Speed.  And  yet  it  cannot  overtake  your  slow 
purse. 

Pro.  Come,  come,  open  the  matter  in  brief: 
what  said  she? 

Speed.  Open  your  purse,  that  the  money,  and 
the  matter,  may  oe  both  at  once  delivered. 

Pro.  Well,  su^,  here  is  for  your  pains ;  what  said 
she? 

Speed.  Truly,  sir.  I  think  you'll  hardly  win  her. 

Pro.  Why?  could'st  thou  perceive  so  much 
from  her  ? 

(I )  A  term  for  a  courtezan.   (2)  A  game  at  cards. 
(S)  lU  betide. 


Speed.  Sir,  I  could  perceive  nothing  at  all  from 
her ;  no,  not  so  much  as  a  ducat  for  dclivermg 
your  letter :  and  being  so  hard  to  me  that  brought 
your  mind,  I  fear,  she'll  prove  as  hard  to  you  in 
telling  her  mind.  Give  her  no  token  but  stones ; 
for  she's  as  hard  as  steel. 

Pro,  What,  said  she  nothing  ? 

Spted.  No,  not  so  much  as — take  this  for  thy 
vains.  To  testify  your  bounty,  I  thank  vou,  you 
nave  testem'd*  me;  in  requital  whereof,  hence* 
forth  carry  your  letters  yourself;  and  so,  sir,  I'll 
commend  you  to  my  master. 

Pro.  Go,  go,  begone,  to  save  your  ship  from 
wreck ; 
^Vhich  cannot  perisli,  having  thee  aboard. 
Being  destin'd  to  a  drier  death  on  shore  : — 
I  must  go  send  some  better  messenger  ; 
I  fear,  my  JuUa  would  not  deign  my  lines, 
Receiving  them  from  such  a  worthless  post. 

[Extunt, 

SCEJ^E   II.— The   same.      Garden   of  Julia't 
house.    Enter  Julia  and  Lucetta. 

Jut.  But  say,  Lucetta,  now  we  are  alone, 
Would'st  thou  then  counsel  me  to  fall  in  love 

Luc,  Ay,  madam ;  so  you  stumble  not  unheed- 
fullv. 

Jid.  Of  all  the  fair  resort  of  gentlemen, 
That  every  day  with  parle'  encounter  me, 
In  thy  opinion,  which  is  worthiest  love  ? 

Luc.  Please  you,  repeat  their  names,  I'll  show 
my  mind 
According  to  my  shallow  simple  skill. 

Jul.  what  think'stthou  of  the  fair  Sir  Eglamoiu-? 

Luc,  As  of  a  knight  well-spoken,  neat  and  fine; 
But,  were  I  you,  he  never  should  be  mine. 

Jid,  What  think'st  thou  of  the  rich  Mercatio  ? 

Lhc.  Well  of  his  wealth;  but  of  himself,  so,  so. 

Jid.  What  think'st  thou  of  the  arentlc  Proteus  ? 

Luc.  Lord,  lord !  to  see  what  folly  reigns  in  us  f 

Jul,  How  now !  what  means  thu>  passion  at  his 
name  ? 

Luc.   Pardon,   dear   madam  ;    'tis  a  passing 
shame, 
That  I,  unworthy  body  as  I  am, 
Should  censure*  thus  on  lovely  gentlemen. 

Jul.  Why  not  on  Proteus,  as  of  all  the  rest  ? 

Luc.  Then  thus, of  many  good  I  think  him 

best. 

Jul.  Your  reason  ? 

Luc.  I  have  no  other  but  a  woman's  reason : 
I  think  him  so,  because  I  think  him  so. 

Jul.  And  would'st  thou  have  me  cast  my  love 
on  him  ? 

Luc.  Av,  if  you  thousht  your  love  not  cast  away. 

Jul,  Why,  he  of  all  the  rest  hath  never  mov'd  me. 

Luc.  Yet  he  of  all  the  rest,  I  think,  best  loves  ye. 

Jxd,  His  little  speaking  shows  his  love  but  small. 

Luc,  Fire,  that  is  closest  kept,  burns  most  of  all. 

Jul.  They  do  not  love,  that  do  not  show  their  love. 

Luc.  O,  they  love  least,  that  let  men  know  then- 
love. 

JiU,  I  would,  I  knew  his  mind. 

^"'f  ■  rr,    r  Peruse  this  paper,  madati. 

Jul,  To  Julia, — Sav,  from  whom  ? 

4f"«-  That  the  contents  will  show. 

Jul,  Say,  sav  ;  who  gave  it  thee  ? 

Luc,  Sir  Valentine's  page;   and  sent,  I  think, 
from  Proteus : 
He  would  have  given  it  you,  but  I,  being  in  the  w»y^ 


(4)  Given  me  a  sixpence. 
(6)  Pass  sentence. 


(5)  Talk. 


sttiu  in. 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  Of  VERONA. 


!d 


Did  in  your  name  receive  it ;  pardon  the  fault,  I 
pray. 

Jul.  Now,  by  my  modesty,  a  goodly  broker  !> 
Dare  you  presume  to  harbour  wanton  lines  ? 
To  wfiisper  and  conspire  against  my  youth  ? 
Ndw,  trust  me,  'tis  an  otEce  of  great  worth. 
And  you  an  otncer  tit  for  the  place. 
There,  take  the  paper,  see  it  be  return'd ; 
Or  else  return  no  more  into  my  sight. 

Luc.  To  plead  for  love  deserves  more  fee  than 
hate, 

Jul.  Will  you  be  gone  ? 

Luc.  That  you  may  ruminate. 

[Exit. 

Jul.  And  yet,  1  would  I  had  o'erlook'd  the  letter. 
It  were  a  shame  to  call  her  back  again, 
And  pray  her  to  a  fault  for  which  Ichid  her. 
What  fool  is  she^  that  know  s  I  am  a  maid. 
And  would  not  force  the  letter  to  my  view  ? 
Since  maids,  in  modesty,  say  JVo,  to  that 
Which  they  would  have  the  protferer  construe,  Jly. 
Fie,  fie !  how  wayward  in  this  foohsh  love, 
That,  like  a  testy  babe,  will  scratch  the  nurse, 
And  presently,  all  humbled,  kiss  the  rod ! 
How  churlishly  I  chid  Lucetta  hence, 
When  willingly  I  would  have  had  her  here ! 
How  angrily  I  taught  my  brow  to  frown. 
When  inward  joy  enforc'd  my  heart  to  smile  ! 
My  penance  is,  to  call  Lucetta  back, 
And  ask  remission  for  my  folly  past:— 
What  ho!  Lucetta! 

Re-enter  Lucetta. 

Lue.  What  would  your  ladyship  ? 

Jul.  Is  it  near  dinner-time  ? 

Luc.  I  would  it  were  : 

That  you  might  kill  your  stomach'  on  your  meat. 
And  not  upon  your  maid. 

Jul.  What  is't  you  took  up 

80  singerlj? 

Luc.  Nothing. 

JuL  Why  didst  thou  stoop,  then? 

Luc.  To  take  a  paper  up  that  I  let  fall. 

J\d.  And  is  that  paper  nothing  ? 

Luc.  Nothing  concerning  me. 

Jul.  Then  let  it  lie  for  those  tliat  it  concerns. 

Luc.  Madam,  it  will  not  lie  where  it  concerns. 
Unless  it  hare  a  false  interpreter. 

Jul.  Some  love  of  yours  hath  writ  to  you  in  rhyme. 

Lue.  That  I  might  sing  it.  madam,  to  a  tune : 
Give  me  a  note :  your  ladysnip  can  set — 

Jul.  As  little  by  such  tovs  as  may  be  possible : 
Best  sing  it  to  the  tune  of  Lij/ii  0'  lore. 

Luc.  ft  is  too  heavy  for  so^light  a  tune. 

Jul.  Heavy  ?  belike  it  hath  some  burden  then. 

Luc.  Ay;  and  melodious  were  it,  would  you 
sing  it. 

Jul.  And  why  not  you  ? 

Imc.  I  cannot  reach  so  hi^h. 

Jul.  Let's  see  your  son^ : — How  now,  minion  ? 

Lue.  Keep  tune  there  still,  so  you  will  smg  it  out : 
^  And  ret,  methinks,  I  do  not  like  this  tune. 

Jul.  Y'ou  do  not  ? 

Luc.  No,  madam  ;  it  b  too  sharp. 

J\d.  You,  minion,  are  too  saucy. 

Luc.  Nay,  now  you  are  too  flat. 
And  mar  the  concord  with  too  harsh  a  descant:' 
There  wantelh  but  a  mean*  to  fill  your  sonsr. 

Jul.  The  mean  is  drown'd  with  your  unruly  base. 

Lue.  Indeed,  I  bid  the  base'  for  Proteus. 


iiil 


tens  in  muaic.    (4)  The  t«nor  in  music. 


Jul.  This  babble  shall  not  henceforth  trouble  me. 
Here  is  a  coil'  with  protestation  ! — 

[Tears  the  letter. 
Go,  get  you  gone ;  and  let  the  papers  lie : 
You  would  be  fingering  them,  to  anger  me. 

Luc.  She  makes  it  strange ;  but  she  would  be 
best  pleas'd 
To  be  so  anger'd  with  another  letter.  [Exit. 

Jul.  Nay,  would  I  were  so  anger'd  with  the  same ! 
1 0  hateful  hands,  to  tear  such  loving  words ! 
I  Injurious  wasps !  to  feed  on  such  sweet  honey. 
And  kill  the  bees  that  yield  it,  with  your  stings ! 
I'll  kiss  each  several  paper  for  amends. 
,  And  here  is  writ — kind  Julia ; — unkind  Julia ! 
As  in  revenge  of  thy  ingratitude, 
I  throw  thy  name  against  the  bruising  stones. 
Trampling  contemptuously  on  thy  disdain. 
Look,  here  is  writ— ^ore-wounded  Proteus : — 
Poor  wounded  name !  my  bosom,  as  a  bed. 
Shall  lodge  thee,   till  thy  wound  be  thoroughly 

heal'd ; 
And  thus  I  search  it  with  a  sovereign  kiss. 
But  twice,  or  thrice,  was  Proteus  written  down  7 
Be  calm,  good  wind,  blow  not  a  word  away 
Till  I  have  found  each  letter  in  the  letter. 
Except  mine  own  name :  that  some  whirlwind  bear 
Unto  a  ragged,  fearful,  hanging  rock. 
And  throw  it  thence  into  the  raging  sea ! 
Lo,  here  in  one  line  is  his  name  twice  writ, — 
Poor  forlorn  Proteus,  passionate  Proteus, 
To  the  sweet  Julia : — that  I'll  tear  away ; 
And  yet  ^  will  not,  sith'  so  prettily 
He  couples  it  to  his  complaining  names: 
Thus  will  I  fold  them  one  upon  another ; 
Now  kiss,  embrace,  contend,  do  what  you  will. 

Re-enter  Lucetta. 

Liie.  Madam,  dinner's  ready,  and  your  father 

stays. 
Jid.  Well,  let  us  go. 
Luc.  AVhat,  shall  theee  papers  lie  like  tell-talea 

here? 
Jul.  If  vou  respect  them,  best  to  take  them  up. 
,  Luc.  N  ay,  I  was  taken  up  for  laying  them  down : 
Yet  here  they  shall  not  lie,  for  catching  cold. 
Jul.  I  see  you  have  a  month's  mind  to  them. 
Luc.  Ay,  madam,  you  may  say  what  sights  you 
see; 
I  see  things  too,  although  you  judge  I  wink. 
Jul.  Come,  come,  will't  please  you  go  ? 

[Exetmt. 

SCE.YE  in. — T7te  same.    Jl  room  in  Antonio's 
house.     Enter  Antonio  and  Panthino. 

.int.  Tell  me,  Panthino,  what  sad*  talk  was  that. 
Wherewith  my  hrother  held  you  in  the  cloister  ? 

Pan.  'Twas  of  his  nephew  Proteus,  your  son. 

.Int.  Why,  what  of  him? 

Pan.  He  wondcr'd,  that  your  lordship 

Would  stifier  him  to  spend  his  youth  at  home ; 
While  other  men,  of  slender  re"i)utation,'^ 
Put  forth  their  sons  to  seek  preferment  out: 
Some,  to  the  wars,  to  try  their  fortune  there; 
Some,  to  discover  islands  far  away ; 
Some,  to  the  studious  universities. 
For  any,  or  for  all  these  exercises. 
He  said,  that  Proteus,  ycur  son,  was  meet ; 
And  did  request  me,  to  importune  you. 
To  let  him  spend  his  time  no  more  at  home. 


(5)  A  challenge. 

(8)  Serious, 


f6>  Bustle,  stir.     (7)  Siaeg, 
(8)  Littl*  ««n9«<)uen«» 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


«Aca/. 


Which  would  be  great  impeachment'  to  his  age, 
In  havinjj  known  no  travel  in  his  joutH. 

A>it.  In  or  need'bt  thou  mucii  importune  me  to 
that 
Whereon  this  month  I  have  been  hammering. 
1  have  consider'd  well  liis  loss  of  time  ; 
And  hoiv  he  cannot  be  a  perfect  man, 
Not  being  try'd  aiid  tutor'd  in  ihe  world  : 
Experience  is  by  industry  achlev'd, 
And  perfected  by  the  swill  course  of  time  : 
Then,  tell  me,  v,  iiither  were  I  best  to  send  him  ? 

Pant.  I  think,  your  lordship  is  not  ignorant, 
How  his  companion,  youthful  Valentine, 
Attends  the  emperor  in  his  royal  court. 

,^nt.  I  know  it  well. 

Pant.  'Twere  good,  I  think,  your  lordship  sent 
him  thither : 
There  shall  he  practise  tilts  and  tournaments, 
Hear  sweet  discourse,  converse  wilii  noblemen ; 
And  be  in  eye  of  every  exercise, 
Worthy  his  youth  and  nobleness  of  birth. 

^int.  I  like  thy  counsel ;  well  hast  thou  adria'd: 
And,  that  thou  may'st  perceive  how  well  I  like  it. 
The  execution  of  it  shall  make  known ; 
Even  witli  the  speediest  execution 
I  will  despatch  him  to  the  emperor's  court. 

Pa)it.  To-morrow,  may  it  please  you,  Don  Al- 
phonso. 
With  other  gentlemen  of  good  esteem. 
Are  journeying  to  salute  tlie  emperor, 
And  to  commend  their  service  to  his  will. 

mint.  Good  company :  with  lliem  shall  Proteus  50: 
And,  in  good  time, — ^now  will  we  break  witli  him.* 

Enter  Proteus. 


Come  on,  Panthino ;  you  shall  be  emploj'd 
To  hasten  on  his  expedition. 

[Exeunt  Ant.  and  Pant. 

Pro.  Thus  have  I  shunn'd  the  fire,  for  fear  of 
burning ; 
And  drcnch'd  me  in  the  sea,  where  I  am  drown'd : 
I  fear'd  to  show  my  father  Julia's  letter, 
Lest  he  should  take  exceptions  to  my  love ; 
And  with  the  vantage  of  mine  own  excuse 
Hath  he  excepted  most  against  my  love. 
O,  how  this  spring  of  love  resembleth 

The  uncertain  glory  of  an  April  day ; 
Which  noiv  shows  all  the  beauty  of  the  sun, 

And  by  and  by  a  cloud  takes  all  away  ! 

Re-enter  Panthino. 
Pant.  Sir  Proteus,  your  father  calls  for  you ; 
He  is  hi  haste,  therefore,  I  pray  you,  go. 

Pro.  Why,  this  it  is !  my  heart  accords  thereto; 
And  vet  a  thousand  times  it  answers,  no. 

l£xntfU. 


Pro.  Sweet  love !  sweet  lines !  sweet  life ! 
Here  is  her  hand,  the  agent  of  her  heart ; 
Here  is  her  oath  for  love,  her  honour's  pawn : 
O,  that  our  fathers  would  applaud  our  loves, 
To  seal  our  happiness  with  their  consents ! 
O  heavenly  Julia! 

mint.  How  now?  what  letter  are  you  reading 
there? 

Pro.  May't  please  your  lordship,  'tis  a  word  or 
two 
Of  commendation  sent  from  Valcnlinp, 
Deliver'd  by  a  friend  that  came  from  him, 

\int.  Lend  me  the  letter ;  let  mc  see  what  news,  j 


ACT  11. 

SCEJ^E  I.—J\lUan.    ^1  apartment  in  the  Duke^a 
palace.    Enter  \  alentine  and  Sp«eU. 

Speed.  Sir,  your  glove. 

}  al.  Not  mine ;  my  gloves  are  on. 

Speed,  Why  then  this  may  be  yours,  for  thia  it 
but  one. 

Vol.  Ha !  let  mc  sec  :  ay,  give  it  me,  it's  mine  ;•— 
Sweet  ornament  th^t  decks  a  thing  divine  I 
Ah  Silvia  !  Silvia  I 

Speed.  Madam  Silvia !  madam  Silvia  I 

Vol.  How  now,  sirrah ! 

Speed.  She  is  not  within  hearing,  «ir. 

y  al.  Why,  sir,  who  bade  you  call  her  7 

Speed.  Your  worship,  sir ;  or  else  I  mistook. 

I  al.  Well,  you'll  still  be  too  forward. 

Speed.  And  yet  I  was  last  chidden  for  being  toe 
slow. 

Vol.  Go  to,  sir ;  tell  me,  do  you  know  madam 
Silvia  ? 

Speed.  She  that  vour  worship  loves  ? 

Vol.  Why,  how  know  you  that  I  am  in  love? 

Speed.  Marn',  by  these  special  marks :  First,  you 


Pro.  There  is  no  news,  my  lord;  but  that  he  [have  learned,  Ukc  Sir  Proteus,  to  wreath  your  arms 


writes 
How  happily  he  lives,  how  well  bclov'd. 
And  daily  graced  by  the  emperor  ; 
Wishing  nii;  with  bun,  partner  of  his  fortune. 

mint.  "And  how  stand  you  affected  to  his  w  ish  ? 

Pro.  As  one  relying  on  your  lordship's  will. 
And  not  depending  on  his  friendly  wish. 

mint.  My  will  is  something  sorted  with  his  wish  : 
Muse'  not  that  1  thus  suddenly  proceed  ; 
For  what  I  will,  I  will,  and  there  an  end. 
I  am  resolv'd,  that  thou  shalt  spend  some  time 
With  Valentinus  in  the  emperor's  court ; 
What  maintenance  he  from  his  friends  receives. 
Like  exhibition*  thou  shalt  have  from  me. 
To-morrow  be  in  readiness  to  go  : 
Excuse  it  not,  for  I  am  peremptory. 

Pro.  My  lord,  I  cannot  be  so  soon  provided; 
Please  vou,  deliberate  a  day  or  two. 

,/int.  "Look,  what  thou  want'st,  shall  be  sent  after 
thee: 
No  more  of  stay ;  to-morrow  thou  must  go.— 

O)  Reproach,    (2)  Break  the  matter  to  him< 
(3)  W«Bd€r,    ,  (4)  Allowance, 


jlike  a  male-content;  to  relish  a  love-song,  like  a 
robin-red-breast ;  to  walk  alone,  like  one  5iat  had 
the  pestilence  ;  to  sigh,  like  a  school-boy  that  had 
lost  his  A.  B.  C. ;  to  w  eep,  like  a  young  wench  that 
liad  buried  her  grandam ;  to  fast,  like  one  that  takes 
diet:'  to  watch,  like  one  that  fears  robbing:  to 
speak  puling,  like  a  beggar  at  Hallowmas.*  You 
were  wont,  when  you  laugh'd,  to  crow  like  a  cock ; 
when  you  walked,  to  walk  like  one  of  the  lions; 
when  you  fasted,  it  was  presently  after  dinner; 
when  you  looked  sadly,  it  was  for  want  of  money : 
and  now  you  are  metamorphosed  vtith  a  mistress, 
that,  when  I  look  on  you,  I  can  hardly  think  you 
my  master. 

Val.  Are  all  these  things  perceived  in  me? 

Speed.  They  are  all  perceived  without  you, 

■Val.  Without  me?  They  cannot. 

Speed.  Without  you  ?  nay,  that's  certain,  for, 
without  you  were  so  simple^  none  else  would  :  but 
you  are  so  without  these  follies,  that  these  follies 
are  within  you,  and  shine  through  you  like  the 
water  in  a  urinal ;  that  not  an  eye,  tHat  sees  you, 

($}  Under  a  regimen.         (6)  AUballowmaa 


^ene  I. 


two  GENTLEMEN  OF  VEKONA. 


but  is  a  physician  to  comment  on  your  malady. 
Vol.  But  tell  me,  dost  thou  know  my  lady  Silvia  ? 
Speed.  She,  that  you  gaze  on  so,  as  she  sits  at 
supper  ? 
Vol.  Hast  thou  obsery'd  that  ?  even  she  I  mean. 
Speed.  Why,  sir,  I  know  her  not. 
Vol.  Dost  thou  know  her  by  my  gazing  on  her, 
and  yet  know'st  her  not  ? 
Speed.  Is  she  not  hard-favour'd,  sir  ? 
Vol.  Not  so  fair,  boy,  as  well  favoured. 
Speed.  Sir,  I  know  that  well  enough. 
Vd.  What  dost  thou  know  ? 
Speed.  That  she  is  not  so  (iur,  as  (of  you)  well 
favoured. 

Vol.  I  mean,  that  her  beauty  is  exquisite,  but 
her  favour  infinite. 

Speed.  That's  because  the  one  is  painted,  and 
the  olhsr  out  of  all  count. 

Val.  How  painted  ?  and  how  out  of  count  ? 
Speed.  Marry,  sir,  so  painted,  to  make  her  fair, 
that  no  man  counts  of  her  beautv. 

Vcd.  How  esteemest  thou  me  1  I  account  of  her 
beauty. 

Speed.  You  never  saw  her  since  she  was  de- 
formed. 

Vol.  How  long  huth  she  been  deformed  ? 
Speed.  Ever  since  vou  loved  her. 
Val.  I  have  loved  her  ever  since  I  saw  her,  and 
still  I  see  her  beautiful. 
Speed.  If  you  love  her,  vou  cannot  see  her, 
Val.  Why"? 

Speed.  Because  love  is  blind.  O,  that  you  had 
mine  eyes  ;  or  your  own  had  the  lights  t.hey  were 
wont  to  have,  when  you  cliid  at  Sir  Proteus  for 
going  uniartercd ! 

Val.  What  should  I  see  then  ? 
Speed.  Your  own  present  folly,  and  her  passing 
deformitj:  for  he,  being  in  love,  could  not  see  to 
garter  his  hose :  and  you,  being  in  love,  caiuiot  see 
to  out  on  your  nose. 

Vol.  Belike,  boy,  then  you  are  in  love ;  for  last 
morning  you  could,  not  see  to  wipe  my  shoes. 

Speed.  True,  sir ;  I  was  in  love  with  my  bed  :   I 
thank  you,  you  swinged'  me  for  my  love,  which 
maKes  me  the  bolder  to  chide  you  for  yours. 
Val.  In  conclusion,  I  stand  affected  to  her. 
Speed.  I  would  you  %vere  set ;  so,  your  affection 
would  cease. 

Val.  Last  night  she  enjoined  me  to  write  some 
lines  to  one  she  loves. 
Speed.  And  have  vou  7 
Vol.  I  have. 

Speed.  Are  they  not  lamely  writ  ? 
Val.  No,  boy,  but  as  well  as  I  can  do  them  :— 
Peace,  here  slie  comes. 

Enter  Silvia. 

Speed.  O  excellent  motion  !*  0  exceeding  pup- 
pet !  now  will  he  interpret  to  her. 

Vol.  Madam  and  mistress,  a  thousand  good 
morrows. 

Speed.  O,  'give  you  good  even !  here's  a  million 
of  Planners.  [Jl.iide. 

Sil.  Sir  Valentine  and  servant,  to  you  two  thou- 
sand. 

Speed.  He  should  give  her  interest ;  and  she 
gives  it  him. 

Val.  As  you  enjoin'd  me,  I  have  writ  your  letter, 
Unto  the  secret  nameles?!  friend  of  yours  : 
>Vhicb  I  was  much  unwilling  to  proceed  m, 


Ui 


1)  \Vhippe<l. 
,3)  I4k«  a  scholar. 


(2)  A  puppet-show, 


But  for  my  duty  to  your  ladyship. 
Sil.  I  thank  you,  gentle  servant :  'tis  rery  clerkly* 

done. 
Val.  Now  trust  me,  madam,  it  came  hardly  off; 
For,  being  ignorant  to  whom  it  goes, 
I  writ  at  random,  very  doubtfully. 

Sil.  Perchance  you  think  too  much  of  so  much 

pains  ? 
Val.  No,  madam  ;  so  it  stead  you,  I  will  write, 
Please  you  command,  a  thousand  times  as  much : 
And  yet, — 

Sil.  A  pretty  period  J  Well,  I  guess  the  sequel ; 
And  yet  I  will  not  name  it : — and  yet  I  care  not  ;— 
And  yet  take  this  again ; — and  yet  I  thank  you ; 
Meaning  henceforth  to  trouble  vou  no  more. 

Speed.  And  yet  vou  will ;  and  yet  anolhej  vet. 

[Aside, 

Val.  ^\^lat  means  your  ladyship?  do  you  not 
like  it? 

Sil.  Yes,  yes ;  the  lines  are  very  quaintly  writ ; 
But  since  unwillingly,  take  them  again  ; 
Nay,  take  them. 

Vol.  Madam,  they  are  for  you. 

Sil.  Ay,  ay ;  you  writ  them,  sir,  at  my  request  i 
But  I  will  none  of  them  ;  they  are  for  you  : 
I  would  have  had  them  writ  rnore  movingly. 

Val.  Please  you^  I'll  write  your  ladyship  another. 

Sil.  And,  when  it's  writ,  for  my  s.ake  read  it  over : 
.\nd,  if  it  please  you,  so ;  if  not,  why,  so. 

Vol.  If  it  please  me,  madam !  what  then  ? 

Sil.  Why,  if  it  please  j'ou,  take  it  for  vour  labour : 
And  so  good  morrow,  servant,  \Exit  Silvia. 

Speed.  O  jest  unseen,  inscrutable,  invisible, 
As  a  nose  on  a  man's  face,  cr  a  weatliercock  on  a 

steeple ! 
My  master  sues  to  her ;  and  she  hath  taught  her 

suitor, 
He  being  her  pupil,  to  become  her  tutor. 
O  excellent  device !  was  there  ever  heard  a  better? 
That  my  master,  being  scribe,  to  himself  should 
write  the  letter  ? 

Val.   How  now,  sir?  what  are  you  reasoning 
with  yourself? 

Speed.  Nay,  I  was  rhyming ;  'tis  you  that  have 
the  reason. 

Val.  To  do  what? 

Speed.  To  he  a  spokesman  from  madam  Silvia. 

Val.  To  whom? 

Speed.  To  yourself:  why,  she  wooes  you  by  a 
figure. 

Val.  What  figure  ? 

S]yeed.  By  a  letter,  I  should  say. 

Val.  Why.  she  hath  not  writ  to  me. 

Speed.  What  need  she,  when  she  hath  made  you 
ivrite  to  yourself?  Why,  do  you  riot  perceive  the 
jest? 

Val.  No,  believe  me. 

fpes.i.  No  believing  vou  indeed,  sir;  but  did 
you  perceive  her  earnest"^ 

Val.  She  travc  me  none,  except  an  angry  word. 

Speed.  Why,  she  hath  dvcn  vou  a  letter. 

Val.  That's  the  letter  I  writ  to  her  friend 

Speed.  And  that  letter  hath  she  delivered,  and 
there  an  end.* 

Val.  I  would,  it  ^vcre  no  worse. 

Speed.  I'll  warrant  you,  'tis  as  well : 

Far  often  you  have  writ  to  her;    and  the,   in 

modesty. 
Or  else  for  want  of  idle  time,  eould  not  again 

reply, 

(4)  There'*  Mvt  cvocluti*^ 


32 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


»Sct  IL 


Or  fearing  else  some  messenger,  thai  might  her 

mind  discover, 
Herself  hatk  taught  her  love  himself  to  write 

tiiito  her  lover.— 

All  this  I  speak  in  print ;  for  in  print  I  found  iU — 
Why  muse  you,  sir?  'tis  dinner-time. 

Vol.  I  have  dined. 

Speed.  Ay,  but  hearken,  sir :  though  the  came- 
leon,  Love,  can  feed  on  the  uir,  I  am  one  that  am 
nourished  by  my  victuals,  and  would  fain  have 
meat :  0,  be  not  like  your  mistress ;  be  moved,  be 
moved.  [Exeunt. 

SC£.\'jE  II.— Verona.    A  room  in  Julia'a  liouse. 
Enter  Proteus  and  JuUa. 

Pro.  Have  patience,  gentle  Julia. 
Jul.  I  must,  where  is  no  remedy. 
Fro.  YV'hen  possibly  I  can,  I  will  return, 
Jul.  If  you  turn  not,  you  will  return  the  sooner: 
Keep  this  remembrance  for  thy  Julia's  sake. 

[Giving  a  ring. 

■  Fro.  Why  then  we'll  make  exchange;    here, 

take  you  this. 

JiU.  And  seal  the  bargain  with  a  holy  kiss. 

Pro,  Here  is  my  hand  for  my  true  constancy ; 
And  when  that  hour  o'er-slips  rne  in  the  day, 
Wherein  I  sigh  not,  Julia,  lor  thy  sake. 
The  next  ensuing  hour  some  foul  mischance 
Torment  me  for  my  love's  forgctfulncss ! 
My  father  stays  my  coming :  answer  not ; 
The  tide  is  now :  nay,  not  tne  tide  of  tears ; 
That  tide  will  stay  me  longer  than  I  should ; 

[Exit  Julia. 
Julia,  farewell. — ^What  I  gone  without  a  word  ? 
Ay,  so  true  love  should  do :  it  cannot  speak ; 
For  truth  hath  better  deeds,  than  words,  to  grace  it. 

Enter  Panthino. 

Pail.  Sir  Proteus,  you  are  staid  for. 

■  Pro.  Go ;  1  come,  I  come  : — 
Alas  I  this  parting  strikes  poor  lovers  dumb. 

[Exeunt. 

SCE^TE  III.— The  same.    Ji  street.    Enter 
Launce,  leading  a  dog. 

Launce,  Nay.  'twill  be  this  hour  ere  I  have  done 
Creeping;  all  the  kind'  of  the  Launces  have  this 
Yery  fault :  I  have  received  my  proportioHj  like  the 
prodigious  son,  and  am  going  with  Sir  Proteus  to 
the  Imperial's  court.  I  think,  Crab  my  dog-  be  the 
Bourest-natured  dog  that  lives :  ni)  mother  weeping, 
my  father  wailing,  my  sister  crying,  our  maid  howl- 
ing, our  cat  wringing  her  hands,  and  all  our  house 
in  a  great  perplexity,  yet  did  not  this  cruel-hearted  j 
cur  shed  one  tear:  he  is  a  stone,  a  very  pebble- 
rtone,  and  has  no  more  pity  in  him  than  a  dog :  a 
Jew  would  have  wept  to  have  seen  our  parting ; 
•why,  my  !;iandam  having  no  eyes,  look  you,  wept 
herself  blind  at  niy  parting.  Nay,  I'll  show  you 
the  manner  of  it :  This  shoe  is  my  father ; — no,  this 
left  shoe  is  my  father ; — no,  no,  this  lefi  shoe  is  my 
mother;  nay,  that  cannot  be  so  neither ; — yes,  it  is 
it  hath  the  worscr  sole :  ihis  shoe,  wiUi 


so.  Now  come  Ito  my  father;  Father,  your  bless- 
ing; now  should  not  the  shoe  speak  a  word  for 
weeping ;  now  should  I  kiss  my  father :  well,  he 
weeps  on  .-—now  come  I  to  my  mother,  (0,  that  she 
could  speak  now  !)  like  a  wood"  woman  ; — well,  I 
kiss  her :— why  there  'tin ;  here's  my  mother's  breath 
up  and  down :  now  come  I  to  my  sister ;  mark  the 
moan  she  makes :  now  the  dog  all  this  while  sheds 
not  a  tear,  nor  speaks  a  word  ;  but  sec  how  I  lay 
the  dust  witli  my  tears. 

Enter  Panthino. 

Pan.  Launce,  away,  away,  aboard ;  thy  matter 
is  slipped,  and  thou  art  to  post  after  with  oars. 
What's  the  matter?  why  weepestthou,  man?  Away, 
ass ;  you  nill  lose  the  tide,  if  you  tarry  any  longer. 

Laiin.  It  is  no  matter  if  the  ty'd  were  lost ;  for  it 
is  the  unkindest  ty'd  that  ever  any  man  ty'd. 

Pa7i.  What's  the  unkindest  tide  ? 

Laun.  ^Vhy,  he  tkat's  ty'd  here ;  Crab,  my  doff. 

Pail.  Tut,'  man,  I  mean  thoul't  lose  the  flood ; 
and,  in  losing  the  flood,  lose  thy  voyage  ;  and,  in 
losing  thy  voyage  lose  thy  master  :  and.  in  losing 
thy  master,  lose  thy  sernce;  and,  in  losing  thy 
service, — Why  dost  thou  stop  my  mouth ! 

Laun.  For  fear  thou  should'st  lose  thy  tongue. 

Pan.  Where  should  I  lose  my  tongue? 

Laun.  In  thy  tale. 

Pan.  In  thy  taii  ? 

Laun.  Lose  the  tide,  and  the  voyage,  and  the 
master,  and  the  service?  The  tide! — why,  man, 
if  the  river  were  dry,  I  am  able  to  fill  it  with  my 
tears ;  if  the  wintl  were  down,  I  could  drive  the 
boat  with  my  sighs. 

Pan.  Coiae,  come  away,  man;  I  was  sent  to 
call  thee. 

Laun.  Sir,  call  me  what  thou  darest. 

Pan.  Wilt  thou  go  ? 

Laun.  Well,  I  will  go.  [Exeunt. 

SCEJVjB  IV.— Milan.  An  ttjyertment  in  the 
Duks's  palace.  £nter  Valentine,  Silvia,  Thu« 
rio,  and  Speed. 

Sil.  Scr\-ant— ' 
Vol.  Mistress? 

Speed.  Master,  Sir  Thurio  frowns  on  you. 
Val.  Ay,  boy,  it's  for  love. 
Speed.  "Not  of  you. 
Val.  Of  my  mistress  then. 
Speed.  'Twere  good,  you  knocked  hiia, 
Sil.  Servant,  ybu  aie  sad.' 
Val.  Indeed,  madam,  I  seem  so. 
JTku.  Seem  you  that  you  are  not? 
Val.  Haply,*  I  do. 
Thn.  So  do  counterfeits. 
Val.  So  do  you. 

Thu.  What  seem  I,  that  I  am  not  7 
Val.  Wise. 

Thu.  What  instance  of  the  contrary? 
Val.  Your  folly. 

Thu.  And  how  quote' you  my  folly  7 
Val.  I  quote  it  in  your  jerkin. 
Thu.  My  jerkin  is  a  doublet. 
Val.  Well,  then,  I'll  double  your  folly. 
T/(i(.  How? 


so,  it  IS  so : 

the  hole  in  it,  is  my  mother,  and  this  my  father :  a      Sll    Who*    >nrmr    .:,  tu..  •   t  j  t. 

vengeance  on't!  there 'tis:  now,  sir,  this^stan'is  my  colour?  ^  ^'  "'^''""''^  ^^  ^O"  <^J'"g« 
sister;  for,  look  you,  she  is  as  white  as  a  lily,  and  as  I  Vni  rjJvA  him  !«,.,«  _  j  l  •  i-  j  j 
small  as  a  wand:  this  hat  is  Nan  our  mafd  ;  1  amlcameleon.  '  "'  ^^  "  '  ^"^  "' 

the  dog: — no,  the  dog  is  himself,  and  I  am  the      Thn  Thnf  hat k  m»«. _:-j .    r   j  ui     j 

dog.-5,  the  dog  U  mi,  and  I  am  myself;  ay,  so,  than  liVe  hySSr  a^  ^'^'^°"'^°"'*''*''^' 

(l)Kindf«d.  (2)  Crazy,  distracted.        .    (3)  Serious.        (4)  Perhapt.        (*)  ObMm. 


9eeMir. 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


Vol.  You  have  said,  sir. 

Thu.  Ay,  sir,  and  done  too,  for  this  time. 

Vol.  I  know  it  well,  sir ;  you  always  end  ere  you 
besrin. 

SU.  A  fine  volley  of  words,  gentlemen,  and  quick- 
ly shot  off. 

Vd.  'Tis  indeed,  madam  ;  we  thank  the 
giver. 

SU.  Who  is  that,  servant  ? 

Vol.  Yourself,  sweet  lady ;  for  you  gave  the  fire: 
Sir  Thurio  borrows  his  wit  from  your  ladyship's 
looks,  and  spends  what  he  borrows,  kindly  in  your 
company. 

Tmu  Sir,  if  you  spend  word  for  word  with  me, 
I  shall  make  your  wit  bankrupt. 

Vcd.  I  know  it  well,  sir:  you  have  an  exchequer 
of  words,  and,  I  think,  no  other  treasure  to  gi\e 
your  followers ;  for  it  appears  by  their  bare  liveries, 
that  they  live  by  your  bare  words. 

SU.  No  more,  gentlemen,  no  more ;  here  comes 
my  father. 

Enter  Duke. 

Duke,  Noiv,  daughter  Silvia,  you  are  liard  beset. 
Sir  Valentine,  your  father's  in  good  health : 
What  say  you  to  a  letter  from  your  friends 
Of  much  good  news  ? 

Fal.  Mv  lord,  I  irill  be  thankful 

To  any  happy  messeni;er  from  thence. 

Duke.  Know  you  Don  Antonio,  your  country- 
man? 

Vol.  Ay,  my  good  lord,  I  know  the  gentleman 
To  be  of  worth,  and  worthy  estimation. 
And  not  without  desert  so  well  reputed. 

Duke.  Hath  he  not  a  son  ? 

Val.  Ay,  my  good  lord ;  a  son,  that  well  de- 
serves 
The  honour  and  regard  of  such  a  father. 

Duke.  You  know  him  well  ? 

Val.  I  knew  him  as  myself;  for  from  our  in- 
fancy 
We  have  convers'd,  and  spent  our  hours  together : 
And  though  myself  have  been  an  idle  truant. 
Omitting  t'he  sweet  benefit  of  time. 
To  clothe  mine  age  with  angel-like  perfection ; 
Yet  hath  Sir  Proteus,  for  that's  his  name, 
Made  use  and  fair  advantage  of  his  days : 
His  years  but  young,  but  his  experience  old ; 
His  head  unmellow'd,  but  his  judgment  ripe ; 
And,  in  a  %vord  (for  far  behind  his  worth 
Come  all  the  praises  that  I  now  bestow,) 
He  is  complete  in  feature,  and  in  mind, 
VVith  all  good  grace  to  grace  a  gentleman. 

Duke.  "Beshrcw'  mc,  sir,  but,  if  he  make  this 
good. 
He  is  as  worthy  for  an  empress'  love. 
As  meet  to  be  an  emperor's  counsellor. 
Well,  sir ;  this  gentleman  is  come  to  me, 
With  commendation  from  great  potentates  ; 
And  here  he  means  to  spend  his  time  awhile : 
I  think,  'tis  no  unwelcome  news  to  you. 

Val.  Should  I  have  wish'd  a  thing,  it  had  been 
he. 

Duke.   Welcome   him  then   according  to  his 
worth; 
Silvia,  I  speak  to  you ;  and  you,  Sir  Thurio : — 
For  Valentine,  1  need  not  cite*  him  to  it : 
I'll  send  him  hither  to  you  presently.   [Exit  Duke. 

Val.  This  is  the  gentleman,  I  told  your  ladyship, 
Had  come  along  with  me,  but  that  his  mistress 
Did  hold  his  eyes  lock'd  in  her  crystal  looks. 
■ 

(l)  III  betide,  ^.  (2)  Incite. 


SU.   Belike,  that  now  she  h&th  enfhmchu'4 
them 
Upon  some  other  pawn  for  fealty. 

Val.  Nay,  sure,  I  think,  she  holds  them  pilio* 

ners  still. 
SU.  Nay,  then  he  should  be  blind ;  and,  being 
blind, 
How  could  he  see  his  way  to  seek  out  you  ? 
Val.  Why,  lady,  love  hath  twenty  pair  of  eye*. 
Tim.  They  say,  that  love  hath  not  an  eye  at  aU. 
Val.  To  see  such  lovers,  Thurio,  as  youttelf; 
Upon  a  homely  object  love  caa  wink. 


Enter  Proteus. 


SU. 


Have  done,  have  done  ;  here  comes  tbs 
gentleman. 

Val.  Welcome,  dear  Proteus ! — Mistress,  I  be- 
seech you. 
Confirm  his  welcome  with  some  special  favour. 

SU.  His  worth  is  warrant  for  his  welcome  hither, 
If  this  be  he  you  oft  have  wish'd  to  hear  from. 

Val.  Mistress,  it  is :  sweet  lady,  entertain  him 
To  be  my  fellow-servant  to  your  ladyship. 

SU.  Too  low  a  mistress  for  so  high  a  setrant. 

Pro.  Not  so,  sweet  lady ;  buttoomeanaserrtnt 
To  have  a  look  of  such  a  worthy  mistress. 

Val.  Leave  off"  discourse  of  disability : — 
Sweet  lady,  entertain  him  for  your  servant. 

Pro.  My  duty  will  I  boast  of,  nothing  else. 

SU.  And  duty  never  yet  did  want  his  meed ; 
Servant,  vou  are  welcome  to  a  worthless  mistress. 

Pro.  I'll  die  on  him  that  says  so,  but  yourselG 

SU.  That  you  are  welcome  ? 

Pro.  No;  that  you  are  worthless, 

_    Enter  Servant. 

Ser.  Madatn,  my  lord  your  father  would  speak 
with  you. 

SU.  I'll  wait  upon  his  pleasure.    [Exit  Servant. 
Come,  Sir  Thurio, 
Go  with  me : — Once  more,  new  servant,  welcome : 
I'll  leave  you  to  confer  of  home  affairs ; 
When  you  have  done,  we  look  to  hear  from  you. 

Pro.  We'll  both  attend  upon  your  ladyship. 

[Exeunt  Silvia,  Thurio,  and  Speed. 

Vol.  Now,  tell  me,  how  do  all  from  whence  you 
came  ? 

Pro.  Your  friends  are  well,  and  hare  them  much 
commended. 

Val.  And  how  do  yours  ? 

Pro.  I  left  them  all  in  health. 

Val.  How  does  your  lady?  and  how  thrives  your 
love?   ■"" 

Pro.  My  tales  of  love  were  wont  to  weary  you  ; 
I  know,  you  joy  net  in  a  love-discourse. 

Val.  Ay,  Proteus,  but  that  life  is  alter'd  now : 
I  have  done  penance  for  contemning  love  \ 
Whose  high  imperious  thoughts  have  punish'd  me 
AVith  bitter  fasts,  with  penitential  groans, 
With  nightly  tears,  and  daily  heart-sore  sighs ; 
For,  in  revenge  of  my  contempt  of  love, 
Love  hath  chas'd  sleep  from  my  enthralled  eyes. 
And  made  tliem  ivatchcrs  of  mine  own  heart's  sor  ■ 

row. 

0,  gentle  Proteus,  love's  a  mighty  lord ; 
And  hath  so  humbled  me,  as,  1  confess. 
There  is  no  %vo  to  his  correction. 
Nor,  to  his  service,  no  sudh  joy  on  earth ! 
Now,  no  discourse,  except  it  be  of  love: 
Now  can  I  break  my  fast,  dine,  sup,  ana  sleep, 
Upon  the  very  naked  name  of  love. 

Pro,  Enoii^h;  I  read  your  fortune  in  your  ejrt ; 


6i' 


two  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


»4d  //« 


Was  this  the  idol  that  you  worship  so  ? 

Ved.  Even  she ;  and  is  she  not  a  heavenly  saint  7 

Pro.  No ;  but  she  is  an  earthly  paragon. 

Vol.  Call  her  divine. 

Pro.  I  will  not  flatter  her. 

Vol.  O,  flatter  me ;  for  love  delights  in  praises 

Pro.    Vvhcn  I  was  sick,  you  gave  me  bitter 
pills; 
And  I  must  minister  the  like  to  you. 

Vd.  Then  speak  the  truth  by  her ;  if  not  divine, 
Yet  let  her  be  a  principality, 
Soverei^  to  all  the  creatures  on  the  earth. 

Pro.  Except  my  mistress. 

Val.  Sweet,  except  not  any ; 

Except  thou  wilt  except  against  my  love. 

Pro.  Have  I  not  reasonto  prefer  mine  own  ? 

Val.  And  I  will  help  thee  to  prefer  her  too : 
She  shall  be  dignified  with  tliis  high  honour, — 
To  bear  my  lady's  train :  lest  the  base  earth 
.Should  from  her  vesture  chance  to  steal  a  kiss. 
And,  of  so  great  a  favour  growing  proud, 
Disdain  to  root  the  summer-swciling  flower, 
And  make  rousrh  winter  everlasting. 

Pi'o.  Why,  Valentine,  what  bra^gardism  is  this? 

Val.  Pardon  me,  Proteus :  all  f  can,  is  nothing 
To  her,  whose  worth  makes  other  wortliies  nothing; 
She  is  alone. 

Pro.  Then  let  her  alone. 

Vol.  Not  for  the  world :  why,  man,  she  is  mine 
own ; 
And  I  as  rich  in  having  such  a  jewel. 
As  twenty  seas,  if  all  their  sand  were  pearl. 
The  water  nectar,  and  the  rocks  pure  gold. 
Forgive  me,  that  I  do  not  dream  on  thee, 
Because  thou  scest  me  dote  upon  my  love. 
My  foolish  rival,  that  her  father  likes. 
Only  for  his  possessions  are  so  huge. 
Is  gone  with  her  along ;  and  I  must  after. 
For  love,  thou  laiow'st,  is  full  of  jealousy. 

Pro.  But  she  loves  you  ? 
,  Vol.  Ay,  and  we  are  betroth'd ; 

Nay,  more,  our  marriage  hour. 
With  all  the  cunning  manner  of  our  flight, 
Determin'd  of:  how  I  must  climb  her  window ; 
The  ladder  made  of  cords ;  and  all  the  means 
Plotted ;  and  'greed  on,  for  my  happiness. 
Good  Proteus,  go  vrith  m.e  to  my  chamber. 
In  these  affairs  to  aid  me  with  thy  counsel. 

Pro.  Go  on  before ;  1  sluU  inquire  you  forth : 
I  must  unto  the  road,  to  disembark 
Some  necessaries  that  I  needs  must  use ; 
And  then  I'll  presently  attend  you. 

Val.  Will  you  make  haste  ? 

Pro.  I  will.—  '  [ExU  VaL 

Even  as  one  heat  another  heat  expels. 
Or  as  one  nail  by  strength  drives  out  another, 
So  the  remembrance  of  my  former  love 
Is  by  a  newer  object  quite  forgotten.  ■ 
Is  it  mine  eye,  or  Valentinus' praise,       '         ^ 
Her  true  perfection,  or  my  false  transgression, 
That  makes  me,  reasonless,  to  reason  uius? 
She's  fair;  and  so  is  Julia,  that  I  love; — 
That  I  did  love,  for  now  my  love  is  thaw'd ; 
W' hich,  like  a  waxen  image  'srainst  a  fire, 
Bears  no  impression  of  the  thing  it  was. 
Methiiiks,  my  zeal  to  Valentine'is  cold ; 
And  that  I  love  him  not,  as  I  was  wont: 
O !  but  I  love  his  lady  too,  too  much ; 
And  that's  the  reason  I  love  him  so  little. 
How  shall  I  dote  on  her  with  more  advice,' 
That  Uius  without  advice  begm  to  love  her ! 

(1)  Qa  further  Imowledgd 


'Tis  but  her  picture  I  have  yet  beheld, 

And  that  hath  dazzled  my  reason's  light ; 

But  when  I  look  on  her  perfections. 

There  is  no  reason  but  I  shall  be  blind. 

If  I  can  check  my  erring  love,  I  will ; 

If  not,  to  compass  her  I'll  use  my  skill.         [ExU. 

SCEJ^E  v.— The  same,  ^street.    Enter  Speed 
and  Launce. 

Speed.  Launce !  by  mine  honesty,  welcome  to 
Milan. 

Laun.  Forswear  not  thyself,  sweet  youth ;  for  I 
am  not  welcome.  I  reckon  this  always — that  a  man 
is  never  undone,  till  he  be  hanged ;  nor  never  wel- 
come to  a  place,  till  some  certain  shot  be  paid,  and 
the  hostess  say,  welcome. 

Speed.  Come  on,  you  mad-cap,  I'll  to  the  ale« 
house  with  you  presently ;  where  for  one  shot  of 
five  pence,  thou  shalt  have  five  thousand  welcomes. 
But,  sirrah,  how  did  thy  master  part  with  madam 
Julia. 

LaiHi.  Marry,  after  they  closed  in  earnest,  they 
parted  very  fairly  in  jest. 

Speed.  But  shall  she  marry  him  ? 

Laun.  No. 

Speed.  How  then  ?  shall  he  marry  her  ? 

Laun.  No,  neither. 

Speed.  What,  are  they  broken  ? 

Laun.  No,  they  are  both  as  whole  as  a  fish. 

Speed.  Why  then,  how  stands  the  matter  with 
them? 

Laun.  Marry,  thus;  when  it  stands  well  with 
him,  it  stands  well  with  her. 

Speed.  What  an  ass  art  thou !  I  understand  thee 
not 

Lmm.  WTiat  a  block  art  thou,  that  thou  canst 
not !    My  statf  understands  me. 

Speed.  What  thou  say'st? 

Laun.  Ay,  and  what  I  do  too :  look  thee,  111 
but  lean,  and  my  staff  understands  me. 

Speed.  It  stands  under  thee,  indeed. 

Laun.  AVhy,  stand  under  and  understand  is  all 
one. 

Speed.    But  tell  me  true,  will't  be  a  match  ? 

Laun.  Ask  my  do^:  if  he  say,  ay,  it  will ;  if  he 
say,  no,  it  will ;  if  he  shake  his  tail,  and  say  no- 
thing, it  will. 

Speed.  The  conclusion  is  then,  that  tt  will. 

Laun.  Thou  shalt  never  get  such  a  secret  from 
me,  but  by  a  parable. 

Speed.  'Tis  well  that  I  get  it  so.  But,  Launce, 
how  say'st  thou,  that  my  master  is  become  a  uota* 
ble  lover  ? 

Latm.  I  never  knew  him  otherwise. 

Speed.  Than  how? 

Laun.  A  notable  lubber,  as  thou  reportest  him 
to  be. 

Speed.  WTiy,  thou  whoreson  ass,  thou  mistakeet 
me. 

Laun.  Why,  fool,  I  meant  not  thee ;  I  meant 
thy  master. 

Speed.  I  tell  thee,  my  master  is  become  a  hot 
lover. 

Laim.  Why,  I  tell  thee,  I  care  not  though  he 
bum  himself  in  love.  If  thou  wilt  go  with  me  to  the 
ale-house,  so ;  if  not,  thou  art  a  Hebrew,  a  Jew, 
and  not  worth  the  name  of  a  Christian. 

Speed.  Why? 

Laun.  Because  thou  hast  not  so  much  charity  In 
thee,  as  to  go  to  the  ale-hous€  with  e  Christian : 
Wilt  thou  go  ? 

Speed.  At  thy  furnc*.  fExtutii, 


Scene  Vll. 


T\VO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


3S 


!    Luc.  I  do  not  seek  to  quench  your  lore'*  hoi  fire ; 
3ame.    .In  apartment  in  the  \  But  qualify  the  fire's  extreme  rape, 


SCJS.V£  ri.-Tk 

palace.    Eiiter  Proteus. 

Pro.  To  leave  my  Julia,  shall  I  be  forsworn ; 
To  love  fair  Silvia,  shall  I  be  forsworn ; 
To  wronif  my  friend,  I  shall  be  much  forsworn  ; 
And  even  that  power,  which  trave  me  first  my  oath, 
Provokes  me  to  this  threefold  perjury. 
Love  bade  me  swear,  and  love  bidi  me  forswear : 

0  sweet-sugaesting*  love,  if  thou  hast  sinn'd. 
Teach  me,  thy  tempted  subject,  to  excuse  iU 
At  first  I  did  adore  a  twinkling  star. 

But  now  1  worship  a  celestial  sun. 

Unheedful  vows  may  heedfully  be  broken  ; 

And  he  wants  wit,  that  wants  resolved  will 

To  learn  his  wit  to  exchanije  the  Viad  for  better. — 

Fie,  fie,  unreverend  tongue  1  to  call  her  bad, 

Whose  sovereis^nty  so  oil.  thou  hast  preferr'd 

With  twenty  thousand  soul-contirming  oaths. 

1  cannot  leave  to  love,  and  yet  I  do ; 

But  there  I  leave  to  love,  where  I  should  love. 

Julia  I  lose,  and  Valentine  I  lose  ; 

If  I  keep  them,  I  needs  must  lose  myself; 

If  I  lose  them,  thus  find  I  bv  their  loss. 

For  Valentine,  myself;  for  Julia,  Silvia. 

I  to  myself  am  dearer  than  a  fi-iend  ; 

For  love  is  still  more  precious  in  itself: 

And  Silvia,  witness  heaven,  that  made  her  fair! 

Shows  Julia  but  a  swarthy  Ethiope. 

I  will  forg-et  that  Julia  is  alive, 

RemembVingr  that  my  love  to  her  is  dead  ; 

And  Valentine  I'll  hold  an  enemy, 

Aiminj^  at  Silvia  as  a  sweeter  friend. 

I  cannot  now  prove  constant  to  myself. 

Without  some  treachery  used  to  V'alentine  : — 

This  ni?ht  he  meanethwith  a  corded  ladder 

To  climb  celestial  Silvia's  chamber-window  ; 

Myself  in  counsel,  his  competitor  :- 

Now  presently  I'll  g'ive  her  father  notice 

Of  their  dis^ruising-,  and  pretended^  flight ; 

Who,  all  enrag'd,  will  banish  Valentine ; 

For  Thurio,  he  intends,  shall  wed  his  daughter : 

But,  Valentine  beingr  gone,  I'll  quickly  cross, 

By  some  sly  trick,  blunt  Tnurio's  dull  proceeding. 

Love,  lend  me  wines  to  make  my  purpose  swill. 

As  thou  hast  lent  me  wit  to  plot  this  drift !    [Exit. 

SCEXE  r//.— Verona.    ^9  room  in  Julia's 
house.    Enter  Julia  and  Lucetta. 

Jid.  Counsel,  Lucetta  ;  gentle  girl,  assist  me  ! 
And,  even  in  kind  love,  I  do  conjure  thee, — 
Svho  art  the  table  wherein  all  my  thoughts 
Are  visibly  character'd  and  engrav'd, — 
To  lesson  me :  and  tell  me  some  good  mean. 
How,  with  my  honour,  I  may  undertake 
A  journey  to  niv  ioving  Proteus. 

Luc.  Alas !  ihe  way  is  wearisome  and  long. 

Jul.  A  true-devoted  pilsrim  is  not  ^veary 
To  mcasuro  kingdoms  with  his  feeble  steps  ; 
Much  less  shall  she,  that  hath  love's  win^fs  to  fly  ; 
And  when  the  tlieht  is  made  to  one  so  dear, 
Of  such  divine  perfection,  as  sir  Proteus. 

Luc.  Better  forbear,  till  Proteus  make  return. 

Jul.  O,  know'st  thou  not,  his  looks  are  my  soul's 
food  I 
Pity  the  dearth  that  I  have  pined  in. 
By  longing  for  that  food  so  long  a  tune. 
Pidst  thou  but  know  the  inly  touch  of  love, 
Thou  would'st  as  soon  go  kindle  fire  with  snow, 
A«  seek  to  quench  the  fire  of  love  with  words. 

(I)  Teinptiog.     (8)  Confederate.     (S)  Inttnded. 


Lest  it  should  burn  above  the  bounds  of  reason. 

Jul.  The  more  thou  dam'st*  it  up,  the  more  it 
burns ; 
The  current,  that  with  gentle  murmur  glides, 
Thou  know'st,  being    stopp'd,  impatientlj  doth 

rage ; 
But,  when  his  fair  course  is  not  hindered. 
He  makes  sweet  music  with  the  enamell'd  stsuei, 
Giving  a  gentle  kiss  to  every  sedge 
He  overtaketh  in  his  pilgrimage ; 
And  so  by  many  winding  nooks  he  strays, 
Witli  willing  sport,  to  the  wild  ocean. 
Then  let  me  go,  and  hinder  not  my  course : 
I'll  be  as  patient  as  a  gentle  sti'cam, 
And  make  a  pastime  of  each  weary  step. 
Till  the  last  step  have  brought  me  to  my  love  ; 
And  there  I'll  rest,  as,  after  much  turmoil,^ 
A  blessed  soul  doth  in  Elysium. 

Luc.  But  in  what  habit  will  you  go  along? 

Jul.  Not  like  a  woman  ;  for  I  would  prevent 
The  loose  encounters  of  lascivious  men  : 
Gentle  Lucetta,  fit  me  with  such  weeds 
As  may  beseem  some  well-reputed  page. 

Luc.  Why  then  your  ladyship  must  cut  your 
hair. 

Jul.  No,  girl ;  I'll  knit  it  up  in  silken  strings. 
With  twenty  odd-conceited  true-love  knots : 
To  be  fantastic  may  become  a  youth 
Of  greater  time  than  I  shall  show  to  be. 

Luc.  What  fashion,  madam,  shall  I  make  your 
breeches  ? 

Jul.  That  fits  as  well,  as — '  tell  me,  good  my 
lord. 
What  compass  will  you  wear  your  farthingale  7' 
Why,  even  that  fashion  thou  hest  lik'st,  Lucetta. 

Luc.   You  must  needs  have  them  with  a  cod* 
piece,  madam. 

Jul.  Out,  out,  Lucetta  !  that  will  be  ill-favour*d. 

Lac.  A  round  hose,  madam,  now's  not  worth  a 
pin. 
Unless  you  have  a  cod-piece  to  stick  pins  on. 

Jul.  Lucetta,  as  thou  lov'st  me,  let  me  have 
Vv'hal  thou  think'st  meet,  and  is  most  mannerly : 
But  tell  mc,  wench,  how  will  the  world  repute  me. 
For  undertakiniT  so  unstaid  a  journey  ? 
I  fear  me,  it  will  make  me  scandaliz'd. 

Luc.  If  you  think  so,  then  stay  at  home,  and  go 
not. 

Jul.  Nay,  that  I  will  not. 

Lvc.  Then  never  dream  on  infamy,  but  go. 
If  Proteus  like  vour  journey,  when  you  come. 
No  matter  who's  dispicas'd,  when  you  are  gone  z 
I  fear  me,  he  will  scarce  be  pleas'd  withal. 

Jul.  That  is  tlie  least,  Lucetta,  of  my  lear: 
A  thousand  oaths,  an  ocean  of  his  tears, 
And  instances  as  infinite  of  love. 
Warrant  me  welcome  to  my  Proteus. 

Lkc.  All  these  are  servants  to  deceitful  men. 

Jul.  Base  men,  that  use  them  to  so  base  eiTcct! 
But  truer  stars  did  govern  Proteus'  birth  ; 
His  words  are  bonds,  his  oaths  are  oracles 
His  love  sincere,  his  thoughts  immaculate ; 
His  tears,  pure  messenirers  sent  from  his  heart  * 
His  heart  as  far  from  fraud,  as  heaven  from  earth. 

Luc.  Pray  heaven,  he  prove  so,  wheii  you  eoma 
to  him! 

Jill.  Now,  as  thou  lov'st  me,  do  him  nottbat 
wrong, 
To  bear  a  hard  opinion  of  his  truth ; 

(4)  Cloc«ft,        (6)  Tr9vb]«, 


as 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


Jict  J/J. 


Only  deserve  my  lore,  by  loving  him ; 
Ana  presently  go  wiU»  me  to  my  chamber, 
To  take  a  note  of  what  I  stand  m  need  of. 
To  furnish  me  upon  my  longinar'  journey. 
AU  that  13  mine  I  leave  at  thy  dispose, 
>iy  goods,  my  lands,  my  reputation  ; 
Only  in  lieu  thereof,  despatch  me  hence : 
Come,  answer  not,  but  to  it  presently ; 
1  un  impatient  of  my  tarriance. 


£nf<r  Valentine. 


ACT  III. 

SCEXE  /.—Milan.    An  anti'room  in  Ike  Duke's 
palact.    Enter  l)ukc,  Thurio,  and  Proteus. 

Duke.  Sir  Thurio,  gire  us  IcaTC,  I  prar,  awhile ; 

We  have  some  secrets  to  confer  about, 

[Exit  Thurio. 
New,  tell  me,  Proteus,  what's  your  will  with  me  ? 

Jh-o.  My  gracious  lord,  that  which  I  would  dis- 
cover, 
The  law  of  friendship  bids  me  to  conceal : 
But,  when  I  call  to  mind  your  jiracious  favours 
Pone  to  nie,  undeserving  as  I  am, 
My  duty  pricks  me  on  to  utter  that 
Wriich  else  no  worldly  jrood  sliould  dranfrom  rac. 
Know,  worthy  princcj  Sir  Valentine,  my  friend. 
This  night  intends  to  steal  away  your  daujjhter ; 
Myself  am  one  made  privy  to  the  plot 
I  know  you  have  determin'd  to  bestow  her 
On  Thurio,  whom  your  jifentle  dauwhtor  hales ; 
And  should  she  thus  l>e  stolen  away  from  you. 
It  would  be  much  vexation  to  your  a<re. 
Thus,  for  my  duty's  sake,  I  raCher  chose 
To  cross  my  friend  in  his  intended  drirt, 
Than,  by  concealing  itj  heap  on  your  head 
A  pack  of  sorrows,  which  would  press  you  down, 
Bemg  unnreventen,  to  your  timelf^s  grave. 


Duke.  Sir  Valentine,  wliither  away  so  fast? 

To/.  Please  it  your  grace,  there  w  a  messenger 
That  stays  to  bear  my  Tetters  to  my  friends, 
And  I  am  going  to  deliver  them 

Duke.  Be  they  of  much  import? 

Val.  The  tenor  of  them  doth  but  signify 
[Exeunt.lMy  health,  and  happy  being  at  your  court. 

Duke.    Nav,  then  no  matter ;    stay  with  tD» 
awhile ; 
I  am  to  break  with  thee  of  some  affairs. 
That  touch  me  near,  wherein  thou  must  be  secret. 
'Tis  not  unknown  to  thee,  tliat  I  have  sought 
To  match  my  friend,  sir  Thurio,  to  my  daughter. 

yal.  I  know  it  well,  my  lord ;  and,  sure,  the 
match 
Were  rich  and  honourable;   besides,  the  gentle- 
man 
Is  full  of  virtue,  bounty,  worth,  and  qualities 
Beseeming  such  a  wife  as  your  fair  daughter : 
Cannot  your  grace  win  her  to  fancy  him  ? 

Duke.  No,  trust  me ;  she  is  peevish,  sullen,  fr«>- 
ward, 
Proud,  disobedient,  stubborn,  lacking  duty ; 
Neither  regarduig  tliat  .she  is  my  child. 
Nor  fearing  me  as  if  I  were  h<;r  father ; 
And,  may  I  say  to  thee,  this  j.ride  of  hers 
Upon  advice,  hath  drawn  my  love  from  her ; 
And,  where  I  thou<jht  the  remnant  of  mine  age 
Siioiild  have  been  cherish'd  by  her  child-like  duty, 
I  now  am  full  resolv'd  to  take  a  wife. 
And  turn  her  out  to  who  will  fake  her  in  r 
Then  let  her  beauty  be  her  wedding-dower ; 
For  p\e  and  my  possessions  she  esteems  not. 

Val.  What  would  your  grace  have  me  to  do  in 
this? 

Duke.  There  is  a  Indy,  sir,  in  Milan,  here, 
Wlioni  I  affect ;  but  she  is  nice,  and  coy. 
And  nought  esteems  my  aged  eloquence : 


Now,  therefore,  would  I  have  tliee  to  my  tutor 


Duke.  Proteus,  I  thank  th<'o  for  thine  honestcare: !  (pyr  long  agone  I  have  forgot  to  court : 


Which  to  requite,  command  me  while  I  live. 
This  love  of  theirs  myself  have  olU-ii  seen. 
Haply,  when  they  have  judt'od  me  fist  asleep ; 
And  oftentimes  have  purpos'd  to  forbid 
Sir  ^'alentine  her  company,  and  my  court  : 
But,  fearing  lest  my  j'-alous  aim'  might  err, 
And  so,  unworthily,  disgrace  the  mnn, 

}.K.  rashness  that  I  ever  yet  have  shunn'd,) 
grave  liim  gentle  looks  ;  thereby  to  find 
That  wliich  thyself  hast  now-  disclos'd  to  mc. 
And,  that  thou  mav'st  perceive  my  fear  of  this. 
Knowing  that  tender  youth  is  soon  suggested,' 
I  nightly  lodge  her  in  an  up|>er  tower, 
The  key  whereof  myself  have  ever  kept ; 
And  thence  she  cannot  be  convey'd  away. 


Besides,  the  fashion  of  the  time  is  cliang'd  ;) 
How,  and  which  w.-iy  I  may  beslow  myself. 
To  be  regarded  in  her  suii-oright  eye. 

yd.  VVin  her  with  gids,  if  she  respect  not  words ; 
Dumb  jewels  often,  in  their  silent  kind. 
More  than  quick  words,  do  move  a  woman's  mind. 
Duke.  But  she  did  scorn  a  present  that  I  sent 
her. 
-   Td.  A  woman  sometimes  scorns  what  best  con- 
tents her. 
Send  her  anotlier ;  never  srirc  her  o'er  ; 
For  scorn  at  first  makes  afier-Iove  the  more. 
If -she  do  frown,  'tis  not  in  hate  of  you. 
But  rather  to  besret  more  love  in  you  : 
If  she  do  chide,  'tis  not  to  have  yon  sfone  ; 


Pro.    Know,  noble  lord,  they  hare  devis'd  ai  For  why,  the  fools  are  mad,  if  left  alone, 


mean 
How  he  her  chamber-window  wiil  ascend. 
And  with  a  corded  ladder  fctcli  her  down ; 
For  which  the  youthful  lover  now  is  i^-onc. 
And  this  way  comes  he  witJj  it  presently  ; 
Where,  if  it  please  you,  you  may  intercept  him. 
But,  good  my  lord,  do  it  so  cunningly, 
That  my  discovery  be  not  aimed"  at  ; 
For  love  of  you,  not  hate  unto  my  friend, 
Hath  made  me  publisher  of  this  pretence.* 

Ditke.  Upon  mine  honour,  he  shall  never  know 
That  I  had  any  light  from  thee  of  this. 

Pro.  .\dieu,  my  lord  ;  sir  Valentine  is  coming. 

[ExU, 

(I)  Lange4  for.     (2)  Guosa.    ^3)  Temptecl, 


Take  no  repulse,  whatever  she  dotii  sav ; 
For,  get  ymi  gone,  she  doth  not  mean,  aicay : 
Flatter,  and  praise,  commend,  extol  their  graces  ; 
Though  ne'er  so  black,  say,  thev  have  angels'  faces. 
That  man  that  hath  a  toivrne,  I  say,  is  lio  man. 
If  with  his  tongue  he  cannot  win  awomarK 

Duke.    But  she,  I  mean,  is  promis'd  by  her 
friends 
Unto  a  youthful  gentleman  of  worth  ; 
.\nd  kept  severely  from  resort  of  men. 
That  no  man  hath  access  by  dav  to  iier 

Vd.  Why  then  I  would  resort  to  her  by  night. 

Duke.  Aye,  but  tlie  doors  be  lock'd,  and  key* 
kept  safe, 


(4)  Gu«ss€d. 


{i)  Dcsitfo. 


Sattit  I. 


TVl'O  GENTLEMEN  OP  VERONA. 


» 


That  no  man  hith  recourse  to  her  by  night. 

Vol.  What  lets,'  but  one  may  enter  at  her  win- 
dow? 

Dukt.  Her  chamber  is  aloft,  far  from  the  around ; 
And  built  so  shelring  that  one  cannot  cliutb  it 
Without  apparent  hazard  of  his  life, 


Vd.   And  why  not  de&tli,  rather  than  livinr 
torment  / 
To  die,  is  to  be  banish'd  from  myself. 
And  Silvia  is  myself:  banish'd  from  her, 
Is  self  from  self;  a  deadly  banishment ! 
What  light  is  light,  if  Silvia  be  not  seen? 


Val.  why  then,    a  ladder,    quaintly  made  of  VVhat  joy  is  joy,  if  Silvia  be  not  by  ? 


cords. 

To  cast  up  with  a  pair  of  anchoring  hooky. 
Would  serve  to  scale  another  Hero's  tower, 
So  bold  Leander  would  adventure  it. 

Duke.  Now,  as  thou  art  a  grentleman  of  blood. 
Advise  me  where  I  may  have  such  a  ladder. 

Vol.  When  would  you  use  it  ?  prav,  sir,  tell  me 

thnt. 
Thike.  This  very  nijrht ;  for  love  is  like  a  child. 
That  longs  for  everv  thinsr  that  he  can  come  by. 
V^al.  Bv  seven  o'clock  I'll  get  you  such  a  ladder. 
Duke.  But,  hark  thee  ;  I  will  'so  to  her  alone  ; 
How  shall  I  best  convey  the  ladder  thither  ? 
Val.  It  will  be  light,  my  lord,  tliat  you  may 
bear  it 
Under  a  cloak,  that  is  of  any  leniyth. 
Duke.  A  cloak  as  long  as  thine  will  »erve  the 

turn? 
Val,  Ay,  my  good  lord. 

Duke.  Then  let  mc  see  thy  cloak  : 

I'll  )?et  me  one  of  such  another  length. 

Val.  Why,  any  cloak  will  ser^e  the  turn,  my 

lord. 
Duke.  How  shall  I  fashion  mc  to  wear  a  cloak  ? — 
I  pray  thee,  let  me  feel  thv  cloak  upon  me. 
What  letter  is  this  same  ?  "What's  here — To  Silvia  ? 
And  here  an  engine  fit  for  my  proceeding ! 
I'll  be  so  bold  to  break  the  seal  for  once,     [reads. 


Unless  it  be  to  Uiink  that  she  is  by, 
And  feed  upon  the  shadow  of  perfectioo. 
Except  I  be  by  Sihia  in  the  night, 
There  is  no  music  in  the  nis;htmgale  ; 
Unless  I  look  on  Silvia  in  the  day. 
There  is  no  day  for  mc  to  look  upon  : 
She  is  my  essence ;  and  I  leave  to  be, 
If  I  be  not  by  her  fair  influence 
Fostcr'd,  illumin'd,  chcrish'd.  kept  alive. 
I  fly  not  death,  to  liy  his  deadly  doom : 
Tarry  I  here,  I  but  attend  on  death  ; 
But,  fly  I  hence,  I  fly  away  from  life. 

Enter  Proteus  and  Launce. 

Pro.  Run,  bov,  run,  run,  and  seek  him  out, 
Laun.  So-hof  so-ho! 
Pro.  What  seest  tliou? 

Laun.  Him  we  go  to  find ;  there's  not  a  haii 
on's  head,  but  'tis  a  Valentine. 
Pro.  Valentine? 
Vol.  No. 

Pro.  Who  tiien  7  his  spirit  7 
Vol.  NciUier. 
Pro.  What  then  ? 
Vd.  Nothing. 

Lmai.  Can  uolhin? speak?  master,  shall  I  strike? 
Pro.  Whom  would'st  thou  strike  ? 
Laun.  Notliing. 
Pre.  Villain,  forbear. 
Laun.   Why,  sir,  I'll  strike  notliing:    I  prar 

you,— 
Pro.  Sirrah,  I  say,  forbear ;  friend  Valentine,  a 

word. 
Val.    My  ears  are  slopp'd,  and  cannot  hear 


My  thoughts  do  ha)  hour  inilk  mijSilria  nig;ktUj; 

.liul  slaves  they  are  to  me,  that  send  Iheinjltjtng: 
0,  could  Iheifr  masttr  come  and  go  as  lizhthi. 

Himself  would  lodge,  wheresetiseless  they  are 
hiing. 
.Vi/  herdd  thiAigtils  in  thy  pure  bosom  rest  them, 

"fVhile  I,  their  kinK,  that  hither  them  ifuportune,  e„  „„,J^c^  ".f' 7      ,    u  .k  ,a  .u 

Do   curse  the  grace  that    leith  such  grace  hath  **%"!"  .puL^.?^ i^.'^^J'^n^^'^'^P"'^'''^  ^^^^'^ 
blessed  them. 

Because  myself  do  xcanl  my  servants^  fortune  : 
J  curse  myself,  for  they  are  sent  by  me. 
That  they  should  Aariour  where  their  lord  should 

he. 
What's  here  ? 
Syria,  this  night  I  will  enfranchise  thee  : 


'TIS  so :  and  here's  the  ladder  for  the  purpose.— 
^Vhy,  Phaeton  (for  Ihoti  art  Merops'  son,) 
Wilt  thou  aspire  to  p-iiide  the  heavenlv  car. 
And  with  thy  oiinna:  folly  burn  the  world  ? 
Wilt  thou  reach  stars,  because  they  shine  on  thee  ? 
Go,  base  intruder  !  overweening  slave . 
Bestow  thy  fawning  smiles  on  equal  mates ; 
And  think,  my  patience,  more  than  thy  desert, 
Is  privilege  for  thy  departure  hence  : 
Thank  me  for  this,  more  than  for  all  the  favours. 
Which,  all  too  much,  I  have  besfow'd  on  thee. 
But  if  thou  linger  in  mv  territories, 
Longer  than  swiftest  expedition 
Will  give  thee  time  to  leave  oar  rovnl  court, 
By  heaven,  my  wrath  shall  far  exceed  the  love 
I  ever  bore  my  daughter,  or  thyself. 
Be  gone,  I  will  not  hear  thv  vain  excuse. 
But,   as  thou  lov'st  thy  life,   make  speed  from 
l>eiice.  [ExKDuke. 

<l)  Hinders. 


Pro.  Then  in  dumb  silence  will  I  bury  mine, 
For  they  are  harsh,  luitunable,  and  bad. 

Vd.  I"  Silvia  dead  ? 

Pro.  No,  Valentine. 

Vd.  No  Valentine,  indeed,  for  sacred  Silvia!— 
Hath  she  forsworn  me  ? 

Pro.  No,  Valentine. 

VaL   No  Valentine,   if   Silvia  have  forsworn 
me ! — 
What  is  your  news  ? 

Lawu  Sir,  there's  a  proclamation  that  you  ore 
vanish'd. 

Pro.    Tiiat  thou  art  banish'd,    O,    fliat's    the 
news ; 
From  hence,  from  Silvia,  and  from  me  thy  friend. 

y  al.  O,  I  have  fed  upon  thi.-i  wo  already. 
And  now  excess  of  it  will  make  mc  surfeit. 
Uoth  Silda  know  that  I  am  banish'd  ? 
,Xf?\  ^^''  ^-^ ;  ""'^^  *^«  hath  oflTer'd  to  the  doom 
(\\  hich,  unrcvers'd,  stands  in  etfectual  force) 
A  sea  of  melting  pearl,  which  some  call  tears  : 
Those  at  her  father's  churlish  feet  she  tender'd  ; 
^^  iih  ihem.  upon  her  knees,  her  humble  self; 
Wringing  her  hands,  m  hose  whiteness  so  became 

them. 

As  if  but  now  they  waxed  pale  for  wo 
But  ndther  bended  knees,  pure  hands  held  up. 
Sad  sighs,  deep  groans,  nor  silver-shedding  tears. 
Could  penetrate  her  uncompassionatc  sire ; 
But  Valentine,  if  he  be  ta'en,  must  die. 


3B 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


.id  III. 


Besidfts,  her  inUrcession  chaTd  him  so, 
When  she  for  thj  repeal  was  suppliant. 
That  to  close  prison  he  commanded  her. 
With  many  bitter  threats  of 'biding  there. 

Vol.  No  more ;  unless  the  next  word  that  thou 
speak' st. 
Hare  some  malignant  power  upon  my  life : 
If  90,  I  pray  thee,  breathe  it  in  mine  ear, 
As  cndinsj  anthem  of  my  endless  dolour.' 

Pro.  Ceaac  to  lament  for  that  thou  canst  not 
help. 
And  study  help  for  that  which  thou  lament'st. 
Time  is  the  nurse  and  breeder  of  ail  jrood. 
Here  if  thou  staVj  thou  canst  not  see  thy  love ; 
Bcaidcs,  thy  sta) mg  will  abridge  thy  life. 
Hope  is  a  lover's  staff;  walk  hence  with  that. 
And  manajre  it  against  despairing  thouglits. 
T'lv  letters  maybe  here,  thouprh  thou  art  htnce ; 
^V'hich,  b'.'injj  writ  to  ms,  shall  be  deliver'd 
I'ven  in  the  milk-white  bosom  of  fhy  love. 
The  time  now  serves  not  to  expostulate; 
('orae,  I'll  convey  thee  througij  the  city-r^te  ; 
And,  ere  1  part  witli  thee,  confer  at  larjje 
or  ail  that  may  concern  thy  love-affairs : 
A«  thou  lov'Rt  Silvia,  though  not  for  thyself, 
Resrard  thy  danjjcr,  and  along;  with  me. 

Val.  I  i)ray  thee,  Launce,  an  if  thou  seest  my 
bov, 
Bid  him  make  haste,  and  meet  me  at  the  north  (rate. 

Pro.  (ro,  sirrali,  find  him  out.   Come,  Valentine. 

Val.  O  ray  dear  Silvia !  hapless  Valentine  ! 

[£.rei!»if  Valentine  and  Proteus. 

Laim.  I  am  but  a  fool,  look  vou ;  and  yet  I  have 


Igrandmother :  tliis  proves,  thai  tliou  canst  not  read. 

Speed.  Come,  fool,  come :  try  me  in  thy  paper. 

Laun.  There ;  and  Saint  Nicholas*  be  thy 
speed  ! 

Speed.  Item,  She  bretcs  good  ale. 

Laun.  And  thereof  comes  tlie  proverb, — Bless* 
inff  of  your  heart,  you  brew  good  ale. 

Speed.  Item,  She  can  sew. 

Laun.  That's  as  much  as  to  say,  Can  she  so? 

Speed.  Item,  She  can  knit. 

Laun.  W'hat  need  a  man  care  for  a  stock  with 
a  wench,  when  she  can  knit  him  a  stock  ? 

Speed.  Item,  She  can  tcash  and  scour. 
'    Laun.  A  special  virtue ;  for  then  she  need  not 
be  washed  and  scoured. 

Speed.  Item,  She  can  spin. 

Laun.  Then  may  I  set  the  world  on  wheels 
when  she  can  spin  for  licr  livinj. 

Speed.  Item,  She  hatk  many  namelerS  virtues. 

Laun.  Tiiat's  as  much  as  to  say,  bastard  virtues  ; 
that,  indeed,  know  not  their  fathers,  and  therefore 
have  no  names. 

Speed.  Here  follow  her  vices. 

La«H.  Close  at  the  heels  of  her  virtues. 

Speed.  Item.  She  is  not  to  be  kissed  faslin;,  in 
respect  of  her  orcaih. 

Laun.  \V'cll,  that  fault  may  be  mended  with  a 
breakfast :  read  on. 

Speed.  Item,  She  hath  a  stceet  mouth, 

iMun.  That  makes  amends  for  her  sour  breath. 

Speed.  Item,  She  doth  talk  in  her  sleep, 

Laun.  It's  no  mutter  for  that,  so  she  sleep  not  in 
her  talk. 

Speed.  Item,  She  is  slow  in  words. 


the  wit  to  think,  my  master  is  a  kind  of  knave  : 

but  that's  all  one,  if  he  be  but  one  knave.     He|     Laun.  O  villain,  that  set  this  down  amonj  her 

lives  not  now,  that  knows  ms  to  be  in  love :  yet  I i vices!  To  be  slow  in  words,  is  a  woman's  only 

om  in  love;  but  a  team  of  horse  shall  not  pluck  I  virtue:  I  pray  thee,  out  willi't;  and  jjlacc  it  for 

that  from  me;  nor  who 'tis  I  love,  and  yet 'tb  a!  her  chief  virtue. 

woman:  but  that  woman,  I  will  not  tell  myself ;]     Speed.  Item,  She  is  proud. 

Laun,  Out  with  that  too;  it  was  Eve's  legacy, 
and  cannot  be  ta'en  from  her. 

Speed,  Item,  She  hath  no  teeth. 

Laun.  I  care  not  for  that  neither,  because  I  love 
crusts. 

Speed.  Item,  She  is  atrst. 

Laun.  Well ;  the  best  is,  she  hath  no  teeth  to 
bite. 

Speed,  Item,  She  will  often  praise  her  liqwr: 

Laun.  If  her  liquor  be  pood,  she  shall:  il  she 
will  not,  I  will ;  for  jrood  things  should  be  praised. 

Speed.  Item,  She  is  too  liberal,^ 

Laun,  Of  her  tongue  she  cannot ;  for  that's  wril 
down  she  is  slow  of:  of  her  purse  slie  shall  not ;  foi 
that  I'll  keep  shut:  now,  of  another  thing  she  may 
and  that  I  cainiot  heln.    Well,  proceed.  ' 

Speed,  Item,  She  hath  more  hair  than  wil,  and 
more  faults  than  hairs,  and  nwre  wealth  than 
faidts, 

Laun.  Stop  there;  I'll  have  her:  she  was  mine, 
and  not  mine,  twice  or  tluicc  in  that  last  article : 
rehearse  that  once  more. 

Speed.  Item,  She  hath  more  hair  than  wit, 

Laun.  More  hair  than  wit,— it  mav  be ;  I'll 
prove  it:  the  cover  of  the  salt  hides  the  salt,  and 
therefore  it  is  more  than  the  salt ;  the  hair  that 
covers  the  wit,  is  more  than  the  wit ;  for  the  greater 
hides  the  less.    What's  next  ? 

Speed.  And  more  faults  than  hairs, — 

Laun.  That's  monstrous:  O,  that  that  were  out ! 

Speed.  And  more  wealth  than  faults, 

Laun.  Why,  that  word  makes  the  faults  gra- 

(3)  Licentious  in  language. 


and  yet  'tis  a  milk-maid :  vet  'lis  not  a  maid,  for 
she  Kath  had  possips :  yet  'tfs  a  maid,  for  she  is  her 
master's  maid,  and  serves  for  wajres.  She  hath 
more  oualities  than  a  water-spaniel, — which  is 
much  in  a  bare  Christian.  Here  is  the  cat-log 
[ptdlin^  out  a  paper]  of  her  conditions.  Imprimis, 
She  can  fetch  and  carry,  W'hy,  a  horse  can  do 
no  more ;  nay,  a  horse  cannot  fetch,  but  only  car- 
rv;  therefore,  is  she  better  than  a  jade.  Item, 
She  can  milk ;  look  you,  a  sweet  virtue  iu  a  maid 
with  clean  hands. 

Enter  Speed. 

Speed,  How  now,  Signior  Launce  ?  what  news 
with  your  mastership  ? 

Laun,  With  my  master's  ship ?  why,  it  is  at  sea. 

Speed,  Well,  your  old  vice  still ;  mistake  the 
word  :  what  news  then  in  your  paper  ? 

Laun,  The  blackest  'news  that  ever  thou 
heard'st. 

SpeeiL  Why,  man.  how  black  7 

Laun.  Why,  as  black  as  ink. 

Speed.  Let  me  read  them. 

Laun.  Fie  on  thee,  jolt-bead;  thoa  canst  not 
read. 

Speed.  Thou  liest,  I  can. 

Laun.  I  will  try  thee  ;  tell  me  this :  who  begot 
Ihee? 

Speed.  Marry,  the  son  of  mjr  grandfather. 

Laun.  0  illiterate  loiterer !  it  was  tlie  son  of  thy 

(\)  Grief. 

(2)  St.  Nicholas  presided  over  yotuig  scholars. 


SatMlI. 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


3P 


cioua :  >  well,  111  have  ber :  and  if  it  be  a  match,  as 
nothing  is  impossible, — 

Speed.  What  then? 

Lawn.  Why,  then  I  will  tell  thee,— that  thy 
master  stars  for  tliee  at  the  nortli  gate. 

Speed,  for  me  I 

Laim.  For  thee?  ay;  wno  art  thou?  he  hatli 
staid  for  a  better  man  than  thee. 

Speed.  And  must  I  go  to  him  ? 

Laim.  Thou  must  run  to  hun,  for  thou  hast  staid 
so  long,  that  going  will  scarce  serve  the  turn. 

Speed.  Why  didst  not  tell  me  sooner  ?  'pox  of 
your  lore-letters!  [Exit. 

Lmm.  Now  will  he  be  swinged  for  readiife  my 
tetter :  an  unmannerly  slave,  that  will  thrust  him- 
self into  secrets !— I'll  after,  to  rejoice  in  the  boy's 
correction,  [Exit 

SCEXE  II.— The  same.  Jl  room  in  the  Duke's 
palace.  Enter  Duke  and  Thmio ;  Proteus  6e- 
nind. 

Duke.  Sir  Thurio,  fear  not,  but  that  she  will  lore 

you, 

Now  Valentine  is  banish'd  from  her  si^ht. 

Thu.  Since  his  exile  she  hath  despis'd  me  most, 
Forsworn  my  company,  and  rail'd  at  me. 
That  I  am  desperate  of  obtainin?  her. 

Duke.  This  weak  impress  of  love  is  as  a  figure 
Trench'd-  in  ice  ;  whicli  with  an  hour's  heat 
Dissolves  to  water,  and  doth  lose  his  form. 
A  little  time  will  melt  her  frozen  thouorhts, 
And  worthless  Valentine  shall  be  fortrot —      '^ 
How  now,  sir  Proteus  /    Is  your  countryman, 
According  to  our  proclamation,  gone  I 

Pro.  Gone,  my  good  lord. 

Duke.  My  daughter  takes  his  goin;^  grievously. 

Pro.  A  little  time,  my  lord,  will  kill  that  grief. 

Duke.  So  I  believe ;  "but  Thurio  thinks  not  so. — 
Proteus,  the  good  conceit  I  hold  of  thee 

iFor  thou  hast  shown  some  sign  of  good  desert,) 
lakes  me  the  better  to  conler  with  thee. 

Pro.  Loiiffer  than  I  prove  loyal  to  your  grace. 
Let  me  not  live  to  look  upon  your  grace. 

Duke.  Thouknow'st,  how  ivillingly  I  would  effect 
The  match  between  sir  Thurio  and  my  daughter. 

Pro.  I  do,  my  lord. 

Duke.  And  also,  I  think,  thou  art  not  ignorant 
How  she  opposes  her  against  my  will. 

Pro.  She  did,  my  lord,  when  Valentine  was  here. 

Duke.  Ay,  and  perversely  she  perseveres  so. 
What  might  we  do,  to  make  the  girl  forget 
The  love  of  Valentine^  and  love  sir  Thurio  ?     ,'j;. 

Pro.  The  best  way  is  to  slander  Valentine 
With  falsehood,  cowardice,  and  poor  descent ; 
Three  things  that  women  highly  hold  in  hate. 

Duke.  Ay,  but  she'll  think,  that  it  is  spoke  in 
hate. 

Pro.  Ajj  if  his  enemy  deliver  it : 
Therefore  it  must,  with  circumstance,  be  spoken 
By  one,  whom  she  esteemeth  as  his  friend. 

Duke.  Then  you  must  undertake  to  slander  him. 

Pro.  And  that,  my  lord,  I  shall  be  loth  to  do . 
'Tis  an  ill  oflRce  for  a  gentleman  ; 
Especially,  against  his  very  friend. 

Duke.  Where  your  good  word  cannot  advantage 
him, 
Your  slander  never  can  endamage  him ; 
Therefore  the  office  is  indifferent. 
Being  entreated  to  it  by  your  friend. 

Pro.  You  have  prevail'd,  my  lord :  if  I  can  do  it, 

(1)  Graceful.        (2)  Cut.    ,    (3)  Bird-lime. 


By  aught  that  I  can  speak  in  his  dispraise. 
She  shall  not  long  continue  love  to  him. 
But  say,  this  weed  her  love  from  Valentine, 
It  follows  not  that  she  will  love  sir  Thurio. 

Tlut.  Therefore,  as  you  unwind  her  lore  from 
him, 
Lest  it  should  ravel,  and  be  good  to  none. 
You  must  provide  to  bottom  it  on  me : 
Which  must  be  done,  by  praising  me  as  much 
As  you  in  worth  dispraise  sir  Valentine. 

Duke.  And,  Proteus,  we  dare  trust  you  in  this 
kind; 
Because  we  know,  on  Valentine's  report. 
You  are  already  love's  firm  votary. 
And  cannot  soon  revolt  and  change  j'our  mind. 
Upon  tliis  warrant  shall  you  have  access, 
AVherc  you  with  Silvia  may  confer  at  large ; 
For  she  is  lumpish,  heavy,  melancholy. 
And,  for  your  friend's  sake,  will  be  glad  of  you  ; 
Where  you  may  temper  her,  by  your  persuasion. 
To  hate  young  Valentine,  and  love  my  friend. 

Pro.  As  much  as  I  can  do,  I  ivill  chect : — 
But  you,  sir  Thurio,  ara  not  sharp  enough ; 
You  must  lay  lime,'  to  tangle  her  desires. 
By  wailful  sonnets,  whose  comj)osed  rhjines 
Should  be  full  fraught  ivith  serviceable  vo^vs. 

Duke.  Ay,  muclTthe  force  of  heaven-bred  poesy. 

Pro.  Say,  that  upon  tlie  altar  of  her  beauty 
You  sacrifice  your  tears,  your  sighs,  your  heart : 
Write  till  your  ink  be  dry ;  and  with  your  tears 
Moist  it  again ;  and  fnime  some  feeling  line, 
That  may  discover  such  integrity : — 
For  Orpheus'  lute  was  strung  with  poet's  sinews ; 
Whose  golden  touch  could  soften  steel  and  stones, 
Make  tigers  tame,  and  huge  leviathans 
Forsake  unsounded  deeps  to  dance  on  sands. 
After  your  dire-lamenting  elegies. 
Visit  by  night  your  lady's  chamber-window 
With  some  sweet  concert :  to  their  instruments 
Tune  a  deploring  dump  ;*  the  night's  dead  silence 
Will  well  become  such  sweet  complaining  griev-» 

ance. 
This,  or  else  nothing,  will  inherit  her. 

Duke.  This  discipline  shows  thou  hast  been  in 
love. 

Thu.  And  thy  advice  this  night  I'll  put  in  prac« 
tice : 
Therefore,  sweet  Proteus,  my  direction-giver, 
Let  us  into  the  city  presently 
To  sort'  some  gentlemen  well  skill'd  in  music 
I  have  a  sonnet,  that  will  ser^e  the  turn, 
To  give  the  onset  to  thy  good  advice. 

Duke.  About  it,  gentlemen. 

Pro.  We'll  wait  upon  your  grace  till  after  supper, 
And  afterward  determine  our  proceedings. 

DiJce,  Even  now  about  it ;  I  will  pardon  you. 

[Exeunt, 


Enter 


ACT  IV. 

SCE^TE  I.— A  forest,   near  Manlua. 
certain  Out-laws. 

1  Out.  Fellows,  stand  fast :   I  see  a.  passenger. 

2  OiU.  If  there  be  ten,  shrink  not,  but  down 

with  'em. 

Enter  Valentine  and  Speed. 

3  Out.  Stand,  sir,  and  throw  us  that  you  haro 

about  you ; 

(4)  Mournful  elegy.       (5)  Choose  out. 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


detjr. 


If  not,  we'll  make  you  sit,  and  rifle  you. 

Speed.  Sir,  we  are  undone !  these  are  the  villains 
That  all  the  travellers  do  fear  so  much. 

Vol.  My  friends, — 

1  Out.  That's  not  so,  sir ;  we  are  your  enemies. 

2  Out.  Peace ;  we'll  hear  him. 

3  Out.  Ay,  by  my  beard,  will  we ; 
For  he's  a  proper'  man. 

Vol.  Then  know,  that  I  have  little  wealth  to  lose; 
A  man  I  am,  cross'd  wifh  adversity : 
My  riches  are  these  poor  habiliments. 
Or  which  if  you  should  here  disfurnish  me. 
You  take  the  sum  and  substance  that  I  have. 

2  Out,  Whither  travel  you  ? 

Vol.  To  Verona. 

1  Out.  Whence  came  you  ? 

Vol.  From  Milan. 

S  Out.  Have  you  long  sojoum'd  there  ? 

Vol.  Some  sixteen  months ;   and  longer  might 
have  staid, 
If  crooked  fortune  had  not  thwarted  me. 

1  Out.  What,  were  you  banish'd  thence  ? 
Vtd.  I  was. 

2  Out.  For  what  offence  ? 

Vol.  For  that  which  now  torments  me  to  rehearse: 
I  kill'd  a  man,  whose  death  I  much  repent ; 
But  yet  I  slew  him  manfully  in  fight. 
Without  false  vantage,  or  base  treachery. 

1  Out.  Why  ne'er  repent  it,  if  it  were  done  so : 
But  were  you  banish'd  for  so  small  a  fault  ? 

Vol.  I  was,  and  held  me  glad  of  such  a  doom. 

1  Out.  Have  you  the  tongues  ?*        \ 

Vol.  My  youthful  travel  therein  made  me  happy; 
Or  else  I  often  had  been  miserable. 

S  Out.  By  the  bare  scalp  of  Robin  Hood's  fat 
friar, 
This  fellow  were  a  Idng  for  our  wild  faction, 

1  Oui.  We'll  have  him :  sirs,  a  word. 
Speed.  Master,  be  one  of  them  ; 

It  is  an  honourable  kind  of  thievery. 
Fal.  Peace,  villain  I 
Out.  Tell  us  this :  have  you  any  thing  to  take 
to? 
VaL  Nothing,  but  my  fortune. 
S  Out.  Know  then,  tiiat  some  of  us  are  gentle- 
men. 
Such  as  the  fury  of  ungovern'd  youth 
Thrust  from  the  company  of  awful*  men: 
Myself  was  from  Verona  banished. 
For  practising  to  steal  away  a  lady. 
An  heir,  and  near  allied  unto  the  duke. 

2  Out.  And  I  from  Mantua,  for  a  gentleman, 
Whom,  in  my  mood,*  I  stabb'a  unto  the  heart. 

1  Out.   And  I,  for  such  like  petty  crimes  as 

these. 
But  to  the  purpose — (for  we  cite  our  faults. 
That  they  may  holdexcus'd  our  lawless  lives,) 
And,  partly,  seeing  you  are  beautified 
With  goodly  shape  ;  and  by  your  own  report 
A  linguist ;  and  a  man  of  such  perfection, 
As  we  do  in  our  quality  much  want ; — 

2  Out.  Indeed,  because  you  are  a  banish'd  man. 
Therefore,  above  the  rest,  we  parley  to  you : 

Are  you  content  to  be  our  j^eneral  7 

To  make  a  virtue  of  necessity, 

And  live,  as  we  do,  in  this  wilderness  ? 

Out.  What  say'st  thou  ?  wilt  thou  be  of  our 
consort? 
»>ay.  ay,  and  be  the  captain  of  us  all : 
We'll  do  thee  homage,  and  be  rul'd  by  thee, 


jn  Well-looking. 


Lawful, 


(2)  Languages. 

V4)  Anger,  resentment. 


Love  thee  as  our  commander,  and  our  king. 

1  Out.  But  ifthou  scorn  our  courtesy,  thou  diMt. 

2  Out.  Thou  shalt  not  live  to  brag  whal  we  ;i&/d 

ofter'd. 
Vd.  I  take  your  offer,  and  will  live  with  you ; 
Provided  that  you  do  no  outrages 
On  silly  women,  or  poor  passengers. 

3  Out.  No,  we  detest  such  vile  base  practices. 
Come,  go  with  us,  we'll  bring  thee  to  our  crews, 
And  show  thee  all  the  treasure  we  have  got ; 
Which,  with  ourselves,  all  rest  at  thy  dispose. 

[Exeunt, 

SCEJ^EII.—J^ilan.    Court  of  the  palace.    En- 
ter  Proteus. 

Pro.  Already  have  I  been  false  to  Valentine, 
And  now  I  must  be  as  unjust  to  Thurio. 
Under  the  colour  of  commending  him, 
I  have  access  my  own  love  to  prefer ; 
But  Silvia  is  too  fair,  too  true,  too  holy. 
To  be  corrupted  with  my  worthless  gifts. 
When  I  protest  true  loyalty  to  her. 
She  twits  me  with  my  falsehood  to  my  friend ; 
When  to  her  beauty  I  commend  my  vows. 
She  bids  me  think,  how  I  have  been  forsworn 
In  breaking  faith  with  Julia  whom  I  iov'd : 
And,  notwithstanding  all  her  sudden  quips,* 
The  least  whereof  would  quell  a  lovers  hope, 
Yet,  spaniel-like,  the  more  she  spurns  my  love, 
The  more  it  grows  and  fawneth  on  her  still. 
But  here  comes  Thurio :  now  must  we  to  her  win- 
dow. 
And  give  some  evening  music  to  her  car. 

Enter  Thurio,  and  musicians. 

Thu.  How  now,  sir  Proteus  ?  are  you  crept 
before  us  ? 

Pro.  Ay,  gentle  Thurio;  for,  you  know,  that 
love 
Will  creep  in  service  where  it  cannot  go. 

Thu.  Ay,  but,  I  hope,  sir,  that  you  love  not  here. 

Pro.  Sir,  but  I  do  ;  or  else  I  would  be  hence. 

Thu.  Whom?  Silvia? 

Pro.  Ay.  Silvia — for  your  sake. 

Thu.  I  thank  you  for  yoiu*  own.    Now,  gentle- 
men. 
Let's  tune,  and  to  it  lustily  awhile. 

Enter  Host,  at  a  distance;  and  Julia  tn  Imft 
-Ui-*i^  clothes. 

Host.  Now,  my  young  guest !  methinks  you'rt 
allycholly ;  I  pray  you,  why  is  it  ? 

Jul.  Marry,  mine  host,  because  I  cannot  be 
merry. 

Host.  Come,  we'll  have  you  merry:  I'll  bring 
you  where  you  shall  hear  music,  and  see  the  gen- 
tleman that  you  ask'd  for. 

Jul.  But  shall  I  hear  him  speak? 

Host.  Ay,  that  you  shall. 

Jul.  That  will  be  music.  [Music  vlam 

Host.  Hark!  hark! 

Jul.  Is  he  among  these  ? 

Host.  Ay :  but  peace,  let's  hear  'em. 

SONG. 

Who  is  Silvia  1  What  is  she, 
That  all  our  sicains  commend  her  7 

Holy,  fair,  and  v)ise  is  she  ; 

The  heavens  such  p'ace  did  lend  her. 

That  she  might  admired  be. 

(5)  Passionate  reproaefaea. 


Mtmein, 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OP  VERONA. 


Is  she  khidj  as  she  is  fair  ?  ' 

For  btmity  lives  with  kindness : 
Love  doth  to  her  eyes  repair. 

To  help  him  of  his  blindness  ; 
And,  being  help'd,  inhabits  there. 

Then  to  Silvia  let  us  sin^. 

That  Silvia  is  excelling  ; 
She  excels  each  mortal  thing, 

Upon  the  dull  earth  dwelling. 
To  her  let  us  garlands  bring. 

Host.  How  now  ?  are  you  sadder  than  you  were 
before  ? 
How  do  vou,  man?  the  music  likes  you  not. 

Jtd.  You  mistake  ;  the  musician  likes  me  not. 

Host.  Why,  my  pretty  youth  ? 

Jid.  He  plays  false,  fatlier. 

Host.  How  ?  out  of  tune  on  tlie  strings  ? 

Jul,  Not  so ;  but  yet  so  false  that  he  gricTes  my 
Terv  heart-strings. 

Host.  You  have  a  quick  ear. 

Jul.  Ay,  I  would  I  were  deaf!  it  makes  me  hare 
a  slow  heart. 

Host.  I  perceive,  you  delight  not  in  music. 

Jul.  Not  a  whit,  when  it  jars  so. 

Host.  Hark,  what  fine  change  is  in  the  music ! 

Jtd.  Av ;  that  change  is  the  spite. 

Host.  You  would  have  them  always  play  but 
one  thin^  ? 

Jul.   I  would  always  have  one  play  but  one 
thing. 
But,  host,  doth  this  sir  Proteus,  that  we  talk  on, 
Oflen  resort  unto  this  gentlewoman  ? 

Host,  I  tell  you  what  Launce,  his  man,  told  me, 
be  loved  her  out  of  all  nick.' 

Jid.  Where  is  Launce  ? 

Host.  Gone  to  seek  his  dog ;  which,  to-morrow, 
by  his  master's  command,  he  must  carry  for  a 
present  to  his  lady. 

Jul.  Peace !  stand  aside !  the  company  parts. 

Pro,  Sir  Thiu-io,  fear  not  you !  I  will  so  plead, 
That  you  shall  say,  my  cunning  drift  excels. 

Thu.  Where  meet  we  ? 

Pro.  At  saint  Gregory's  well. 

Thu.  Farewell. 

[Exeimt  Thurio  and  J^usicians. 

Silvia  appears  above,  at  her  icindow. 

Pro.  Madam,  good  even  to  your  ladyship. 

Sil.  I  thank  you  for  your  music,  gentlemen : 
Who  is  that,  that  spake  ? 

Pro.  One,  lady,  if  you  knew  his  pure  heart's 
truth, 
You'd  quickly  learn  to  know  him  by  his  Toice. 

Sil.  Sir  Proteus,  as  I  take  it. 

Pro.  Sir  Proteus,  gentle  lady,  and  your  servant. 

Sil.  What  is  your  will  ? 

Pro.  That  I  may  compass  yours. 

Sil.  You  have  your  wish ;  my  will  is  even  this, — 
That  presently  you  hie  you  home  to  bed. 
Thou  subtle,  perjur'd,  false,  disloyal  man  ! 
Think'st  thou,  I  am  so  shallow,  so  conceitless, 
To  be  scduc'd  by  thy  flatter}-, 
That  hast  deceived  so  many  with  thy  vows  7 
Return,  return,  and  make  thy  love  amends. 
For  me, — by  this  pale  queen'of  night  I  swear, 
I  am  so  far  from  granting  thy  request. 
That  I  despise  thee  for  thy  wongful  suit ; 

( 1 )  Beyond  all  reckoning. 

(2)  Holy  dame,  blessed  lady. 

F 


And  by  and  by  intend  to  chide  myself, 
Even  for  this  time  I  spend  in  talking  to  thee. 

Pro,  I  grant,  sweet  love,  that  I  did  love  a  lady ; 
But  she  is  dead. 

JtU.  'Twere  false,  if  I  should  speak  it , 

For,  I  am  sure,  she  is  not  buried.  [Aside. 

Sil.  Say,  that  she  be ;  yet  Valentine,  thy  friend, 
Survives;  to  whom,  thyself  art  witness, 
I  am  betroth'd :  And  art  thou  not  asham'd 
To  wrong  him  with  thy  importunacy  ? 

Pro,  I  likewise  hear,  that  Valentine  is  dead. 

Sil,  And  so,  suppose,  am  I ;  for  in  his  grave. 
Assure  thyself,  my  love  is  buried. 

Pro,  Sweet  lady,  let  me  rake  it  from  the  earth. 

Sil.  Go  to  thy  lady's  grave,  and  call  her's  thence ; 
Or,  at  the  least,  in  fier's  sepulchre  thine. 

Jtd.  He  heard  not  that.  ^    [Asidt. 

Pro.  Madam,  if  your  heart  be  so  obdurate. 
Vouchsafe  me  yet  your  picture  for  my  love. 
The  picture  that  is  hanging  in  yoiu-  chamber  ; 
To  tliat  I'll  speak,  to  that  I'll  sigh  and  weep  j 
For,  since  tlie  substance  of  your  perfect  self 
Is  else  devoted,  I  am  but  a  shadow ; 
And  to  your  shadow  I  will  make  true  love. 

Jul.  If  'twere  a  substance,  you  would,  sure, 
deceive  it. 
And  make  it  but  a  shadow,  as  I  am.  [Aside, 

Sil.  I  am  very  loth  to  be  your  idol,  sir ; 
But,  since  your  falsehood  shall  become  you  well 
To  worship  shadows,  and  adore  false  shapes, 
Send  to  me  in  the  morning,  and  I'll  send  it : 
And  so  good  rest. 

Fro.  As  wretches  have  o'er-night, 

That  wait  for  execution  in  the  morn. 

\Exeunt  Proteus ;  and  Silvia,  from  ahmt, 

Jid.  Host,  will  you  go  ? 

Host.  By  my  halidom,^  I  was  fast  asleep. 

Jul.  Pray  you,  where  lies  sir  Proteus  ? 

Host.  Rfarry,  at  my  house :  Trust  me,  I  think 
'tis  almost  day. 

Jid.  Not  so ;  but  it  hath  been  the  longest  night 
That  e'er  I  watch'd,  and  the  most  heaviest. 

[Exeunt. 

I     SCEJ^E  ni.—The  same.    Enter  Eglamour. 

Egl.  Tliis  is  the  hour  that  madam  Silvia 
Entreated  me  to  call,  and  know  her  mind  ; 
There's  some  great  matter  siie'd  employ  me  in.— 
Madam,  madam! 

Silvia  appears  above,  at  her  window. 

Sa.  Who  calls  ?  , 

Egl.  Your  servant,  and  your  friend ; 

One  that  attends  your  ladysliip's  command. 

Sil.  Sir  Eglamour,  a  tliousand  times  good-mor« 
row. 

Egl.  As  many,  worthy  lady,  to  yourself. 
According  to  your  ladyship's  impose,* 
I  am  thus  early  come,  to  know  w  hat  service 
It  is  your  pleasure  to  command  me  in. 

Sit.  O  Eglamour,  thou  art  a  gentleman 
(Think  noi^l  flatter,  for,  I  swear,  I  do  not,) 
Valiant,  wise,  remorseful,*  well  accomplish'd. 
Thou  art  not  ignorant,  what  dear  good  will 
I  bear  unto  the  banish'd  Valentine  ; 
Nor  how  my  father  would  enforce  me  marry 
Vain  Thurio,  whom  my  very  soul  abhorr'd. 
Thyself  hast  lov'd  ;  arid  I  have  heard  thee  say. 
No  grief  did  ever  come  so  near  your  heart. 
As  when  thy  lady  and  thy  true  love  died, 

'      (S)  Injunction,  commv)d«  (4)  Pitiful. 


TWO  GENTLE5IEN  OF  VERONA. 


Act  jr. 


Upon  whdse  gnrt  thou  Tovy'dst  pure  chaatity. 

Sir  Eglamour,  I  would  to  Valentine, 

To  Mantua,  where,  I  hear,  he  makes  abode ; 

And,  for  the  ways  are  dangerous  to  pass, 

1  do  desire  thy  v.orthY  companv. 

Upon  whose  faith  and  honour  I  repose. 

Urge  not  my  father's  anjjer,  Eglamour, 

But  think  upon  my  grief,  a  lady's  grief; 

And  on  the  justice  of  my  flying  hence. 

To  keep  ine  from  a  most  unholy  match, 

>\hkh   heaven   and    fortune   still  reward  with 

plagues. 
I  do  desire  tnee,  even  from  a  heart 
As  full  of  sorrows  as  the  sea  of  sands. 
To  bear  me  company,  and  <ro  '.vith  me : 
If  not,  to  hide  what  I  have  said  to  tliee, 
That  I  may  venture  to  depart  alone. 

E^L  Madam,  I  pity  much  your  grievances ; 
Which  since  I  know  tliey  virtuously  are  plac'd, 
I  give  consent  to  go  along  with  you  ; 
Recking'  as  little  what  betideth  me,i 
As  much  I  wish  all  good  befortuiie  you. 
When  will  you  go  ? 

SU.  This  evening  coming. 

EkI'  ^Vhere  shall  I  meet  you  ? 

S§.  At  friar  Patrick's  cell, 

Where  I  intend  holy  confession. 

Egl.  I  will  not  fail  your  ladyship : 
(ipod-morrow,  gentle  lady. 

SU.  Good.morrow,  kind  sir  Eglamour. 

[Exeunt. 

SCE2J'£  IV.—Tke  same.    Enter  Launce,  with 
hii  dog. 

When  a  man's  servant  shall  play  the  cur  with 
him,  look  you,  it  goes  hard :  one  that  I  brought  up 
of  a  puppy ;  one  that  I  saved  from  drowning,  when 
three  or  four  of  his  blind  brothers  and  sisters  went 
to  it !  I  have  taught  him — even  as  one  would  say 
precisely,  Thus  I  would  teacli  a  dog.  I  was  sent 
to  deliver  him,  as  a  present  to  mistress  Silvia,  from 
my  master :  and  I  came  no  sooner  into  the  dining- 
chamber,  but  he  steps  me  to  her  trencher,  and 
steals  her  capon's  leg.  O  'tis  a  foul  thing,  when 
a  cur  cannot  keep"  himself  in  all  companies !  I 
would  have,  as  one  should  say,  one  that  takes  upon 
him  to  be  a  dog  indeed,  to  be,  as  it  were,  a  dog  at 
all  things.  If^I  had  nnt  had  more  wit  than  he,  to 
take  a  fault  upon  me  that  he  did,  I  think  %-erily  he 
had  been  hanged  for't;  sure  as  I  live,  he  had  suf- 
fered for't :  you  shall  judge.  He  thrusts  me  him- 
self into  the  company  of  three  or  four  gentlemen- 
like  dogs,  under  the  duke's  table :  he  had  not  been 
there  (bless  the  mark)  a  pissing  while  ;  but  all  the 
chamber  smelt  him.  Out  tcith  Ike  do;;,  says  one  ; 
What  cur  is  that  ?  says  another ;  Whip  him  out, 
savs  the  third  ;  Hang  hitn  up,  says  the  duke.  I, 
having  been  acquainted  with  the  smell  before, 
knew  it  was  Crab  ;  and  goes  me  to  the  fellow  that 
whips  the  dogs :  Friend,  quoth  1,  you  mean  to 
iohip  the  dot;  ?  .iy,  marry,  do  I,  quoth  he.  You 
do  him  the  more  wron^,  quoth  I ;  Uwas  I  did  the 
thing  you  root  of.  He  makes  me  no  more  ado, 
but  whips  me  out  of  the  chamber.  How  many 
masters  would  do  this  for  tlieir  servant  ?  Nay,  I'll 
be  sworn,  I  have  sat  in  the  stocks  for  puddings  he 
hath  stolen,  otherwise  he  had  been  executed :  I 
have  stood  on  the  pillory  for  geese  he  hath  killed, 
otherwise  he  had  suffered  for't :  thou  think'st  not 
of  this  now  ! — Nay,  I  remember  the  trick  you 

(1)  Caring.      (2)  Restrain.      (3)  In  the  end. 


served  me,  when  I  took  my  leave  of  m&dam  Silvia  s 
did  not  I  oia  thee  still  mark  me,  and  do  as  I  do  7 
When  didst  thou  see  me  heave  up  my  leg,  and  mako 
water  against  a  gentlewoman's  fartliingale  ?  didst 
thou  ever  see  mc  do  such  a  trick  7 

Enter  Proteus  and  Julia. 

Pro.  Sebastian  is  thy  name  ?  I  like  thee  well. 
And  will  employ  thee  m  some  service  presently. 

Jul.  In  what  you  please ; — I  will  do  what  I  can. 

Pro.  I  hope,  thou  wilt — How  now,  you  whore- 
son peasant?  [jTo  Launce. 
W"herc  have  you  been  these  two  days  loitering  ? 

Laun.  Many,  sir,  I  carried  mistress  Silnathft 
dog  you  bade  me. 

Pro.  And  what  says  she,  to  my  little  jewel  ? 

Laun.  Marry,  she  savs,  your  dog  was  a  cur; 
and  tells  you,  'currish  thanks  is  good  enough  for 
such  a  present. 

Pro.  But  she  received  my  dog? 

Laun.  No,  indeed,  she  did  not:  here  hare  I 
brought  him  back  again. 

Pro.  What,  didst  thou  ofTer  her  this  from  me  ? 

Laun.  Ay,  sir;  the  other  squirrel  was  stolen 
from  me  by  the  hangman's  bovs  in  the  market- 
place :  and  then  I  offer'd  her  mine  own  ;  who  is  a 
dog  as  big  as  ten  of  yours,  and  therefore  the  gift 
the  greater. 

Pro.  Go,  get  thee  hence,  and  find  my  dog  again. 
Or  ne'er  return  again  unto  my  sight. 
Away,  I  say :  Stay'st  thou  to  vex  me  here  ' 
A  slave,  that,  still  an  end,'  turns  me  to  shame, 

[Exit  Launce. 
Sebastian,  I  have  entertained  thee. 
Parti}-,  that  I  have  need  of  such  a  youth, 
That'can  with  some  discretion  do  my  business, 
For  'tis  no  trusting  to  yon  foolish  lowt : 
But  chielly,  for  thy  face,  and  thy  behaviour ; 
Which  (if  my  augury  deceive  me  not) 
Witness  good  bringing  up,  fortune,  and  truth : 
Therefore  know  thou,  for  this  I  entertain  thee. 
Go  presently,  and  take  this  ring  with  thee, 
Deliver  it  to  madam  Silvia : 
She  loved  me  well,  delivered  it  to  me. 

Jtd.  It  seems  you  loved  her  not,  to  leare  her 
token : 
She's  dead,  belike. 

Pro.  Not  so ;  I  think,  she  Utcb. 

Jul.  Alas! 

Pro.  Why  dost  thy  cry,  alas ! 

Jul.  I  cannot  choose  but  pity  her. 

Pro.  Wherefore  should'st  thou  pity  her? 

Jul.  Because,  methinks,  that  she  loved  you  u 
well 
As  you  do  love  your  lady  Silvia : 
She  dreams  on  him,  that  has  forgot  her  lore  ; 
You  dote  on  her.  that  cares  not  for  your  love. 
'Tis  pity,  love  should  be  so  contrary  ; 
And  thinking  on  it  makes  me  cry,  alas  ! 

Pro.  Well,  give  her  that  ring,  and  therewithal 
This  letter; — that's  her  chamber. — Tell  my  lady, 
I  claim  the  promise  for  her  heavenly  picture. 
Your  message  done,  hie  home  unto  my  chamber, 
Where  tliou  shalt  find  me  sad  and  solitary. 

[Exit  Proteus. 

Jul.  How  many  women  would  do  such  a  mes- 
sage ? 
Alas,  poor  Proteus !  thou  hast  entertain'i 
A  fox,  to  be  the  shepherd  of  thy  lambs : 
Alas,  poor  fool !  Why  do  I  pity  him 
That  with  his  very  heart  despiseth  mc  7 
Because  he  loves  her,  he  despiseth  mc ; 
Becau'ie  I  love  him,  I  must  pity  him. 


Seoie  /,  77. 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OP  VERONA. 


48 


ThL«  ring  I  garc  him,  when  he  parted  from  mc, 

To  uind  him  to  remember  my  good  will : 

And  now  am  I  (unhappy  messenger) 

To  jilead  for  that,  which  I  would  not  obtain  ; 

To  i;arry  that  which  I  would  have  rcfus'd^ 

To  praise  his  faith,  which  I  would  have  dispr&is'd. 

I  an-  my  master's  true  confirmed  love  ; 

But  cannot  be  true  servant  to  my  master, 

Unless  I  prove  false  traitor  to  myself. 

Yet  I  will  woo  for  him :  but  vet  so  coldly, 

A»,  heaven,  it  knows,  I  would  not  have  hiiin  speed. 

Enter  Silvia,  attmded. 

Gentlewoman,  good  day !  I  pray  you,  be  iny  mean 
To  brinjj  roc  where  to  speak  ^viih  madam  Silvia. 

i)U.  What  would  you  with  hor,  if  that  I  be  she  ? 

JiU.  If  you  be  s hs,  I  do  entreat  your  patience 
To  hear  mc  speak  the  message  I  am  sent  on. 

i:il.  From  whom  ? 

Jul.  From  my  master,  sir  Proteus,  inadam. 

tii'.  O  ! — Ue'scnds  you  for  a  picimc  / 

Jul.  Ay,  madam. 

ail.  Ursula,  bring  my  picture  there. 

[Picture  hronght. 
(Jo,  jrivc  your  master  this  :  tell  him  from  mc, 
One  Julia,  that  his  changing  thoughts  forget. 
Would  better  fit  his  chamber,  than  this  shadow. 

JiU.  Madam,  please  you  peruse  this  letter. — 
Pardon  me,  madam  ;  I  have  unadvis'd 
Delivered  you  a  paper  that  I  should  not ; 
This  is  tlie 'letter  to'your  ladyship. 

Sil.  I  pray  thee,  let  me  look  on  that  again. 

Jul.  It  may  not  be ;  good  madam,  pardon  me. 

Sil.  There,  hold. 
I  will  not  look  upon  vour  master's  line?  : 
I  know,  they  are  stuit'd  with  protestations, 
And  full  of  new-found  oaths  ;  which  he  will  break 
As  easily  as  I  do  tear  his  paper. 

Jul.  ^'Iadam,  he  sends  your  ladyship  this  ring. 

Sil.  The  more  shame  for  him  that  he  sends  it  me ; 
For,  I  have  heard  him  say  a  thousand  times. 
His  Julia  gave  it  him  at  his  departure : 
Though  his  false  finger  hath  profan'd  the  ring, 
Mine  shall  not  do  his  Julia  so  much  WTong. 

Jul.  She  thanks  you. 

Sa.  What  say'st  thou? 

JiU.  I  thank  you,  madam,  that  you  tender  her : 
Poor  gentlewoman !  my  master  wrongs  her  much. 

Sil.  Dost  thou  know  her? 

Jitl.  Almost  as  well  as  I  do  Icnow  myself: 
To  tliink  upon  her  woes,  I  do  protest. 
That  I  have  wept  a  hundred  several  times. 

3U.  Belike,  she  thinks  that  Proteus  hath  forsook 
her. 

Jul.  I  tliink  she  doth,  and  that's  her  cause  of 
sorrow. 

Sil.  Is  she  not  passin"-  fair  ? 

Jxd.  She  hath  been  fairer,  madam,  than  she  is : 
When  she  did  think  my  master  lov'd  her  well. 
She,  in  my  judgment,  was  as  fair  as  you  ; 
But  since  she  did  neglect  her  looking-glass. 
And  threw  her  sun-expellinsr  mask  away. 
The  air  hath  starv'd  the  roses  m  her  cheeks^ 
And  pinch'd  the  lily-tincture  of  her  face. 
That  now  she  is  become  as  black  as  I. 

Sil,  How  tall  was^lie  ? 

Jid.  About  my  stature :  for,  at  Pentecost,' 
WTien  all  our  pageants  of  delight  were  play'd. 
Our  youth  got  me  to  play  the  woman's  part. 
And  I  was  trimm'd  in  madam  Julia's  gown, 
Which  served  me  as  tit  by  all  men's  judgment, 

(1)  \NTiit8untide.        (2)  In  gooJ  camesU 


jAs  if  the  garment  had  been  made  for  mc  s 
'Therefore,  I  know  she  is  about  ray  height. 
1  And,  at  that  time,  I  made  her  weep  a-good,' 
I  For  I  did  play  a  lamentable  part ; 
iMadam,  'twas  Ariadne,  passioning 
For  Theseus'  perjury,  and  unjust  flight ; 
Which  I  so  lively  acted  with  my  tears, 
That  my  poor  mistress,  moved  thcrovithal, 
Wept  bitterly ;  and,  would  I  might  be  de&d. 
If  I  in  thought  felt  not  her  Tery  sorrow ! 

Sil.  She  is  beholden  to  thee,  gentle  youtfa  }— 
Alas,  poor  lady !  desolate  and  left ! — 
I  weep  myself,  to  think  upon  thy  words. 
Here,  youth,  there  is  mv  purse  ;  I  give  thee  thk 
For  tly'siveet  nustress'  sake,  because  thou  lov'et  her. 
Farewell.  [Erit  Silvia. 

Jul.  And  she  shall  thank  you  fort,  if  e'er  yeu 
know  her. — 
A  virtuous  gentlewoman,  mild,  and  beautifuL 
I  hope  my  master's  suit  will  be  but  cold. 
Since  she  respects  my  mistress'  love  so  much. 
Alas,  how  love  can  trifle  with  itself! 
Here  is  her  picture :  Let  me  see :  I  think, 
If  I  had  such  a  tire,'  this  face  otmine 
Were  fall  as  lovely  as  is  this  of  hers : 
And  yet  the  painter  flatter'd  her  a  little. 
Unless  I  flatter  with  myself  too  much. 
Her  hair  is  auburn^  mine  is  perfect  yellow : 
If  that  be  all  the  difiercnce  in  his  love, 
I'll  get  mc  such  a  colour'd  periwig. 
Her  eyes  are  grey  as  glass ;  and  so  are  mine ; 
Ay,  but  her  forehead's  low,  and  mine's  as  high, 
what  should  it  be,  that  he  respects  in  her, 
But  I  can  make  respective*  in  myself, 
If  this  fond  love  were  not  a  blinded  god  7 
Come,  shadow,  come,  and  take  this  shadow  up, 
For  'tis  Ihy  rival.     O  thou  senseless  form  ! 
Thou  shall  be  worshipp'd,  kiss'd,  lov'd,  and  ador'd ; 
And,  were  there  sense  in  his  idolatrv. 
My  substance  should  be  statue  in  thy  stead. 
I'll  use  thee  kindly  for  thy  mistress'  sake. 
That  uo'd  me  so  ;  or  else,  by  Jove  I  vow, 
I  should  have  scratch'd  out  your  unseeing  eyes. 
To  make  mj  master  out  of  love  with  thee.    [Exit, 


ACT  V. 


SCEJ^E    I.— The    savie.      »f»   abbey.      Enter 
Eglamour. 

Egl.  The  sun  begins  to  gild  the  western  sky ; 
And  now,  it  is  about  the  very  hour 
That  Silvia,  at  Patrick's  cell,'  should  meet  me. 
She  will  not  fail ;  for  lovers  break  not  hours. 
Unless  it  be  to  come  before  their  time ; 
So  much  they  spur  their  expedition. 

Enler  Silvia. 

See,  where  she  comes :  Lady,  a  happy  evening ! 

Sil.  Amen,  amen  !  go  on,  good  Eglamour  ! 
Out  at  the  postern  by  the  abbey-wall ; 
I  fear,  I  am  attended  by  some  spies. 

E<tI.  Fear  not:  the  forest  is  not  three  leagues 
off; 
I  f  we  recover  tiiat,  we  are  sure'  enough.    [Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E  II.— The  same.  .?n  apmrlment  m  th« 
Duke's  palace.  Enter  Thurio,  Proteus,  ana 
Julia. 

Thu.  Sir  Proteus,  what  says  Silvia  to  my  suit  ? 
(3)  Ucad-dress.    (4)  Ec!«pcctable.    (5)  Safe, 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OP  VERONA. 


jktr. 


Pro.  0,  «ir,  I  find  her  milder  than  she  was ; 
And  yet  she  takes  exceptions  at  your  person. 
Thu.  What,  that  my  les  is  too  long  ? 
Pro.  No ;  that  it  is  too  little. 
Thu.  I'll  ivear  a  boot,  to  make  it  somewhat 

rounder. 
Pro.  But  love  will  not  be  spurr'd  to  what  it 

loaths. 
Thu.  What  says  she  to  my  face  ? 
Pro.  She  says,  it  is  a  fair  one. 
Thu.  Nay,  then  the  wanton  lies ;  my  face  is 

black. 

Pro.  But  pearls  are  fair ;  and  the  old  sa3ring  is. 

Black  men  are  pearls  in  beauteous  ladies'  e}es. 

Jid.  'Ti»  true;  such  pearls  as  put  out  ladies' 

eyes ; 

For  1  had  rather  wink  than  look  on  them.    [.feWe. 
Thu.  How  likes  she  my  discourse  ? 
Pro.  Ill,  when  you  talk  of  war. 
Thu,  But  well,  when  I  discourse  of  love,  and 

peace  ? 
Jul.  But  better,  indeed,  when  you  hold  your 

peace.  [*3si(/c. 

Thu.  What  says  slie  to  my  valour  ? 
Pro.  O,  sir,  she  makes  no  doubt  of  that. 
JtiL  She  needs  not,  when  she  knows  it  coward- 
ice, [..iside. 
Thu.  AVhat  says  slie  to  my  birth  7           I 
Pro.  That  you  are  well  deriv'd. 
Jul.  True  ;'from  a  {gentleman  to  a  fool,    [.dside. 
Thu.  Considers  she  my  possessions? 
Pro.  O,  ay ;  and  pities  them. 
Thu.  Wiierefore  ? 

Jul.  That  such  an  ass  should  owe'  lhcm.[^iside. 
Pro.  That  they  are  out  by  lease. 
Jul.  Here  comes  the  duke. 

Enter  Duke. 

Duke.  IIow  now,  sir  Proteus?  how  now,  Thurio 
Which  of  von  saw  sir  Eglaniour  of  late  ? 

Thu.  Not  I. 

Pro.  Nor  I. 

Duke.  Saw  you  my  daut^htcr  ? 

Pro.  Neither. 

Duke.  Why,  then  she's  fled  unto  tliat  peasant 
Valentine ; 
And  Eglamour  is  in  her  company. 
Tis  true ;  for  friar  Laurence  met  them  both. 
As  he  in  penance  wander'd  throuprh  the  forest : 
Him  he  knew  well,  and  wuess'd  that  it  was  she ; 
Butj  beinp:  mask'd,  he  %vas  not  sure  of  it: 
Besides,  she  did  intend  confession 
At  Patrick's  cell  this  even  ;  and  tjiere  she  was  not : 
These  likelihoods  confirm  her  flijht  from  hence. 
Therefore,  1  pray  you,  stand  not  to  discourse. 
But  mount  you  presently ;  and  meet  with  me 
Upon  the  rising  of  the  mountain  foot 
That  leads  towards  Mantua,  whither  tliey  arc  fled  : 
Despatch,  sweet  gentlemen,  and  follow  me.  [JExU. 

Thu.  Why,  this  it  is  to  be  a  peevish^  pirl, 
That  flies  her  fortune  when  it  follows  her : 
I'll  after ;  more  to  be  reven2;'d  on  Eglamour, 
Than  for  the  love  of  reckless'  Silvia,  [Exit. 

Pro.  And  I  will  follow,  more  for  Silvia's  love, 
Than  hate  of  Eorlamour  that  goes  with  her,  lExit. 

Jul.  And  I  will  follow,  more  to  cross  that  love, 
Than  hate  for  Silvia,  that  is  gone  for  love.     [Exit. 

SCEJ^E    III.— Frontiers    of   Mantua.      The 
Forest.    EiUer  Silvia,  and  Out-laws. 

Out.  Come,  come: 
(1)  Own.       (2)  FooUsh,       (3)  Carelcw. 


Be  patient,  we  must  bring  you  to  our  captain. 

Sil.  A  thousand  more  mischances  than  this  ono 
Have  learn'd  me  how  to  brook  this  patiently. 

2  Out.  Come,  bring  her  away. 

1  Out.  Where  is  the  gentleman  that  was  with 
her? 

3  Out.  Being  nimble-footed,  he  hath  out- run  us, 
But  Moyses.  and  Valerius,  follow  him. 

Go  thou  with  her  to  the  ivest  end  of  the  wood, 
There  is  our  captain :  we'll  follow  him  that's  fled; 
The  thicket  is  beset,  he  cannot  'scape. 
1  Out.  Come,  I  must  bring  you  to  our  captain'i 
cave : 
Fear  not ;  he  bears  an  honourable  mind, 
And  will  not  use  a  woman  la%vles$h-. 
Sil.  O  Valentine,  this  I  endure  lor  tliee ! 

[ExeunU 

SCEJ^  ir.—.1nolher  -part  of  the  Forest.^ 
Enter  Valejitinc. 

Val.  How  use  doth  breed  a  habit  in  a  man 
This  shadowy  desert,  unfrequented  woods, 
I  better  brook  than  flourishing  peopled  towns : 
Here  can  I  sit  alone,  unseen  of  any. 
And,  to  the  nightingale's  complaining  notes. 
Tune  my  distresses,  and  record*  my  woes. 

0  thou  that  dost  inhabit  in  my  breast. 
Leave  not  the  mansion  so  lon^'  tenantless  ; 
Lest,  growing  ruinous,  the  buiWing  fall. 
And  leave  no  memory  of  what  it  was ! 
Repair  me  ivith  thv  presence,  Silvia ; 

Thou  gentle  nympli,  cherish  tliy  forlorn  swain ! — 
Wliat  halloing,  and  what  stir,  is  this  to-day? 
Tliese  are  my  mates,  tliat  make  their  wills  thfcir 

law. 
Have  some  unhappy  passenger  in  chace : 
They  love  me  well ;  yet  I  have  much  to  do, 
To  keep  them  from  uncivil  outrages, 
WitJidraw  thee,  Valentine ;  who's  this  comes  here  7 

[Steps  aside. 

Enter  Proteus,  Silvia,  and  Julia. 

Pro.  Madam,  this  service  I  have  done  for  you 
(Though  you  respect  not  aught  your  servant  doth,) 
To  hazard  life,  and  rescue  you  from  him 
That  ivould   have  forc'd  your  honour  and  your 

love. 
Vouchsafe  me,  for  my  meed,'  but  one  fair  look; 
A  smaller  boon  than  this  I  cannot  beg. 
And  less  than  this,  I  am  sure,  you  cannot  give. 

Vd.  How  like  a  dream  is  this  I  see  and  hear  7 
Love,  lend  me  patience  to  forbear  awliilc.   [^tide, 

Sil.  O  miserable,  unhappy  that  I  am  ! 

Pro.  Unhappy,  %vere  you,  madam,  ere  I  came  ; 
But,  bv  my  coming,  I  have  made  vou  happy. 

Sil.  ^y  thy  approach  thou  mak'st  me  most  un 
happy. 

Jid.  And  me,  when   he  approachelh  to  your 
presence.  [,.i'side. 

Sil.  Had  I  been  seized  by  a  hungry  lion, 

1  would  have  been  a  breakfast  to  the  Deast, 
Rather  than  have  false  Proteus  rescue  me. 
0,  heaven  be  judge,  how  I  love  Valentine, 
Whose  life's  as  tender  to  me  as  my  soul ; 
And  full  as  much  (for  more  there  cannot  be,) 
I  do  detest  false  perjur'd  Proteus : 
Therefore  be  gone,  solicit  me  no  more. 

Pro.  What  dangerous  action,  stood  it  next  to 
death. 
Would  I  not  undergo  for  one  calm  look? 


(4)  Sing. 


(5)  Reward. 


SeeiU  jr. 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


O, 'tis  the  curse  in  lore,  and  still  approT'd,"  i    Pro.  How !  Julia ! 

Vvhen  women  cannot  love  where  they're  belov'd.    |    Jid.  Behold  her  that  gave  aim*  to  all  thy  oathi, 
SU.   When  Proteus  cannot   love   where   he's|Andentertain'd  tliem  deeply  in  !ier  heart: 

belov'd.  ■  How  oft  hast  thou  with  perjury  cleft  the  root  1* 

Read  over  Julia's  heart,  thy  first  best  love, '  |0  Proteus,  let  this  habit  make  "thee  blush ! 

For  whose   dear  sake  thou  didst  then  rend  thy'Bethou  asham'd,  that  I  have  took  uponm« 
faith  {Such  an  immodest  raiment ;  if  shame  live 


Into  a  thousand  oaths ;  and  all  those  oaths 
Descended  into  perjury,  to  love  me. 
Thou  hast  no  faith  left  now,  imless  thou  hadst  two. 
And  that's  far  worse  than  none  ;  better  have  none 
Than  plural  faith,  which  is  too  much  by  one : 
Thou  counterfeit  lo  thy  true  friend ! 

Pro.  In  love, 

Who  respects  friend  ? 

,SJ/.  All  men  but  Proteus. 

Pro.  Nay,  if  the  gentle  spirit  of  moving  words 
Can  no  way  change  you  to  a  milder  form, 
I'll  woo  you  like  a  soldier,  at  arms'  end ; 
And  love  you  'gainst  the  nature  of  love,  force  you. 

SU.  O  heaven ! 

J'ro.  I'll  force  thee  yield  to  my  desire. 

Vol.  Ruffian,  let  go  that  rude  uncivil  touch ; 
Thou  friend  of  an  ill  fashion ! 

Fro.  Valentine ! 

y'al.  Thou  common  friend,  that's  without  faith 
or  love ; 
(For  such  is  a  friend  now.)  treacherous  man ! 
Thou  hast  beguil'd  my  nopes ;  nought  but  mine 

eye 
Could  have  persuaded  me :  Now  I  dare  not  say 
I  have  one  friend  alive :  thou  would'st  disprove  me. 
Who  should  be  trusted  now,  when  one's  right  hand 
Is  peijur'd  to  the  bosom  ?  Proteus, 
I  am  sorr}',  I  must  never  trust  thee  more. 
But  count  tiie  world  a  stranger  for  thy  sake. 
The  private  wound  is  deepest :  O  time,  most  curst ! 
"Mougst  all  foes,  that  a  friend  should  be  the  worst ! 

Pro.  My  shame  and  guilt  confounds  me. 
Forgive  me,  Valentine :  if  hearty  sorrow- 
Be  a  sufficient  ransom  for  offence, 
I  tender  it  here ;  I  do  as  truly  suffer. 
As  e'er  I  did  commit. 

Val.  Then  I  am  paid ; 

And  once  again  I  do  receive  thee  honestl 
Who  by  repentance  is  not  satisfied, 
Is  nor  of  heaven,  nor  earth ;  for  these  are  pleos'd ; 
By  penitence  the  Eternal's  wrath's  appeas'd : — 
Ana,  that  my  love  may  appear  plain  and  free. 
All  that  was  mine  in  S^ilvia,  I  give  thee. 

Jul.  0  me,  unhappy !  [Faints. 

Pro.  Look  to  the  boy. 

Val.  Why,  boy!  why,  wag!   how  now?  what 
is  the  matter? 
Look  up ;  speak. 

Jul.  O  good  sir,  mv  master  charg'd  me 

To  deliver  a  ring  to  madam  Silvia  ; 
Which,  out  of  my  neglect,  was  never  done. 

Pro.  Where  is  that  rinc:;,  boy  ? 

Jul.  Here 'tis:  this  isit.       [Gives  a  ring. 

Pro.  How  I  let  me  see : 
Why  this  is  the  ring  I  gave  to  Julia. 

Jul.  O,  cry  you  mercy,  sir,  I  have  mistook ; 
This  is  the  nng  you  sent  to  Silvia. 

[SItows  another  ring. 

Pro.  But,  how  cam'st  thou  by  this  ring  ?  at  my 
depart, 
I  gave  this  unto  Julia. 

Jul.  And  Julia  herself  did  give  it  me ; 
And  Julia  herself  hath  brought  it  hither. 

!1)  Felt,  e3ti>erienced.       (2)  Direction. 
3)  An  lulusioD  to  cleaTtng  the  pin  in  archsry. 


In  a  disguise  of  love : 
It  is  the  lesser  blot,  modesty  finds. 
Women  to  change  their  shapes,  than  men  their 
minds. 
Pro.  Than  men   their   minds  ?   'tis   true :   O 
heaven!  were  man 
But  constant,  he  were  perfect:  that  one  error 
Fills  him  mm  faults ;  makes  him  run  through  all 

suis : 
Inconstancy  falls  offj  ere  it  begins : 
What  is  in  Silvia's  face,  but  I  may  spy 
More  fresh  in  Julia's  with  a  constant  eye  7 

Vol.  Come,  come,  a  hand  from  either : 
Let  me  be  blest  to  make  this  happy  close  ; 
'Twere  pity  two  such  friends  should  be  long  foe*. 
Pro.  Bear  witness,  heaven,  I  have  my  wish  for 

ever. 
Jul.  And  I  have  mine. 

Enttr  Out-laws,  Kith  Duke  and  Thurio. 

Out.  A  prize,  iL  prize,  a  prize  ! 

Val.  Forbear,  I  say ;  It  is  my  lord  the  duke. 
Your  grace  is  welcome  to  a  man  disgrac'd, 
Banish'd  Valentine. 

Duke.  Sir  Valentine ! 

Thu.  Yonder  is  Sihia ;  and  Silvia's  mine. 

Val.  Thurio,  give  back,  or  else  embrace   thy 
death  j 
Come  not  withm  the  measure*  of  my  wrath : 
Do  not  name  Silvia  thine;  ifoncea^ain, 
Milan  shall  not  behold  thee.     Here  she  stands, 
Take  but  possession  of  her  with  a  touch  ! — 
I  dare  thee  but  to  breathe  upon  my  love. — 

Thu.  Sir  Valentine,  I'care  not  for  her,  I ; 
I  Ijold  him  but  a  fool,  that  will  endanger 
His  body  for  a  girl  that  loves  him  not : 
I  claim  her  not,  and  therefore  she  is  thine. 

Duke.  The  more  desenerate  and  base  art  thou  , 
To  make  such  means^Torher  as  thou  hast  done. 
And  leave  her  on  such  sKght  conditions. — 
Now,  by  the  honour  of  my  ancestry, 
I  do  applaud  thy  spirit,  \  alentine. 
And  think  thee  worthy  of  an  empress'  lore. 
Know  then,  I  here  forget  all  former  griefs. 
Cancel  all  grudge,  repeal  thee  home  again. — 
Plead  a  new  state  in  thy  unrivall'd  merit. 
To  wliich  I  thus  subscribe, — sir  Valentine, 
Thou  art  a  gentleman,  and  well  deriv'd ; 
Take  thou  tliy  Silvia,  for  thou  hast  deserv'd  her. 

VaL  I  thank  your  grace ;  the  gift  hath  made  me 
happy. 
I  now  beseech  you,  for  your  dausrhtcr's  sake, 
(To  grant  one  boon  that"!  shall  ask  of  you. 

DuJ:e.  I  grant  it,  for  thine  own,  whate'er  it  be. 

Val.   These  banish'd  men,   that  I  have  kept 
withal. 
Are  men  endued  with  worthy  qaalities ;  . 
Forgive  them  what  they  have  committed  here, 
Anrf  let  them  be  recall'd  from  their  exile : 
They  are  reformed,  civil,  full  of  good, 
And  fit  for  great  employment,  worthy  lord. 

Duke.  Thou  hast  prevail'd :  I  pardon  them  an4 
thee  ; 
Dispose  of  them,  as  thou  know'st  their  deserts. 

(4)  Length  of  m^  sword,  (£}  Intnrciti 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VEflONA* 


dctr 


With  triumph?,'  mirth,  and  rare  solemnity. 
Come,  let  Us  go ;  we  will  include*  all  jars. 

Vol.  And,  as  we  walk  along,  I  dare  be  bold 
With  our  discourse  to  make  your  jrrace  to  smile : 
What  think  you  of  this  page,  my  lord  / 

Dukt.  I  think  the  boy  hath  grace  in  him;  be 
blushes. 

Vcd,  I  warrant  you,  my  lord ;  more  grace  than 
boT. 

Dukt.  What  mean  vou  by  that  sajing  ? 

Vol.  Please  you,  I'fl  tell  vou  as  we  pass  along. 
That  you  will  wonder  what  hath  fortun'd. — 
Come,  Proteus ;  'tis  your  penance,  but  to  hear 
Tho  story  of  your  loves  discovered : 
That  done,  our  day  of  marriage  shall  he  yours ; 
OoB  Teast,  oae  house,  one  mutual  happiness. 

[Exeunt. 


(I)  Mafiks,  revels. 


(2)  Conclude. 


In  this  play  there  is  a  strangrc  mixluie  »r  know 
ledge  and  ignorance,  of  care  and  negligence.  The 
versification  is  often  excellent,  the  allusions  are 
learned  and  just ;  but  the  author  conveys  his 
heroes  by  sea  from  one  inland  town  to  another  in 
the  same  country :  he  places  the  emperor  at  Milan, 
and  sends  his  young  men  to  attend  him,  but  ne^vr 
mentions  him  more ;  he  makes  Proteus,  after  au 
interview  witli  Silvia,  say  he  has  only  seen  lier  pic- 
ture :  and,  if  we  may  credit  the  old  copies,  he  has, 
b>'  mistaking  places,  left  his  scener}*  mextricable. 
The  reason  of  all  tiiis  confusion  seems  to  be,  that 
he  took  his  story  from  a  novel  which  he  sometime* 
fi)llo»ved  and  sometimes  forsook;  sometimes  re- 
membered, and  sometimes  foi^ot. 

That  this  play  is  rightly  attributed  to  Shak- 
speare,  I  have  little  doubt.  "If  it  be  taken  from  hirn, 
to  whom  shall  it  be  given  ?  This  question  may  be 
asked  of  all  the  disputed  plays,  except  Titus  An- 
dronicus ;  and  it  will  be  found  more  credible,  that 
Shakspeare  might  sometimes  sink  below  his  highest 
flights,  than  that  any  other  should  rise  up  to  hia 
lowest.  JOHNSON. 


MEKRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 
Act  v.— Scene  5. 


TWELFTH  NIGHT. 
Act  11.— Scene  2. 


(    47    ) 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


!>i>  John  FalstiA 

Fenton. 

Shallow,  a  emmtfei^JvsHee, 

Slender,  cousin  to  BhaJev, 

Mr'  Pase*  \*"°  gentltnwa  iwiOirg  at  Windaor. 
William  Page,  a  boy,  son  to  Mr.  '.^e. 

Sir  Hu»h  Evans,  a  Welsh  jf»>jo*. 
Dr.  Caiu8,  o  Fnnch  physkimi. 
Host  of  the  Garter  Inn. 
Bardolph,  ) 

Pbtol,        WoUowers  of  Falslaff. 
Nym,         ) 


Robin,  page  to  Patstqff. 
Simple,  servant  to  Slender. 
Rugby,  servant  to  Dr.  CaUUt 

Mrs.  Ford. 

Mrs.  Page. 

Mrs.  Anne  Page,  her  daughter,  in  loee  with  Fentotu 

Mrs.  Quickl}-,  servant  to  Dr.  Caitis. 

Servants  to  Page,  Ford,  ^e. 

Scene,  Windsor;  and  the  parts  adjacent. 


ACT  I. 

SCEXE  L—Windsor.  Btfore  Page'c  «pv<. 
Enter  Justice  Shallow,  Slender,  oad  Sir'  A'k.i> 
Erans. 


s 


Shallow. 


Eva.  It  is  not  meet  the  council  hear  a  riot ;  there 
i3  no  fear  of  Got  in  a  riot :  the  council,  look  you, 
shall  desire  to  hear  the  fear  of  Got,  and  not  to  near 
a  riot ;  take  your  vizaments'  in  that. 

Sh<a.  Ha !  o'  my  life,  if  I  were  young  again,  the 
sword  should  end  it. 

Eva.  It  is  petter  that  friends  is  the  sword,  and 
end  it:  and  there  is  also  another  device  in  my 
prain,  %vhich,  peradventure,  prings  goot  discretion* 
Trith  it :  there  is  Anne  Pap;e,  which  is  daughter  to 
master  George  Page,  which  is  pretty  virgimty. 

£lcn.  Mistress  Anne  Page  ?  She  has  brown  hair 
and  .''peaks  small"  like  a  woman. 

£iv.  U  ia  that  fery  person  for  all  the  'orld,  a« 
just  as  rou  will  desire ;  and  seven  bunied  pounds 
of  monisjs-  and  gold,  and  silver,  is  her  grandsire, 
upon  his  t\^lVs^ed  (Got  deliver  to  a  joyful  resur- 
rections!) ,;i^c,  when  she  is  ablf;  to  oveitake  seven- 
teen years  o)(J :  it  were  a  goot  motion,  if  we  leave 
our  pribbles  .iimJ  prabbles,  and  desire  a  marriage 
between  masttT  Abraham,  and  mistress  Anne 
Pa2;e. 

Shal.  Did  her  {.raivlsire  leave  her  seven  hundred 
pound  ? 

Era.  Av,  and  hsr  fa'ijcr  is  make  her  a  pettf  r  Denny. 

IShal.  f  know  the  ▼oong' gentlewoman ;  ine  has 

The  dozen  white  louses  do  become  an  old      £p^  gg^g^  hundred  pounds,  and  possibilities,  is 

joot  gifts. 
Shal.  Well,  let  us  see  bonest  master  T^gt :  u 


IR  Hugh,  persuade  me  not ;  I  will  make  a  Stsv 
chamber  matter  of  it:  if  he  were  twenty  Sir  Joh-t 
FaUtaffs,  he  shall  not  abuse  Robert  Shallow,  es- 
quire. 

Slen.  In  the  county  of  Gloster,  justice  of  peace, 
and  coram. 

Shal.  Ay,  cousin  Slender,  and  cust-alonim.* 

Slen.  Ay,  and  ratolorum  too;  and  a  gentleman 
born,  master  parson ;  who  writes  himselfcwmtgero; 
in  any  bill,  warrant,  quittance,  or  obligation,  ar- 
migero. 

Shot.  Ay,  that  we  do ;  and  have  done  any  time 
these  three  hundred  years. 

Slen.  All  his  successors,  gone  before  him,  have 
done't ;  and  all  his  ancestors,  that  come  after  him, 
may :  they  may  give  tlie  dozen  whitcluccs  in  tlieir 
coat. 

Shal.  It  is  an  old  coat 

Eta. 
eoat  well ;  it  agrees  well,  passant :  it  is  a  familiar 
beast  to  man,  and  signifies — ^love.  ^^^^^ 

Shal.  The  luce  is  the  fresh  fish;  the  salt  fish  is  PaYstaff  there? 


an  old  coat 

Sleii.  I  may  quarter,  coz  ? 

Shal.  You  may,  by  marryinsr. 

Eva.  It  is  marring'  indeed,  if  he  quarter  it. 

Shal.  Not  a  whit. 

Eva.  Yes,  py'r>  lady;  if  he  has  a  quarter  of  your 
caat,  there  is  but  three  skirts  for  yourself,  in  mv 
simple  conjectures :  but  that  is  all  one :  if  Sir  John 
Falstaffhave  committed  dwparagements  unto  you, 
I  am  of  the  church,  and  will  be  glad  to  do  my  be- 
Devolence,  to  make  atonements  "and  compromises 
between  you. 

Shal.  The  council*  shall  hear  it ;  it  is  a  riot. 

(HA  title  formerly  appropnte^  to  chaplaini . 
{t)  Cu9t99  rvtvlornn,  i 


Eva.  Shall  I  tell  you  a  l:e  ?  I  do  despise  a  liar, 
as  I  do  dejjpise  one  that  is  false;  or,  as  I  despise 
one  that  is  not  true.  The  knight,  sir  John,  is  there ; 
and,  I  beseech  you,  be  ruled  by  your  well-willers. 
I  will  peat  the  door  [fc>ieci:*]  for  master  Page. 
What,  noa !  Got  pless  your  house  here ! 

Enter  Page. 

Page.  Who's  there? 

Eva.  Here  is  Got's  plessing,  and  your  friend, 
and  justice  Shallow  :  and  here  young  master  Slea* 


(S)  Br  our. 


(i)  Court  of  starocbaio]^ 


i)^K 


-48 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


Jtai, 


der ;  that,  perad ventures,  shall  tell  you  another  tale, 
if  matters  grow  to  your  likings. 

Page.  I  am  glad  to  see  your  worships  well :  I 
thank  you  for  my  venison,  master  Shallow. 

Shcu.  Rlaster  Page.  I  am  elad  to  see  you  ;  much 

food  do  it  your  ffood  heart !  I  wished  your  venison 
etter;  it  was  ill  killed: — how  doth  good  mistress 
Page  7 — and  I  love  you  always  with  my  heart,  la ; 
wiui  my  heart. 

Page.  Sir,  I  thank  you. 

Skal.  Sir,  I  thank  you ;  by  yea  and  no,  I  do. 

Page.  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  good  master  Slen- 
der. 

Slen.  How  does  your  fallow  greyhound,  sir?  I 
beard  say,  he  was  outrun  on  Cotsale.> 

Page.  It  could  not  be  judg'd,  sir. 

Slen.  You'll  not  confess,  you'll  not  confess. 

ShtU.  That  he  will  not ; — ^"tis  your  fault,  'tis  your 
fault : — 'tis  a  good  dog. 

Page.  A  cur,  sir. 

Skal.  Sir,  he's  a  good  dog,  and  a  fair  dog;  can 
tiiere  be  more  said  ?  he  is  good,  and  fair, — Is  sir 
John  Falstaff  here  ? 

Page.  Sir,  he  is  within  ;  and  I  would  I  could  do 
a  good  office  between  you. 

£va.  It  is  spoke  as  a  christians  ought  to  speak. 

Shal.  He  hath  wrong'd  me,  master  Page. 

Page.  Sir,  he  doth  in  some  sort  confess  it. 

Shal.  If  it  be  confcss'd,  itisnotredress'd;  is  not 
that  so,  master  Page  ?  he  hath  wrong'd  me ;  in- 
deed, he  hath ; — at  a  word,  he  hath ; — ^believe  me ; — 
Robert  Shallow,  esquire,  saith,  he  is  wrong'd. 

Page.  Here  comes  Sir  Jolm. 

Enter  Sir  John  FalstaflT,   Bardolph,  Nym,  and 
Pistol. 

Fal.  Now,  master  Shallow ;  you'll  complain  of 
me  to  the  kin^  ? 

Shal.  Knight,  you  hare  beaten  my  men,  killed 
my  deer,  and  broke  open  my  lodge. 

Fal.  But  not  kiss'd  your  Keeper's  daughter. 

Shal,  Tut,  a  pin !  this  shall  be  answer'd. 

Fal.  I  will  answer  it  straight ; — I  have  done  all 
this : — that  is  now  answer'd. 

Shal.  The  council  shall  know  this. 

Fal.  'Twere  better  for  you,  if  it  were  known  in 
counsel :  you'll  be  laush'd  at. 

Eva.  Pauca  verba,  Sir  John,  good  worts. 

Fal.  Good  worts!'  good  cabbage. — Slender,  I 
broke  your  head ;  what  matter  have  you  against 
me? 

Slen.  Marry,  sir,  I  have  matter  in  my  head 
against  you;"  and  against  your  coney-catching' 
rascals,  Bardolph,  Nym,  andPistol.  They  carried 
me  to  the  tavern,  and  made  me  drunk,  and  after- 
wards picked  my  pocket. 

Bar.  You  Banbury  cheese  !* 

Slen.  Ay,  it  is  no  matter. 

Pist.  How  now,  Mephostophilus?' 

Slen.  Ay'f  it  is  no  matter. 

^ym.  slice,  I  say !  pauca,  pmica  ;*  slice !  that's 
my  humour. 

Slen.  Where's  Simple,  my  man?— ean  you  tell, 
cousin  ? 

JSna,  Peace,  I  pray  you !  Now  let  us  under- 
stand :  there  is  three  umpires  in  this  matter,  as  I 

ilj  Cotswold  in  Gloucestershire. 
2)  Worts  was  the  ancient  name  of  all  the  cab* 
pam  kmd. 
ft)  Sharpert.  (4)  Nothing  but  paring. 

(i)  Tbe  nvaft  oT  an  ugly  spirit,  (•)  Few  words. 


understand:  that  is,  master  Page,  ^cfeltcef,  master 
Page ;  and  there  is  myself,  fidelicet,  myself ;  and 
the  three  party  is,  lastly  and  finally,  mine  host  of 
the  Garter. 

Page.  We  three,  to  hear  it,  and  end  it  between 
them. 

Eva.  Fery  goot :  I  will  make  a  prief  of  it  in  my 
note-book ;  and  we  will  aderwards  'ork  upon  toe 
cause,  with  as  great  discreetly  as  we  can. 

Fal.  Pistol,— 

Pist.  He  hears  with  ears. 

Eva.  The  tevil  and  his  tarn !  what  phrase  is  this, 
He  hears  with  ear  ?  Why,  it  is  affectations. 

Fal.  Pistol,  did  you  pick  master  Blender's  purse  ? 

Slen.  Ay,  by  these  gloves,  did  he  (or  I  would  I 
might  never  come  in  mme  own  great  chamber  again 
else,)  of  seven  groats  in  mill-sixpences,  and  two 
Edward  shovel-boards,'  that  cost  me  two  shilling 
and  two  pence  apiece  of  Yead  Miller,  by  thes« 
gloves. 

Fal.  Is  this  true,  Pistol  ? 

Eva.  No ;  it  is  false,  if  it  is  a  pick-purse. 

Pist.  Ha,  thou  mountain-foreigner ! — Sir  John, 
and  master  mine, 
I  combat  challenge  of  this  latten  bilbo  :• 
Word  of  denial  m  thy  labras'  here ; 
Word  of  denial ;  froth  and  scum,  thou  liest. 

Slen.  Bj'  these  gloves,  then  'twas  he. 

.A'Vm.  Be  advised,  sir,  and  pass  good  humours  • 
I  will  say,  marry  trap,  with  you,  if  you  run  the 
nuthook's  '"humour  on  me:  that  is  the  very  note  of  it. 

Slen.  By  this  hat,  then  he  in  the  red  face  had  it : 
for  though  I  cannot  remember  what  I  did  when  you 
made  me  drunk,  yet  I  am  not  allogether  an  ass. 

Fal.  What  say  you.  Scarlet  and' John  ? 

Bard.  AVhy,  sir,  for  my  part,  I  say,  the  gentle- 
man had  drunk  himself  out  of  his  five  sentences. 

Eva.  It  is  his  five  senses :  fie,  what  the  ignorance 
is? 

Bard.  And  being  fap"  sir,  was  as  they  say, 
cashier'd  ;  and  so  conclusions  pass'd  the  careires.  '• 

Slen.  Ay,  you  spake  in  Latm  then  too ;  but  'tis 
no  matter :  iMl  ne'er  be  drunk  whilst  I  live  again, 
but  in  honest,  civil,  godly  company,  for  this  trick; 
if  I  be  drunk,  I'll  be  drunk  with  those  that  have  the 
fear  of  God,  and  not  with  drunken  knaves. 

Eva.  So  Got  'udge  me,  that  i^  a  virtuous  mind. 

FaL  You  hear  all  these  matters  denied,  gentle- 
men ;  you  hear  it. 

Enter  JMistress  Anne  Page  with  ioine ;  Mistrest 
Ford  and  Mistress  Tage  following. 

Page.  Nay,  daughter,  carry  the  wine  in ;  we'll 
drink  ivithin.  [Exit  Anne  Page. 

Slen.  0  heaven !  this  is  mistress  Anne  Page. 

Pa^e.  How  now,  mistress  Ford  ? 

Fal.  Mistress  Ford,  by  my  troth,  you  are  Tery 
well  met :  by  your  leave,  good  mistress. 

[kissing  her. 

Page.  Wife,  bid  these  gentlemen  welcome  : — 
Come,  we  have  a  hot  venison  pasty  to  dinner ;  come, 
gentlemen,  I  hope  we  shall  drink  down  all  unkind- 
iiess. 

[Exrtint  all  but  Shal.  Slend.  and  Evans. 

Slen.  I  had  rather  than  forty  shillings,  I  had  my 
book  of  songs  and  sonnets  here : — 

(7)  King  Edward's  shillings,  used  in  the  g&tt* 
of  shuffle-hoard. 


8)  Blade  as  thin  as  a  lath.  ,- ,  -  ^ 

iOHfyousay  lamathief.  (11)  Pruak. 

12)  The  bounds  of  good  bebatiour. 


(9)  Lips. 
(11)  ~ 


Scene  11. 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


40 


Enter  Simple. 


How  now,  Simple !  where  have  you  been  ?  I  must 
wait  on  mysell",  must  I  ?  You  have  not  The  Book 
of  Riddles  about  you,  have  you  ? 

Sim.  Book  of  Riddles !  why,  did  you  not  lend 
it  to  Alice  Shortcake,  upon  Alihallowmas  last,  a 
fortnight  afore  Michaelmas?' 

Shai.  Come,  coz;  come,  coz  :  we  stay  for  you. 

A  word  with  you,  coz  :  marry,  this,  coz  ;  there  isJ  ^y  mother  be  dead 
as  'twere,  a  tender,  a  kind  of  tender,  made  afar  on  liijg  a  poor  gentlema 
by  sir  Hugh  here  ;— do  you  understand  me  ? 

SUn.  Ay,  sir,  you  shall  find  me  reasonable ;  if 
it  be  so,  I  shall  do  that  that  is  reason. 
Shal.  Nay,  but  understand  me. 
Slen.  So  I  do,  sir. 

Eva.  Give  ear  to  his  motions,  master  Slender :  I 
will  description  the  matter  to  you,  if  you  be  capa- 
city of  it. 

aien.  Nay,  I  will  do  as  my  cousin  Shallow  says: 
I  pray  you,  pardon  me ;  he's  a  justice  of  peace  in 
his  country,  simple  though  I  stand  here. 

Eva.  But  that  is  not  tlie  question  ;  the  question 
is  concerning  your  marriajre. 
Shal.  Ay,  there's  the  point,  sir. 
Era.  Marry,  is  it ;  the  very  point  of  it ;  to  mis- 
tress Anne  Page. 

Skn.  Why,  if  it  be  so,  I  will  marry  her,  upon 
any  reasonable  demands. 

Eva.  But  can  you  affection  thc'oman?  Let  us 
command  to  know  that  of  your  mouth,  or  of  your 
lips;  for  divers  philosophers  hold,  that  the  lips  is 
parcel  of  the  mouth ; — therefore,  precisely,  can  you 
carry  your  good  will  to  the  maid  ? 

shal.  Cousin  Abraham  Slender,  can  you  love  her? 
Slen,  I  hope,  sir, — I  will  do,  as  it  shall  become 
one  that  would  do  reason. 

Eva.  Nay,  Go's  lords  and  his  ladies,  you  must 
speak  possilable,  if  you  can  carry  her  your  desires 
towards  her. 

Shal.  That  you  must :  will  you,  upon  good  dow- 
ry, marry  her  Y 

'  Slen.  1  will  do  a  greater  thing  than  that,  upon 
your  reqiiest,  cousin,  in  any  reason. 

Shal.  Nay,  conceive  me,  conceive  me,  sweet  coz ; 
what  I  do,  is  to  pleasure  you,  coz  ;  Can  you  love 
the  maid  ^ 

Slen.  I  will  marry  her,  sir,  at  your  request ;  but 
if  there  be  no  great  love  m  the  beginning,  yet  hea- 
ven may  decrease  it  upon  better  acquaintance, 
when  we  are  married,  and  have  more  occasion  to 
know  one  another:  I  hope,  upon  familiarity  will 
prow  more  contempt :  but  if  you  say,  marry  her, 
I  will  marry  her,  that  I  am  freely  dissolved,  and 
dissolutely. 

Eva,  It  is  a  fery  discretion  answer ;  save,  the 

faul'  is  in  the  'ort  dissolulely  :  the  'ort  is,  according 

to  our  meaning,  resulnlely ; — his  meaning  is  good. 

Shal.  Ay,  I  think  my  cousin  meant  well. 

SUn.  Ay,  or  else  I  would  I  might  be  hanged,  la. 


.9nne.  Will't  please  your  worship  to  come  in,  «ir 

Slen.  No,  I  thank  you,  forsooth,  heartily  ;  I  am 
very  well. 

Jnne.  The  dinner  attends  you,  sir. 

Slen.  I  am  not  a-hungry,  I  thank  you,  forsooth : 
Go,  sirrah,  for  all  you  are  my  man,  go,  wait  upon 
my  cousin  Shallow :  [Exit  Simple.]  A  justice  o. 
peace  sometime  may  be  beholden  to  his  friend  for 
a  man : — I  keep  but  three  men  and  a  boy  yet,  till 
lead :  but  what  though  ?  yet  I  live 
eman  born. 

Jlnne.  I  may  not  go  in  without  your  worship : 
they  will  not  sit,  till  you  come. 

Slen.  I'faith.  I'll  eat  nothing;  I  thank  you  as 
much  as  though  I  did. 

Jinne.  I  pray  you,  sir,  walk  in. 

Slen.  I  had  rather  walk  here,  I  thank  you:  I 
bruised  my  shin  the  other  day  with  playing  at 
sword  and  dagger  with  a  master  of  fence,  three 
veneys"  for  a  dish  of  stewed  prunes ;  and,  by  my 
troth,  I  cannot  abide  the  smell  of  hot  meat  since. 
Why  do  your  dogs  bark  so  ?  be  there  bears  i'  the 
town  ? 

Anne.  I  think  there  are,  sir;  I  heard  them 
talked  of. 

Slen.  I  love  the  sport  well ;  but  I  shall  as  soon 
quarrel  at  it,  as  any  man  in  England :— you  are 
afraid,  if  you  see  the  bear  loose,  are  you  not? 

Anne.  Ay,  indeed,  sir. 

Slen.  That's  meat  and  drink  to  me  now :  I  have 
seen  Sackerson'  loose,  twenty  times ;  and  have 
taken  him  by  the  chain :  but,  I  warrant  you,  the 
women  have  so  cried  and  shriek'd  at  itj  that  it 
pass'd:* — but  women,  indeed,  cannot  abide 'em; 
they  are  very  ill-favoured  rough  things. 


Re-enter  Anne  Page. 

Shal.  Here  comes  fair  mistress  Anne : — Would 
I  were  young,  for  your  sake,  mistress  Anne  ! 

Anne.  The  dinner  is  on  the  table ;  my  father 
desires  your  worships'  company. 

Slud,  I  will  wait  on  him,  fair  mistress  Anne. 

Eva.  Od's  plessed  will !  I  will  not  be  absence 
at  the  grace. 

Exeunt  Shal.  and  Sir  H.  Evans. 

i\)  An  intended  blunder. 
S)  Tbr««  seUlo's,  bouts  or  bits, 


.le-enter  Page. 

Pa^e.  Come,  gentle  master  Slender,  come ;  we 
stay  lor  you. 

Slen.  I'll  eat  nothing ;  I  thank  you,  sir. 

Page.  By  cock  and  pye,  you  snail  not  choose, 
sir:  come,  come. 

Slai'.  Nay,  pray  you,  lead  the  way. 

Page.  Come  on,  sir. 

Slen.  Mistress  Anne,  yourself  shall  go  first. 

Anne.  Not  I,  sir :  pray  you,  keep  on. 

Slen.  Truly,  I  will  not  go  first ;  truly,  la :  I  will 
not  do  you  that  wrong. 

Anne.  I  pray  you,  sir. 

Sle7i.  I'll  rather  be  unmannerly  than  trouble* 
some  ;  you  do  yourself  wrong,  indeed,  la. 

[Exeunt, 

SCEJ^E  II.— The  same.    Enter  Sir  Hugh  Evans 
and  Simple. 

Eva.  Go  your  ways,  and  ask  of  Doctor  Caius' 
house,  which  is  the'  way;  and  there  dwells  one 
mistress  Quickly,  which  is  in  the  manner  of  his 
nurse,  or  hb  dry  nurse,  or  his  cook,  or  his  laundry, 
his  washer,  and  his  wringer. 

Sim.  Well,  sir. 

Eva.  Nay,  it  is  petter  yet : give  her  this  let- 
ter ;  for  it  is  a  'oman  that  altogether's  acquain- 
tance with  mistress  Anne  Page  ;  and  the  letter  is, 
to  desire  and  require  her  to  solicit  your  master's 
desires  to  mistress  Ann  Page :  I  pray  you,  be  gone ; 
I  will  make  an  end  of  my  dinner :  (here's  pippins 
and  cheese  to  come.  [Exeunt. 

(3 1  The  name  of  a  bear  exhibited  at  Faris-Gar 
den,  in  Southwark. 
(4)  SurposseU  all  espressioQ. 


sot 


MERRY  WIVES  OP  WINDSOR^ 


Jlct  /. 


SCEXE  III."^  room  in  the  Garter  Inn.  Enter 
Falstaff,  Host,  Bardolph,  Njm,  Pistol,  and 
Robin. 

Fal.  Mine  host  of  the  Garter, — 
Host.  What  says  my  bully-rook?  Speak  scho- 
kirlv,  and  wisely. 


gilded  my  foot,  sometimes  my  portly  belly. 

Pist.  Then  did  the  sun  on  dunghill  shine. 

J^ym.  I  thank  thee  for  that  humour. 

Fal.  O,  she  did  so  course  o'er  my  exteriors  with 
such  a  greedy  intention,  that  the  appetite  of  her  eye 
did  seem  to  scorch  me  up  like  a  burning-glass ! 


E, '.    „    , — .-.     .     .    »         .  .  Here's  another  letter  to  her :  she  bears  the  purse 

fa/.  Jruly,  mmehost,  I  must  turn  away  some' t^j,.  she  is  a  region  in  Guiana,  all  gold  and  bounty, 
of  my  followers.  ,  Jl  wiU  be  cheater*  to  them  both,  and  they  shall  6e 

Host.  Discard,  bully  Hercules ;  cashier:  let  1  exchequers  to  me:  they  shall  be  my  East  and  West 
them  wa^;  trot,  trot.  Indies,  and  I  will  trade  to  them  both.    Go,  bear 

-Ti"-.  ^  S^}-  ^t.ten  pounds  a  week.        __  tl,ou  this  letter  to  mistress  Pace  ;  and  thou  this  to 


Fal.  Do  so,  good  mine  host.  T "JVmn.  f  will  run  no  base  humour ;  Here,  take 

.u     /  .,    "^'^^.spoke;  le^himfollow:  let  me  see:  ihe  humour  letter;  I  wUl  keep  the 'haviour  of  re- 
thee  froth,  and  Imie :  1  am  at  a  word ;  follow.        i  putation. 

[Exit  Host.  I    jTc/.  Hold,  sirrah,  [to  Rob.]  bear  you  these  let- 


Fal.  Bardolph,  follow  him;  a  tapster  is  a  good 


trade :  an  old  cloak  makes  a  new  jer'kin;  a  wither-  gail  like  my  pinnace  to  these  golden  shores.— 


ters  tightly;' 


ed  serving-man,  a  fresh  tapster :  go ;  adieu, 

Bard.  It  is  a  life  that  I  have  desired ;  I  will 
thrive.  [Exit  Bard. 

Pist.  O  base  Gonwarian'  wight!  wilt  thou  the 
spigot  wield  / 

Jfym.  He  was  gotten  in  drink :  is  not  the  hu- 
mour conceited  ?  His  mind  is  not  heroic,  and 
there's  the  humour  of  it. 

Fal.  I  am  glad,  I  am  so  acquit  of  this  tinder- 
box;  his  thefts  were  too  open:  his  filching  was 
like  an  unskilful  singer,  he  kept  not  time. 

J^ym.  The  good  humour  is,  to  steal  at  a  minute's 
rest. 

Pist.  Convey,  the  wise  it  call:  steal!  foh;  a 
fico*  for  the  phrase ! 

Fal.  W^ell,  sirs,  I  am  almost  out  at  heels. 

Pist,  Why  then  let  kibes  ensue. 

Fal.  There  is  no  remedy ;  I  must  coney-catch; 
I  must  shift. 

Pist.  Young  ravens  must  have  food. 

Fal.  Which  of  you  know  Ford  of  this  town? 

Pist.  I  ken  the  wight;  he  is  of  substance  good. 

Fal.  My  honest  lads,  I  will  tell  you  what  I  am 
about. 

Pist.  Two  yards,  and  more. 

Fal.  No  quips  now,  Pistol ;  indeed,  I  am  in  the 
waist  two  yards  about :  but  I  am  now  about  no 
waste:  I  am  about  thrift.  Briefly,  I  do  mean  to 
make  love  to  Ford's  wife ;  I  spy  entertainment  in 
her ;  she  discourses,  she  carves,  she  gives  the  leer 
of  invitation :  I  can  construe  the  action  of  hei*  fa- 
miliar style;  and  the  hardest  voice  of  her  beha- 
viour, to  be  English'd  rightlv,  is,  /  am  Sir  John 
Falstaips. 

Pist.  He  hath  studied  her  well,  and  translated 
her  well ;  out  of  honesty  into  English. 

^ym.  The  anchor  is  deep :  will  that  humour 
pass? 

Fal.  Now,  the  report  goes,  she  has  all  the  rule 
of  her  husband's  purse ;  she  hath  legions  of  an- 
gels.* 

Pist.  As  many  devils  entertain;  and,  To  her, 
boy,  say  I. 

AVm.  The  humour  rises ;  it  is  good :  humour 
me  the  angels. 

Fal.  I  have  writ  me  here  a  letter  to  her :  and 
here  another  to  Page's  wife  •  who  even  now  gave 
me  good  eyes  too,  examin'd  my  parts  with  most 
judicious  eyliads :  sometimes  the  beam  of  her  view 

ni  For  Hungarian.    (2)  Fig.     (3)  Gold  coin. 
14)  Escheatotir,  an  officer  in  the  Exchequer . 


(6)  Cleverly.   '      ^6)  FaUe  dice. 


Rogues,  hence,  avaunt!  vanish  like  hail-stones,  go; 
Trudge,  plod,  away,  o'  tlie  hoof;   seek  shelter, 

pack! 
Falstafi' will  learn  the  humour  of  this  age, 
French  thrift,  you  rogues ;   myself,  and  skirted 
pa  j;p.  [Exeunt  i  alstaff  and  Robin. 

Pist.  Let  vultures  gripe  thy  guts  !  for  gourd  and 
I'lillam'''  holds, 
And  liigh  and  low  beguile  the  rich  and  poor : 
Tester  I'll  have  in  pouch,'  when  thou  shalt  lack, 
Base  Phrygian  Turk! 

JVt/7?i.  iTiave  operations  in  my  head,  which  be 
humours  of  revenge. 
Pist.  Wilt  thou  revenge  ? 
J^yin.  By  welkin,  and  her  star ! 

Ptsl.  With  wit,  or  steel? 
J^ym.  With  both  the  humours,  I , 

I  will  discuss  the  humour  of  this  love  to  Page. 
Pist.  And  I  to  Ford  shall  eke  unfold, 
How  Falstaff,  varlct  vile, 
His  dove  will  prove,  his  gold  will  hold, 
And  his  soft  couch  defile. 

A'Vm.  My  humour  shall  not  cool :  I  will  incense* 
Page  to  deal  with  poison ;  I  will  possess  him  with 
yellowness,^  for  the  revolt  of  mien  is  dangerous : 
that  is  my  true  humour. 

Pist.  Thou  art  the  Mars  of  malcontents :  I  se- 
cond Ihce ;  troop  on.  *  [ExeunL 

SCEXE  IV.-^n  room  in  Dr.  Caius'  hvnse.  Enter 
Mrs.  Quicldy,  Simple,  and  Rugby. 

Qwicfc.  'What:  John  Rugby!— I  pray  thee,  go 
to  the  casement,  and  see  if  you  can  sec  iriv  master, 
master  Doctor  Caius,  coming:  if  he  do,  i'faith,  and 
find  any  body  in  the  hous^e,  here  will  be  an  old 
abusing  of  God's  patience,  and  the  king's  English. 

Ru^.  I'll  go  watch.  [Exit  Rugby. 

Q,vick.  Go ;  and  we'll  have  a  posset  for't  soon  at 
night,  in  faith,  at  the  latter  end  of  a  sea-coal  fire. 
An  honest,  willing,  kind  fellow,  as  ever  servant 
shall  come  in  house  withal ;  and,  I  warrant  you,  no 
tell-tale,  nor  no  breed-bate :'°  his  ■worst  fault  is, 
that  he  is  given  to  praver ;  he  is  something  peevish' ' 
that  way ;  but  nonody  but  has  his  fault :— but  let 
that  pass.    Peter  Simple,  you  say  your  name  is  ? 

Sim.  Ay,  for  fault  of  a  better. 

Quicfc.  And  master  Slender's  your  master  7 

7)  Sixpence  I'll  have  in  pocket. 

8)  Instigate.       (9)  Jealousy.       (10)  Strilf, 
,11)  Fwljsh, 


Stent  IT. 


MERRY  WIVES  OP  WINDSOR. 


n 


Sim.  An  forsooth.  if>»  my  master,  in  the  way  of  marriage. 

Quicl'.  Uoea  he  not  wear  a  great  round  beard,!  Q,uiek.  This  ia  all,  indieed,  la  ;  but  I'll  ne'er  put 
like  a  glover's  paring-knife  ?  my  finger  in  the  fire,  and  need  not. 

Sim.  No  forsooth:  he  hath  but  a  little  wee  face,  I  Caiiis.  Sir  Hugh  send-a  you? — Rugby,  baiiltx 
with  a  little  yellow  beard  ;  a  Cain-coloured  beard,  me  some  paper : — Tarry  you  a  little-a  while. 

Q,uick.  A  sofdy-spriphted  man,  is  he  not  ?  |  _  [vsrites. 

Sim.  Ay,  forsooth  :  but  he  is  as  tall'  a  man  or  Q.uick.  I  am  »lad  he  b  so  quiet:  if  he  had  been 
his  hands,  as  any  is  between  this  and  liis  head:  he|thoroughly  moved,  you  should  have  heard  him  lo 
hath  foujjlit  with  a  warreuer.^  jloud,  and  so  melancholy; — but  notwithstanding, 

Q,uick.  How  say  vou? — O,  I  should  remember  man,  I'll  do  your  master  what  eood  I  can:  and, 
him ;  does  he  not  hold  up  his  head,  as  it  were  ?  and  the  very  yea  and  the  no  is,  the  French  doctor,  my 
»trut  in  his  gait  ?  master,-^!  may  call  him  my  master,  look  you,  for 

Sim.  Yes,  indeed,  does  he.  I  keep  his  house  ;  and  I  wash,  wring,  brew,  bake, 

(luick.  Well,  heaven  send  Anne  Page  no  worse 'scour,  dress  meat  and  drink,  make  the  beds,  and 
fortune !  Tell  master  parson  Evans,  I  will  do  whatido  all  myself; — 


I  can  for  your  master :  Anne  is  a  good  girl,  and  I 

Rt-tnta-  Rugby. 

Ruz.  Outj  alas !  here  comes  my  master. 

(i,uick.  \V  e  shall  all  be  shent :'  run  in  here,  "■ood 
young  man;  co  into  this  closet.  [S'AuZs  Simple  in 
the  closet.)  He  will  not  stay  long. — What,  John 
Rugby !  John,  what,  John,  I  say ! — Go,  John,  go 


Sim.  'Tis  a  great  charge,  to  come  under  on« 
botly's  hand. 

Qutcfc.  Are  you  advls'd  o'  that  ?  you  shall  find  it  a 
great  charge  :  and  to  be  up  early,  and  down  late  ;— 
but  notwithstanding  (to  tell  you  in  your  ear ;  I 
would  have  no  words  of  it;)  my  master  himself  is 
in  love  with  mistress  Anne  Page :  but  notwith- 
standing that, — I  know  Anne's  mind, — that's  net 
Ither  here  nor  there. 

Caiiu.  You  jack'nape  ;  give-a  dis  letter  to  su 
inquire  for  my  master ;  I  doubt,  he  be  not  well,  i  Hugh  ;  by  gar,  it  is  a  snallengs :  I  vill  cut  his  troat 
that  he  cornea  not  home  ; — and  down,  dmcn, !  in  de  park  ;  and  I  vill  teach  a  scurvy  iack-a-nape 
adoxcn-a,  &c.  [Stn°;5.  priest  to  meddle  or  make : — you  may  be  gone  ;  it 


Enter  Doctor  Caius. 

Caiiis.  Vat  is  rou  sing?  I  do  not  like  dese  toys  ; 
Prav  you,  go  and  vetch  me  in  my  closet  un  boilier 
veri ;  a  box,  a  grecn-a  box ;  do  intend  vat  I  speak? 
a  greeii-a  box. 

Quicfc.  Ay,  forsooth,  I'll  fetch  it  you.  I  am  glad 
he  went  not  in  himself;  if  he  had  found  the  young^ 
man,  he  would  have  been  horn-mad.  [^iside. 

Caius.  Ft,  ft,  fe,  ft !  mafoi,  il  fail  fort  cftaud. 
Je  jn'en  vais  a  la  cour,—la  grand  affaire, 

Q,uick.  Is  it  this,  sir  7 

Caius.  Out/;  mettc  It  aitmnn  pocket;  depechi, 
quickly  : — Vere  is  dat  knave  Rugby  ! 

Quicfc.  What,  John  Rugby  !  John  ! 

Ru^.  Here,  sir. 

Cams.  You  are  John  Rugby,  and  you  arc  Jack 
Rugby  :  come,  take-a  your  rapier,  and  come  after 
my  neel  to  de  court. 

Rii^.  'Tis  ready,  sir,  here  in  the  porch. 

Cams.  By  my  trot,  I  tarry  too  long  : — Od's  me  ! 
Qu'at/  foublii  ?  dere  is  some  simples  in  my  closet, 
dat  I  vill  not  for  the  varld  I  shall  leave  behmd. 

Q,uick.  Ah  me !  he'll  find  the  young  man  there, 
and  be  mad. 

Caius.  O  diaolt,  diable  '.  rat  is  in  my  closet  ? — 
Villany  !  larron  !  [Pulling  Simple  out.]  Rugby, 
my  rapier. 

Qutcfc.  Good  master,  be  content. 

Cains.  Vercfore  shall  I  be  content-a? 

Qutcfc.  The  vouncr  man  is  an  honest  man. 

Caius.  Vat  shall  de  honest  man  do  in  my  closet  ? 
dere  is  no  honest  man  dat  shall  come  in  my  closet. 

Qiitcfc.  I  beseech  you,  be  not  so  flezmatic  ;  hear 
the  truth  of  it :  he  came  of  an  errand  to  me  from 
parson  Hugh. 

Cati«.  Veil. 

Sim.  Ay,  forsooth,  to  desire  her  to 

Quick.  Peace,  I  pray  you. 

Caius.  Peace-a  your  tongue : — Speak-a  your  talc. 

Sim.  To  desire  tliis  honest  sjentlewoman,  your 
maid,  to  speak  a  good  word  to  mistress  Anne  rage, 

(1)  Brave.  (2)  The  keeptr  of  »  warren. 

($)  Scvlded,  reprimaoded. 


Is  not  good  you  tarry  here : — by  gar,  I  will  cut  all 
his  two  stones  ■  by  gar,  he  shall  not  have  a  stone 
to  trow  at  his  dog.  [Exit  Simple. 

QutcA;.  Alas,  he  speaks  but  for  his  friend. 

Caius.  It  is  no  matter-a  for  uat :— do  not  you 
te'il-a  me  dat  I  shall  have  Anne  Page  for  myself? 
^— by  gar,  I  vill  kill  de  Jack  priest ;  and  I  have  ap- 
pointed mine  host  of  Je  Jarterre  to  measure  our 
weapon : — by  gar,  I  vill  myself  have  Anne  Pa^. 

Q,uick.  Sir,  the  maid  loves  you,  and  all  shall  be 
well :  we  must  give  folks  leave  to  prate :  What, 
the  good-jer  !* 

Caius.  Rugby,  come  to  the  court  vit  me; — by 
gar,  if  I  have  not  Anne  Page,  I  shall  turn  your 
head  out  of  my  door : — Follow  my  heels,  Rugby. 
[Exeunt  Caius  and  Rugby. 

Q,uiek.  You  shall  have  An  fools-head  of  your 
own.  No,  I  know  Anne's  mind  for  that:  never  a 
woman  in  SVindsor  knows  more  of  Anne's  mind 
than  I  do ;  nor  can  do  more  than  I  do  with  her,  I 
thank  heaven. 

Fent.  [Willtin.]  Who's  within  there,  ho  ? 

Q,uick.  Who's  there,  I  trow?  Come  near  the 
house,  I  pray  you. 

Enter  Fenton. 

Fent,  How  now,  good  woman  ;  how  dosl  thou  7 

Quicfc.  The  better,  that  it  pleases  your  good 
worship  to  ask. 

Fenl.  What  news?  how  iocs  pretty  mistresa 
Anne? 

Quicfc.  In  truth,  sir,  and  she  is  prettv,  aniC 
honest,  and  gentle ;  and  one  that  is  your  friend,  I 
can  tell  you  that  by  the  way  ;  I  praise  heaven  for  i(. 

Fent.  Shall  I  do  any  good,  thinkest  thou?  Shall 
I  not  lose  my  suit  ? 

QuiVfr.  Troth,  sir,  all  is  in  his  hands  above  :  but 
notwithstanding,  master  Fenton,  I'll  be  sworn  on  a 
book,  she  loves  you : — Have  not  your  worship  & 
wart  above  your  eye  ? 

Fent.  Yes,  marry,  have  I ;  what  of  that  ? 

Q,uick.  Well,  thereby  hangs  a  tale ; — ^good  faith, 

(4)  The  goujere,  what  the  pox ! 


52 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


Act  tt. 


it  is  such  another  Nan: — ^but,  I  detest,'  an  honest 
maid  as  ever  broke  bread: — We  had  an  hour's 
talk  of  that  wart ; — I  shall  never  laugh  but  in  that 
maid's  company. — But,  indeed,  she  is  tfiven  too 
much  to  allichoUy*  and  musing :  but  for  you 
Well,  go  to. 

Fent.  Well,  I  shall  see  her  to-day :  hold,  there's 
money  for  thee ;  let  me  have  tliy  voice  in  my  be- 
half: if  thou  seest  her  before  mc,  commend  mc— 

Q,uick.  Will  I?  i'lailh,  Uiat  we  will:  and  I  will 
tcU  your  worship  more  of  the  wart,  the  next  time 
we  have  confidence ;  and  of  otlier  wooers. 

Fenl.  Well,  farewell ;  I  am  in  great  baste  now 

[Exit 

Q,uick.  Farewell  to  yotir  worship. — ^Truiy,  an 
honest  gentleman  ^  but  Anne  loves  liim  not ;  for 
I  know  Anne's  mmd  as  well  as  anotlier  docs  : — 
Out  upon't !  what  have  I  forgot?  [£xt( 


ACT  II. 


SCEJfE  L— Before  Pasre's  house.    Enter  Mis- 
tress Page,  with  a  Idler. 

Mrs.  Pa«e.  WhvX  !  have  I  'scaped  love-letters 
in  the  holy-day  time  of  ray  beauty,  and  am  I  now 
a  subject  for  them  ?  Let  me  sec :  [reads. 

Ask  me  no  reason  why  I  love  you ;  for  though 
love  use  reason  for  his  precisian,^  he  admits  him 
not  for  his  counsellor :  You  are  not  woiniqf,  no 
more  am  I;  go  to  then,  there's  sympathy  .-  you 
are  merry,  so  am  I;  ha  !  ha  !  th^n  there's  more 
sympathy :  you  love  sack,  and  so  do  I ;  tcoiUd 
you  desire  better  sympathy  ?  Let  it  suffice  thee, 
inistrass  Page  {at  the  least,  if  the  love  of  a  soldier 
can  suffice,)  that  1  love  thee.  I  will  not  say,  pity 
me,  'tis  not  a  soldier-lilce  phrase  ;  but  I  say,  love 
me.    By  me, 

Thine  own  true  knight, 

By  day  or  ni^ht. 

Or  any  kind  of  lieht. 

With  all  his  mi-^ht, 

^or  thee  to  fight, 

John  FalstafT. 

What  a  Herod  of  Jewry  is  this  !— O  wicked, 
wicked  world ! — one  that  is  well  nifjh  worn  to 
pieces  with  age^  to  show  himself  a  younsj  gallant ! 
What  an  unweighed  behaviour  hath  this  Flemish 
drunkard  picked  "(with  the  devil's  name)  out  of  my 
conjrersation,  that  he  dares  in  this  manner  assay 
me  ?  Why,  he  hath  not  been  thrice  in  my  compa- 
ny!— What  should  I  say  to  him? — I  was  then 
frugal  of  my  mirth : — heaven  forgive  me  ! — Why, 
I'll  exhibit  a  bill  in  the  parliament  for  the  putting 
down  of  men.  How  shall  I  be  revensed  on  him  ? 
for  revenged  I  will  be,  as  sure  as  his  guts  are  made 
of  puddings. 

Enter  Mistress  Ford. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Mistress  Page!  trust  me,  I  was 
going  to  vour  house. 

Mrs.  Page.  And,  trust  me,  1  was  coming  to 
you.    You  look  very  ill. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Nay,  I'll  ne'er  believe  that ;  I  have 
to  show  to  the  contrary. 

Mrs.  Page.  'Faith,  but  vou  do,  in  my  mind.    • 

Mrs.  Ford.  Well,  I  do  then ;  yet,  I  say,  I  could 

(1)  She  means,  I  protest.        (2)  Melancholy. 
(S)  Mgst  probabljr  Slukajpeare  wrote  Ph/siciaiii 


show  you  to  the  contrary :  0,  mistress  Page,  give 
me  some  counsel ! 

Mrs.  Page.  What's  the  matter,  woman  ? 

Mrs.  Ford.  O  woman,  if  it  were  not  for  one 
trilling  respect,  I  could  come  to  such  honour ! 

Mrs.  Page.  Hang  the  trifle,  woman  ;  take  the 
honour :  what  is  it  ?— dispense  with  trifles ; — what 
is  it? 

Mrs.  Ford.  If  I  would  but  go  to  hell  for  an 
eternal  moment,  or  so,  I  could  be  knighted. 

Mrs.    Pa^t.   What  ?— thou  liest  '—Sir    Alice 

Ford ! These  knights  will  hack ;  and  so  thou 

shouldst  not  alter  the  jirticle  of  thy  gentry. 

Mri.  Ford.  We  burn  day-Ught  :— here,  read, 
read ; — perceive  how  I  might  be  knighted.— I  shall 
thhik  the  worse  of  fat  men,  as  long  aa  i  have  an  eye  to 
make  difference  of  men's  liking :  and  yet  he  would 
not  swear;  praised  women's  modesty:  and  gave 
such  orderly  and  well-behaved  reproof  to  all  un- 
comeliness,  that  I  would  have  sworn  his  disposition 
ivould  have  gone  to  the  truth  of  his  words :  but  they 
do  no  more  adhere  and  keep  place  together,  than 
the  hundredth  psalm  to  the  tune  of  Green  Sleeves. 
What  tempest,  I  trow,  threw  this  whale,  with  so 
many  tuns  of  oil  in  his  belly,  ashore  at  Windsor  ? 
How  shall  I  be  revenged  on  him  ?  I  think  the  best 
way  were  to  entertain  him  with  hope,  till  the  wicked 
fire  of  lust  have  melted  liim  in  liis  own  grease.  Did 
you  ever  hear  the  like  ? 

Mrs.  Pa^e.  Letter  for  letter ;  but  that  the  name 
of  Page  and  Ford  differs!— To  thy  great  comfort 
in  this  mystery  of  ill  opinions,  here's  the  twin 
brother  of  thy  fetter:  but  let  thine  inherit  first;  for, 
I  protest,  mine  never  shall.  I  warrant,  he  hath  a 
thousand  of  these  letters,  writ  with  blank  space  for 
different  names  (sure  more,)  and  these  are  of  the 
second  edition :  he  will  print  them  out  of  doubt : 
(or  he  cares  not  what  he  puts  into  the  press,  when 
he  would  put  us  two.  I  had  rather  be  a  giantess, 
and  lie  under  mount  Pelion.  Well,  I  will  find  you 
twenty  lascivious  turtles,  ere  one  chaste  man. 

Mrs,  Ford.  Why,  this  is  the  very  same;  the 
TciT  hand,  the:  very  words :  what  doth  he  think  of  us? 

Mrs.  Page.  Nay,  I  know  not :  it  makes  me  al- 
most ready  to  wrangle  with  mine  own  honesty.  I'll 
entertain  myself  like  one  that  I  am  not  acquainted 
withal ;  for,  sure,  unless  he  know  some  strain  in 
me,  that  I  laiow  not  myself,  he  would  never  hav« 
boarded  mc  in  this  fury. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Boarding,  call  you  it  ?  I'll  be  sura 
to  keep  him  above  deck. 

Mrs.  Page.  So  will  I ;  if  he  come  under  my 
hatches,  I'll  never  to  sea  again.  Let's  be  revenged 
on  him  :  let's  appoint  him  a  meeting :  give  him  a 
show  of  comfort  in  his  suit ;  and  lead  him  on  with 
a  fine-baited  delay,  till  he  hath  pawn'd  his  horses 
to  mine  host  of  the  Garter. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Nay,  I  will  consent  to  act  any  vil- 
lany  airainsl  him,  that  may  not  sully  the  chariness* 
of  our  honesty.  O,  that  my  husband  saw  this  let- 
ter !  it  would  give  eternal  food  to  his  jealousy, 

Mrs.  Page.  Why,  look,  where  he  comes  ;  and 
my  good  man  too:  he's  as  far  from  jealousy,  as  I 
am  from  giving  him  cause  ;  and  that,  I  hope,  is  aa 
unmeasurable  distance. 

Mrs.  Ford.  You  are  the  happier  woman. 

Mrs.  Pa^e.  Let's  consult  together  against  this 
greasy  knight :  come  hither.  [They  retire. 

Enter  Ford.  Pistol,  Page,  and  Nym. 
JFVrdf,  Well, »  hope,  it  be  not  so. 
(4}  Cautioiu 


/. 


MEBRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


S3 


Pist.  Hope  is  a.  curtail'  dog  in  some  aflairs  : 
Sir  John  affects  thy  wife. 

Ford.  Why,  sir,  my  wife  is  not  young. 

Piat.  He  woos  botli  high  and  low,  both  rich  and 
poor, 
Both  youn^  and  old,  one  with  another,  Ford  ; 
He  loves  thy  gally-mawfry  ;*  Ford,  perpend.* 

Ford.  Love  my  wife  7 

Pist.  With  liver  buming^ot :  prevent,  or  go  thou, 
Like  sir  Actjeon  he,  with  Ring-wood  at  thy  heels : 
0,  odious  is  the  name  ! 

Ford.  What  name,  sir  ? 

Pist.  The  horn,  I  say :  farewell. 
Take  heed,  ere  summer  comes,  or  cuckoo-birds  do 
sing. — 

Away,  sir  corporal  N3m. 

Believe  it,  Page  ;  he  speaks  sense.      [Exit  Pistol. 

Ford.  I  will  be  patient;  I  will  find  out  this. 

A'yji-  And  this  is  true.  [To  Page.]  I  like  not 
the  humour  of  Ijine.  He  hath  wrons;'a  me  in  some 
humours;  I  should  have  borne  the  numoured  let- 
ter to  her:  but  I  have  a  sword,  and  it  shall  bite 
upon  my  necessity.  He  loves  your  wife  ;  there's 
the  short  and  the  long.  My  name  is  corporal  Nym  ; 
I  speak,  and  I  avouch.  'Tis  true  : — my  name  is 
Nym,  and  Falstaff  loves  your  wife. — Adieu  !  I  love 
not  the  humour  of  bread  and  cheese ;  and  there's 
the  humour  of  it.    Adieu.  lExttNj'm. 

Page.  The  humour  of  it,  quoth  'a !  here's  a  fel- 
low frights  humour  out  of  his  wits. 

Ford.  I  will  seek  out  Falstaff. 

Page.  I  never  heard  such  a  drawling,  affecting 
rogue. 

Ford.  Ifl  do  find  it- well. 

Page.  1  will  not  believe  such  a  Catalan,*  though 
the  priest  o'  the  town  commended  him  for  a  true 
man. 

Ford.  'Twas  a  good  sensible  fellow :  Well. 

Page.  How  now,  Meg  ? 

.Vri .  Page.  Whither  go  you,  George  ? — Hark 
you. 

Mrs.  Ford.  How  now,  sweet  Frank  ?  why  art 
thou  melancholy  ? 

Ford.  I  melancholy !  I  am  not  melancholy. — 
Get  you  home,  go. 

Mrs.  Ford.  'Faith,  thou  hast  some  crotchets  in 
thy  head  now. — Will  you  go,  mistress  Page? 

.Vr».  Page.  Have  with  you. — Y'ou'll  come  to 
dinner,  George? — Look,  who  comes  yonder:  she 
shall  be  our  messenger  to  this  paltry  uii^ht. 

[Jlside  to  Mrs.  Ford 

Enter  Mistress  Quickly. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Trust  me,  I  thought  on  her :  shell 
fit  it. 

Mrs.  Page.  You  are  come  to  see  my  daughter 
Anne? 

QmjcA-.  Ay,  forsooth ;  and,  I  pray,  how  does 
good  mistress  Anne  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  Go  in  with  us,  and  see ;  we  have  an 
hour's  talk  with  you. 

[Exe.  Mrs.  Page,  Mrs.  Ford,  andMrs.  Quick. 

Page.  How  now,  master  Ford  ? 

Ford.  You  heard  what  this  knave  told  me ;  did 
you  not  ? 

Page.  Yes  ;  and  you  heard  what  the  other  told 
me? 

Ford.  Do  you  think  there  is  truth  in  them  ? 

Page.  Hang  'em,  slaves!  I  do  not  think  the 
knight  would  offer  it :  but  these  that  accuse  him 

in  A  do^  that  misses  his  game.    (2)  A  medley 
S)  Ceowkr.  (4)  A  lying  sharper. 


in  his  intent  towards  our  wiva,  are  a  yoke  of  his 
discarded  men  ;  very  rogues,  now  they  be  out  of 
service. 

Ford.  Were  they  his  men  ? 

Page.  Marry,  were  thev. 

Ford.  I  like  it  never  the  better  for  that.— Doe# 
he  lie  at  the  Garter  ? 

Page.  Ay,  marry,  docs  he.  If  he  should  intend 
this  voyage  towards  my  wife,  I  would  turn  her 
loose  to  him ;  and  what  he  gets  more  of  her  than 
sharp  words,  let  it  lie  on  my  head. 

Ford.  1  do  not  misdoubt  my  wife ;  but  I  would 
be  loth  to  turn  them  together :  A  man  may  be  too 
confident :  I  would  have  nothing  lie  on  my  head:  I 
cannot  be  thus  satisfied. 

Pagt.  Look,  where  my  ranting  host  of  the  Gar- 
ter comes:  there  is  either  liquor  in  his  pate,  or 
money  in  his  purse,  when  he  looks  so  merrily.— 
How  now,  mine  host  ? 

Enter  Host  and  Shallow. 

Host.  How  now,  bidly-rook  ?  thou'rt  a  gentle- 
man :  cavalero-justice,  I  say. 

ishal.  I  follow,  mine  host,  I  follow. — Good  even 
and  twenty,  good  master  Page !  Master  Page,  will 
you  go  with  us  ?  we  have  sport  in  hand. 

Host.  Tell  him,  cavalero-justice ;  tell  him,  bully- 
rook. 

Shd.  Sir,  there  is  a  fray  to  be  fought,  between 
sir  Hugh  the  Welsh  priest,  and  Caius  the  French 
doctor. 

Ford.  Good  mine  )}ost  o'  the  Garter,  a  word 
with  you. 

Host.  What  say'st  thou,  bully-rook? 

[They  go  aside. 

Shal.  Will  vou  [to  Page]  go  with  us  to  behold 
it  ?  my  merry  nost  hath  had  the  measuring  of  their 
weapons ;  and,  I  think,  he  hath  appointed  them 
contrary  places :  for,  believe  me,  I  hear,  the  par- 
son is  no  iester.  Hark,  I  will  tell  you  what  our 
sport  shall  be. 

Host.  Hast  thou  no  suit  against  my  knight,  my 
gucst-caralier  ? 

Ford.  None,  I  protest :  but  I'll  give  you  a  pottle 
of  burnt  sack  to  pive  me  recourse  to  Kim,  and  tell 
him,  my  name  is  Brook ;  only  for  a  jest. 

Host.  My  hand,  bully:  thou  shalt  have  egress 
and  regress ;  said  I  well  ?  and  tlty  name  shall  be 
Brook :  It  is  a  merry  knight.— Will  you  go  on, 
hearts  ? 

Shal.  Have  with  you,  mine  host. 

Page.  1  have  heard,  the  Frenchman  hath  good 
skill  in  his  rapier. 

Shal.  Tut,  sir,  I  could  have  told  you  more :  In 
these  times  you  stand  on  distance,  your  passes, 
stoccadoes,  and  I  know  not  what:  'tis  the  heart, 
master  Paf;e  ;  'tis  here,  'tis  here.  I  have  seen  the 
time,  with  my  long  sword,  I  would  have  made  you 
four  tall'  fellows  skip  like  rats. 

Host.  Here,  boys,  here,  here !  shall  we  wag  ? 

Page.  Have  with  you : — I  had  rather  hear  them 
scold  than  fight. 

[Exetmt  Host,  Shallow,  and  Page. 

Ford.  Though  Page  be  a  secure  fool,  and  stands 
so  firmly  on  his  wife's  frailty,  yet  I  cannot  put  off 
my  opinion  so  easily :  She  was  in  his  company  at 
Page's  house ;  and,  what  they  made*  there,  I  know 
not.  Well,  I  will  look  further  into't :  and  I  have  a 
disguise  to  sound  Falstaff:  If  I  find  her  honest,  I 
lose  not  my  labour ;  if  she  be  otherwise,  'tb  labour 
well  bestowed.  [Exit, 


(5)  Stout,  bold. 


(6)  Did. 


54 


MERRV  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


Aet  a. 


SCEJ^E  II.— Ji  room  in  the  Garter  Inn.    Enter 
Falstaff  and  Pistol., 

Fal.  I  will  not  lend  thee  a  penny. 

Pist.  Why,  then  the  world's  mine  oyster, 
Which  I  with  sivord  will  open. — 
I  will  retort  the  sum  in  equipage.* 

FaL  Not  a  penny.  I  have  been  content,  sir,  you 
■hould  lay  my  countenance  to  pawn :  1  have  grat- 
ed upon  my  good  friends  for  three  reprieves  for  you 
and  your  coach-fellow*  Nym ;  or  else  you  nad 
looked  through  the  grate  like  a  geminy  of  baboons. 
I  am  damnea  in  hell,  for  swearing  to  gentlemen  my 
friends,  you  ivere  pood  soldiers,  and  tall  fellows : 
and  when  mistress  Bridget  lost  the  handle  of  her 
fan,  I  took't  upon  my  honour,  thou  hadst  it  not. 

Piat.  Didst  thou  not  share  ?  hadst  thou  not  fif- 
teen pence  ? 

Fal.  Reason,  you  rogue,  reason :  Think'it  thou, 
I'll  endanger  my  soul  gratis  ?  At  a  word,  hang  no 
more  about  mc,  I  am  no  gibbet  for  you  :— go. — A 
short  knife  and  a  thronjj :'— to  your  manor  ofPickt- 
hatch,'  go. — You'll  not  bear  a  letter  for  me,  you 
rogue  ! — you  stand  upon  your  honour  ! — Why,  thou 
unconfinal)le  baseness,  it  is  as  much  as  I  can  do,  to 
keep  the  terms  of  my  honour  precise.  I,  I,  I  my- 
self sometimes,  leaving  the  fear  of  heaven  on  the 
left  hand,  and  hiding  mine  honour  in  my  necessity, 
am  fain  to  shutHc,  to  hedge,  and  to  lurch ;  and  yet 
you,  rosfue,  will  ensconce'  your  rags,  your  cat-a- 
mountam  looks,  your  red-lattice' phrases,  and  your 
bold-beating  oatJis,  under  the  shelter  of  your  ho- 
nour !  You  will  not  do  it,  you  ? 

Pist.  I  do  relent  j  What  would'st  thou  more  of 
man? 

Enter  Robin. 

Hob.  Sir,  here's  a  woman  would  speak  with  you. 
fal.  Let  her  approach. 

Enter  Mistress  Quickly. 

Quick.  Give  your  worship  ^ood-morrow. 
Fal.  Good-morrow,  good  wife. 

?uick.  Not  so,  an't  please  your  worship. 
ai.  Good  maid,  then  ? 

Q,uick.  I'll  be  sworn ;  as  my  mother  was,  the 
first  hour  I  was  born. 

Fal.  I  do  believe  the  swearer :  What  with  me  ? 

Q,uick.  Shall  I  vouchsafe  your  worship  a  word 
or  two  ? 

Fal.  Two  thousand,  fair  woman ;  and  I'll  vouch- 
safe thee  the  hearing. 

Quick.  There  is  one  mistress  Ford,  sir ; — I  pray, 
come  a  little  nearer  this  ways : — I  myself  dwell 
■with  master  doctor  Caius. 

Fal.  Well,  on  :  Mistress  Ford,  you  say, 

Q,uick.  Your  worship  says  very  true  :  I  pray  your 
worship,  come  a  little  nearer  this  ways. 

Fal.  I  warrant  thee,  nobody  hears ; — mine  own 
people,  mine  own  people. 

Quicfc.  Are  they  so  ?  Heaven  bless  them,  and 
make  them  his  servants  ! 

Fal.  Well:  mistress  Ford ;— what  of  her? 

Q,uick.  Why,  sir,  she's  a  good  creature.  Lord, 
lord !  your  worship's  a  wanton :  Well,  heaven  for- 
give you,  and  all  of  us,  I  pray  ! 

F<u.  Mistress  Ford — come,  mistress  Ford. 

Q,uiek.  Marry,  this  is  the  short  and  the  long  of 

ll'S  Pay  you  again  in  stolen  goods. 

(2)  Draws  along  with  you. 

i3)  To  cut  purses  in  a  crowd. 

(4)  Pickt-hatcb  was  in  CUrkenwell.  (5)  Protect. 


it ;  you  have  brought  her  into  such  a  canaries,'  as 
'tis  wonderful.  The  best  courtier  of  them  all,  when 
the  court  lay  at  Windsor^  could  never  have  brought 
her  to  such  a  canary.  1  et  there  has  been  knights, 
and  lofds,  and  gentlemen,  witli  their  coaches ;  I 
warrant  you,  coach  after  coach,  letter  after  letter, 
gift  after  gift  ;  smelling  so  sweetly  (all  musk,)  and 
so  rushlinn-,  I  warrant  you,  in  silk  and  gold  ;  and 
in  such  alligant  terms ;  and  in  such  wine  and  sugar 
of  the  best,  and  the  fairest,  that  would  have  won 
any  woman's  heart ;  and,  I  warrant  you,  they  could 
never  get  an  eye-wink  of  her. — I  had  myself  twenty 
angels  given  me  this  morning :  but  I  defy  all  angels 
(in  any  such  sort,  as  they  say,)  but  in  the  way  of 
honesty : — and,  I  warrant  you,  they  could  never  get 
her  so  much  as  sip  on  a  cup  with  the  proudest  of 
them  all :  and  yet  there  has  been  earls,  naj'.  which 
is  more,  pensioners  ;  but,  I  warrant  you,  all  is  one 
with  her. 

Fal.  But  what  says  she  to  me  ?  be  brief,  my  good 
she  Mercury. 

Q,uick.  Marry,  she  hath  received  your  letter, 
for  the  which  she  thanks  you  a  thousand  times : 
and  she  gives  you  to  notify,  that  her  husband  will 
be  absence  from  his  house  tetween  ten  and  eleven. 

Fal,  Ten  and  eleven  ? 

Q,uick.  Ay,  forsooth ;  and  then  you  may  come 
and  see  the  picture,  she  says,  that  you  wot*  of; — 
master  Ford,  her  husband,  will  be  from  home. 
Alas !  the  sweet  woman  leads  an  ill  life  with  him  ; 
he's  a  very  jealousy  man  :  she  leads  a  very  fram- 
pold'  life  with  him,  good  Heart. 

Fd.  Ten  and  eleven  ?  VVoman,  commend  me  to 
her ;  I  will  not  fail  her. 

Q,uick.  Why,  you  say  well :  But  I  have  another 
messenger  to  your  worship :  Mistress  Page  hath 
her  hearty  commendations  to  you  too  ; — and  let  me 
tell  you  in  your  ear,  she's  as  fartuous  a  civil  modest 
wife,  and  one  (I  tell  you)  that  will  not  miss  your 
morning  nor  evening  prayer,  as  any  is  in  Windsor, 
whoe'er  be  tlie  other :  and  she  bade  me  tell  your 
worship,  that  her  husband  is  seldom  from  home ; 
but,  she  hopes,  there  will  come  a  time.  I  never 
knew  a  woman  so  dote  upon  a  man :  surely,  I  think 
you  have  charms,  la ;  yes,  in  truth. 

Fal,  Not  I,  I  assure  thee ;  setting  the  attraction 
of  my  good  parts  aside,  I  have  no  other  charms. 

Q,uick,  Blessing  on  your  heart  for't ! 

Fal.  But,  I  pray  thee,  tell  mc  this ;  has  Ford's 
mfe,  and  Page's  wife,  acquainted  each  other  how 
they  love  mc  7 

QiticA;.  That  were  a  jest,  indeed  '—they  have  not 
so  little  grace,  I  hope  :— that  were  a  trick,  indeed ! 
But  mistress  Page  would  desire  you  to  send  her 
your  little  page,  of  all  loves  ;">  her  husband  has  a 
marvellous  infection  to  the  little  page  :  and,  truly, 
master  Page  is  an  honest  man.  Never  a  wife  in 
Windsor  leads  a  better  life  than  she  does ;  do  what 
she  will,  say  what  she  will,  take  all,  pay  all,  go  to 
bed  when  she  list,  rise  when  she  list,  afl  is  as  she 
will ;  and  truly  she  deserves  it :  for  if  there  be  a 
kind  woman  in  Windsor,  she  is  one.  You  must 
send  her  your  page ;  no  remedy. 

Fal.  Why,  I  will. 

Quick.  Nay,  but  do  so  then :  and,  look  you,  he 
may  come  and  go  between  you  both  ;  and,  in  any 
case  have  a  nay-word, '»  that  you  may  know  one 
another's  mind,  and  the  boy  never  need  to  under 

{6)  Ale-house. 

7)  A  mistake  of  Mrs.  Quicklv's  for  quandary. 

8)  Know.     (9)  Fretful,  peevish. 
,10)  By  all  means.    (1 1 )  A  watch- word. 


Seme  11. 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


stand  any  thing ;  for  'tis  not  irood  that  children 
should  know  any  wickedness ;  old  folks,  you  knoiv, 
have  discretion,  as  they  say,  and  know  the  world. 

Fal.  Fare  thee  well  :  commend  me  to  them 
both :  there's  my  purse :  I  am  yet  thy  debtor.— 
Boy,  go  along  with  this  woman. — This  nc^vs  dis- 
tracts me  !  [Exeunt  Quickly  and  Robin. 

Pist.  This  punk  is  one  of  Cupid's  carriers : — 
Clap  on  more  sails ;  pursue,  up  with  your  li<rhts  ; 
Give  fire ;  she  is  my  prize,  or  ocean  wlielm  them 
all!  [ExU  Pistol. 

Fa!.  Say'st  thou  so,  old  Jack  ?  go  thy  ways ; 
I'll  make  "more  of  thv  old  body  than  I  have  done. 
^Vill  they  yet  look  a'fler  Ihtc  )  Wilt  thou,  after 
the  expense  of  so  much  money,  be  now  a  L'ainer '! 
Good  body,  I  thank  thee :  Let  iiiem  say,  'tis  gros^jly 
don« ;  so  it  be  fairly  done,  no  matitr. 

Enter  Bardolph. 

Brtn?.  Sir  John,  there's  one  master  Brook  below 
would  fain  speak  with  you,  and  be  acquainted  with 
you  ;  and  hath  sent  your  worship  a  morning's 
tlrauirht  of  sack. 

Fid.  Brook,  is  his  name  7 

Bard.  Av,  sir. 

Fal.  Call  him  in;  [Exit  Bardolph.]  Such 
Brooks  are  welcome  to  me,  that  o'erflow  such 
liquor.  Ail !  ha !  mistress  Ford  and  mistress 
Page,  have  I  encompassed  you  ?  go  to  ;  via ." 

Re-enter  Bardolph,  vsith  Ford  disguised. 

Ford.  Bless  you.  sir. 

Fal.  And  you,  sir ;  Would  you  speak  with  me  7 

Ford.  I  make  bold,  to  press  with  so  little  pre- 
paration upon  you. 

Fal.  You're  welcome ;  What's  your  will  7  Give 
us  leave,  draiver.      /  [Exit  Bardolph. 

Ford.  Sir,  I  am  a  trentlcman  that  have  spent 
much  ;  my  name  is  Brook. 

Fal.  Gootl  master  Brool;,  I  desire  more  acquaint- 
ance of  you. 

Ford.  Good  sir  John,  I  sue  for  yours :  not  to 
charsre  you  ;  for  I  must  let  you  understand,  I  think 
myself  in  better  plight  for  a  lender  than  you  are : 
the  which  hath  something  enboldened  me  to  this 
unseasoned  intrusion  ;  for  they  say,  if  money  go 
before,  all  ways  do  lie  open. 

Fnl.  Money  is  a  i/ood  soldier,  sir,  and  will  on. 

Ford.  Troth,  and  I  have  a  bac;  of  money  here 
troubles  me ;  if  you  will  help  me  to  bear  it,  sir 
John,  take  all,  or  half,  for  casing  me  of  the  car- 
riage. 

Fal.  Sir,  I  know  not  how  I  may  deserve  to  be 
your  porter. 

Ford.  I  will  tell  you,  sir,  if  you  will  give  me 
the  hearing. 

Fal.  Speak,  good  master  Brook :  I  shall  be  glad 
to  be  your  servant. 

Ford.  Sir,  I  hear  you  are  a  scholar, — I  will  be 

brief  w  ilh  you  ; and  you  have  been  a  man 

long  known  to  me,  though'-*  had  never  so  good 
means,  as  desire,  to  make  myself  acquainted  with 
you.  I  shall  discover  a  thing  to  yoa,  wherein  1 
must  very  much  lay  open  mine  own  imperfection  : 
but,  good  sir  John,  as  you  have  one  eye  upon  my 
follies,  as  you  henr  them  unfolded,  turn  another 
into  the  register  of  your  own  ;  that  I  may  pass  with 
a  reproof  the  easier,  sith"  you  yourself  know,  how 
easy  it  is  to  be  such  an  ofiendcr. 

il)  A  cant  phrase  of  exultation. 
2)  Since     -  •     (3)  Reward. 


Fal.  Very  well,  sir ;  proceed. 

Ford.  There  b  a  gentlewoman  in  this  town,  her 
husband's  name  is  Ford. 
■■     Fal.  Well,  sir. 

Ford.  I  have  long  loved  her,  and,  I  protest  to 
you,  bestoived  much  on  her ;  followed  her  with  a 
doting  obsenance  ;  engrossed  opportunities  to 
jmeet  her;  fee'd  every  shght  occasion,  that  could 
jbut  niggardly  give  me  sight  of  her:  not  only 
;  bqught  many  presents  to  give  her,  but  have  given 
j  largely  to  many,  to  know  what  she  would  have 
given :  briefly,  I  have  pursued  her,  as  love  hath 
pursued  me  ;  ivhich  hath  been,  on  the  wing  of  all 
occasions.  But  whatsover  I  have  merited,  either 
jinmymind,  or  in  my  means,  meed,'  I  am  sure,  I 
liavc  received  none  ;  unless  experience  be  a  jewel  : 
that  I  have  purchased  at  an  infinite  rate ;  and  that 
hath  taught  me  to  say  this : 

Love  like  a  shadoic  flies,  when  aubsltmee  love  pxtr* 

sues  ; 
Ptirsuin:;  that  that  flies,  and  flying  Kkat  pursues. 

Fat.  Have  you  received  no  promise  of  satlsfae* 
tion  at  her  hands  ? 

Furd.  Never. 

Ful.  Have  you  importuned  her  to  such  a  pur* 
pose  ? 

Ford.  Never. 

Fat.  Of  what  quality  was  your  love  then  ? 

Ford.  Like  a  fair  house,  built  upon  another 
man's  ground ;  so  that  I  have  lost  my  edifice,  by 
mistaking  the  place  where  I  erected  it.' 

Fal.  To  what  purpose  have  you  unfolded  thiJ 
to  me  ? 

Ford.  When  I  have  told  you  that,  I  have  told 
you  all.  Some  say,  that,  though  slie  appear  honest 
to  me,  yet,  in  other  ))laces,  she  enlargeth  her 
mirth  so  far,  that  there  is  shrewd  construction 
made  of  her.  Now,  sir  John,  here  is  the  heart  of 
my  purpose :  You  are  a  gentleman  of  excellent 
breeding,  admirable  discourse,  of  great  admit- 
tance,* authentic  in  your  place  and  person,  gene- 
rally allowed*  for  your  many  warlike,  court-like, 
and  learned  preparations. 

Fal.  O.sir! 

Ford.  Believe  it,  for  you  know  it :— There  is 
money ;  spend  it,  spend  it ;  spend  more ;  spend 
all  I  have  ;  only  give  me  so  much  of  your  time  in 
exchange  of  it.  as  to  lay  an  amiable  siege  to  the 
honesty  of  this  Ford's  wile :  us«  your  art  of  wooine, 
will  her  to  consent  to  you ;  if  any  man  may,  you 
mav  as  soon  as  any. 

Fal.  Would  it  apply  well  to  the  vehemency  of 
your  aflection,  that  I  should  win  ^vhat  you  would 
enjoy  ?  Methinks,  you  prescribe  to  yourself  very 
prenosterously. 

Ford.  O,  understand  my  drift !  she  dwells  so 
securely  on  the  excellency  of  her  honour,  that 
the  folly  of  my  soul  dares  not  present  itself;  she  is 
too  bright  to  be  looked  against.  Now,  could  I  come 
to  her  with  any  detection  in  my  hand,  my  desires 
had  instance  and  argumentto  commend  themselves ; 
I  could  drive  her  then  from  the  ward*  of  her  purity, 
her  reputation,  her  marriage-vow,  and  a  thousana 
other  her  defences,  which  now  are  too  strongly 
embattled  against  me :  What  say  you  to't,  sir 
John  ? 

Fal.  Master  Brook,  I  will  first  make  bold  with 
your  money ;  next,  give  me  your  hand ;  and  last, 
as  I  am  a  gentleman,  you  shall,  if  you  will,  enjoy 
Ford's  wife. 


(4)  In  the  greatest  companies. 
(6)  Guard. 


(5)  ApproTcd. 


» 


MERRY  WIVES  OP  WINDSOR. 


^et  Ih 


Ford.  0  gfood  sir ! 

Fal.  Master  Brook,  1  say  you  shall. 


1     Cuius.  By  gar,  he  has  save  his  soul,  dat  he  is  no 
ra*.  ma»«:r  orooR,  .  »ar  jou  »..a.,.  |Comc  ;   he  has  nrav  his  Pible  yell,  dat  he  is  no 

Fm-d.  Want  no  money,  sir  John,  you  shall  want.come  ;  by  gar,  Jack  Rugby,  he  is  dead  already,  if 

none.  he  be  come.  .       .        .      ^   ,  . . 

/■W.  Want  no  mistress  Ford,  master  Brook,  vou     Ru^.   He  is  wise,  sir:  he  knew  your  worship 

shall  want  none.    I  shall  be  with  her  (I  may  tell  would  kill  him,  if  he  came. 

you,)  by  her  own  appointment ;  even  as  you  came|  .  CaUis.  Bx.g.ar,  de  herring  is  no  dead,  so  asl  vill 

in  to  me,  her  assistant,  or  go-between,  parted  fromiWH  him. 


me :  I  say,  I  shall  be  with  her  between  ten  and 
eleven  ;  for  at  that  time  the  jealous  rascally  knave, 
her  husband,  will  be  forth.  Come  you  tom»at 
night ;  you  shall  know  how  I  speed. 

Ford.  I  am  blest  in  your  acquaintance.  Do  you 
know  Ford,  sir  ? 

Fal.  Hang  him,  poor  cuckoldly  knave !  I  know 
him  not : — ^yet  I  wrong  him,  to  ciill  him  poor ;  they 
•ay,  the  .jealous  %vittolly  knave  hath  masses  of 
money ;  for  the  which  his  wife  seems  to  me  well- 
favoured.  I  will  use  her  as  the  key  of  the  cuckoldly 
rogue's  coffer;  and  there's  my  harvest-home. 

Ford.  I  would  you  knew  Ford,  sir ;  that  you 
misrht  avoid  him,  if  you  saw  him. 

Fal.  Hang  him,  mechanical  salt-butter  rogue !  I 
will  stare  him  out  of  his  wits  ;  I  will  awe  hiiii  with 
my  cudgel :  it  shall  hang  like  a  meteor  o'er  the 
cuckold's  horns  :  master  Brook,  thou  shalt  know, 
1  will  predominate  o'er  the  peasant,  and  thou  shalt 
lie  with  his  wife. — Come  to  me  soon  at  night : — 
Ford's  a  knave,  and  I  will  aggravate  his  stile ; ' 
thou  master  Brook,  shalt  know  hiin  for  a  knave 
and  cuckold  :^ome  to  me  soon  at  night.     [Exit. 

Ford.  What  a  damned  Epicurean  rascal  is  this ! 
—My  heart  is  ready  to  crack  with  impatience — 
Who  says,  this  is  improvident  jealousy  ?  My  wife 
hath  sent  to  him,  the  hour  is  fixed,  the  match  is 
made.    Would  any  man  have  thought  this  ? — See 


Take  your  rapier.  Jack ;  I  vill  tell  you 


how  I  vill  kill  him. 
Riis^.  Alas,  sir,  I  cannot  fence. 
Corns.    Villain-a,  take  your  rapier. 
Rug.  Forbear ;  here's  company. 

Enter  Host,  Shallow,  Slender,  and  Page. 

Host.  'Bless  thee,  bully  doctor. 

Skal.  'Save  you,  master  doctor  Caius. 

Page.  Now,  good  master  doctor ! 

Slen.  Give  you  good-morrow,  sir. 

Caius.  Vat  be  all  you,  one,  two,  tree,  four,  come 
for? 

Host.  To  see  thee  fi^ht,  to  see  thee  foin,*  to  see 
thee  traverse,  to  see  thee  here,  to  see  thee  there ; 
to  see  thee  pass  thy  punto,  thy  stock,  thy  reverse, 
thy  distance,  thy  montdnt.'  Is  he  dead,  my  Ethi- 
opian ?  is  he  dead,  my  Francisco  ?  ha,  bully  ! 
What  says  my  iEsculapius  ?  my  Galen  ?  my  heart 
of  elder  ?  ha  ?  is  he  dead,  bully  Stale  ?  is  he  dead  ? 

Cains.  By  gar,  he  is  de  coward  Jack  priest  of 
de  world :  he  is  not  show  his  face. 

Host.  Thou  art  a  Castiliau*  king.  Urinal !  Hec- 
tor of  Greece,  my  boy ! 

Caius.  I  pray  you,  bear  witness  that  me  have 
stay  six  or  seven,  tivo,  tree  hours  for  him,  and  he 
is  no  come. 

Slial.  He  is  the  wiser  man,  master  doctor:  he  is 
a  curer  of  souls,  and  you  a  curer  of  bodies ;  if  you 


the  hell  of  having  a  false  woman !  my  bed  shall    ,      ,,,...  -      •    ■  .  i     .    •     >.    ■ 

be  abused,  my  coffers  ransacked,  my  reputation  I «^i°\>l''  hght,  you  go  against  the  hair  of  your  pro 

gnawn  at ;  and  I  shall  not  only  receive  this  villa-  Sessions :  is  it  not  true,  master  Page  ? 


nous  wrong,  but  stand  under  the  adoption  of  abomi- 
nable terms,  and  by  him  that  does  me  this  wrong. 
Terms !  names ! Amaimon  sounds  well ;  Lu- 
cifer, well ;  Barbason,  well ;  yet  they  are  devil's 
additions,  the  names  of  fiends:  but  cuckold  !  wit- 
tol*  cuckold!  the  devil  himself  hath  not  such  a 
name.  Page  is  an  ass,  a  secure  ass ;  he  mil  trust 
his  wife,  he  will  not  be  jealous :  I  will  rather 
trust  a  Fleming  with  my  butter,  parson  Hugh  the 
Welshman  with  my  cheese,  an  Irishman  with  my 
aquatitx'  bottle,  or  a  thief  to  walk  my  ambling 
gelding,  than  my  wife  with  herself:  then  she  plots, 
than  she  ruminates,  then  she  devises :  and  what 
thev  think  in  their  hearts  they  may  effect,  they 
will  break  their  hearts  but  they  will  effect.  Heaven 
be  praised  for  my  jealousy ! — Eleven  o'clock  the 
hour ;  I  will  prevent  this,  detect  mv  wife,  be  re- 
venged on  Falstafi*,  and  laugh  at  i*age.  I  will 
about  it ;  better  three  hours  too  soon,  than  a 
minute  too  late.  Fie,  fie,  fie !  cuckold !  cuckold  ! 
cuckold !  [Exit. 


SCEJ^E    III.— Windsor   Park, 
and  Rugby. 


Enter  Caius 


Caius.  Jack  Rugby ! 
Ru^.  Sir. 

Catiu.  Vat  is  de  clock.  Jack  ? 
/?((«:.  'Tis  past  the  hour,  sir,  that  sir  Hugh  pro- 
mised to  meet. 

(1 )  Add  to  his  title.        (2)  Contented  cuckold. 
(3)  Usquebaugh.        (4)  Fence. 
(6)  Terms  in  feacing. 


Page.  Master  Shallow,  you  have  yourself  been 
a  great  fighter,  though  now  a  man  of  peace. 

SluU.  Bodykins,  master  Page,  though  I  now  be 
old,  and  of  the  peace,  if  I  see  a  sword  out,  my 
finder  itches  to  make  one :  though  we  are  justices, 
and  doctors,  and  churchmen,  master  Pa?e,  we 
have  some  salt  of  our  youth  in  us ;  we  are  the  sons 
of  women,  master  Page. 

Page.  'Tis  true,  master  Shallow. 

Swal.  It  will  be  found  so,  master  Page.  Master 
doctor  Caius,  I  am  come  to  fetch  you  home.  I  am 
sworn  of  the  peace:  you  have  snowed  yourself  a 
wise  physician,  and  sir  Hugh  hath  shown  himself 
a  wise  and  patient  churchman :  you  must  go  with 
me,  master  doctor. 

Host.  Pardon,  guest  justice : — A  word,  monsieur 
Muck-water?' 

Caius.  Muck-vater !  vat  is  dat  ? 

Host.  Muck-water,  in  our  English  tongue,  is 
valour,  bully. 

Caius.  By  gar,  then  I  have  as  much  muck-vater 
as  de  Englishman : — Scurvy  jack-dog  priest !  by 
gar,  me  vill  cut  his  ears. 

Host.  He  will  clapper-claw  thee  tightly,  bully. 

Caius.  Clapper-de-claw !  vat  is  dat  ? 

Host.  That  is,  he  will  make  thee  amends. 

Caius.  By  gar,  me  do  look,  he  shall  clapper-de- 
claw  me ;  for,  by  ^ar,  me  vill  have  it. 

Host.  And  I  will  provoke  him  to't,  or  let  him 
wag. 

Cains.  Me  tank  you  for  dat. 

Host.  And  moreover,  bully,— But  h.:»   master 


16)  Cant  term  for  Spaniard. 
(7)  Drain  of  a  dungoiU. 


8un$I. 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR, 


S9 


guest,  and  master  Page,  and  eke  cavalero  Slender, 
go  you  through  the  town  lo  Frogmore. 

[^side  to  them. 

Page.  Sir  Hugh  Is  there,  is  he? 

Host.  He  is  there :  see  what  humour  he  is  in  : 
and  I  will  bring  the  doctor  about  by  the  fields :  will 
it  do  well  ? 

SImI.  We  will  do  it. 

Page,  Shal.  and  SUn.  Adieu,  good  master  doctor. 
[Exeunt  Pasre,  Shallow,  and  Slender. 

Caws.  By  par,  me  vUl  kill  de  priest ;  for  he 
ipeak  for  a  jack-an-apc  to  Anne  Page. 

Host.  Let  him  die :  but,  first,  sheath  thy  impa- 
tience ;  throw  cold  water  on  thy  choler :  go  about 
the  fields  with  me  through  Frogmore  ;  I  will  bring 
thee  where  Mrs.  Anne  rage  is,  at  a  farm-house  a 
feasting  ;  and  thou  shalt  woo  her :  Cry'd  game,  said 
I  well  f 

Cains.  By  gar,  me  tank  you  for  dat ;  by  gar,  I 
love  you ;  and  I  shall  procure-a  you  de  ^ood  guest, 
de  earl,  de  knight,  de  lords,  Je  gentlemen,  my 
patients. 

Host.  For  the  which,  I  will  be  thy  adversary  to- 
wards Anne  Page  ;  said  I  well  ? 

Cahu.  By  gar,  'tis  good ;  veil  said. 

Host.  Let  us  wag  then. 

Caius.  Come  at  my  heels,  Jack  Rugby. 

[Exeunt, 


ACT  III. 

SCEXE  I.—^  field  near  Fro^nurre.     Enter  Sir 
Hugh  Evans  and  ^mple. 

Eva.  I  pray  you  now,  cood  master  Slender's 
serving-man,  and  friend  Simple  by  your  name, 
which  way  have  you  looked  for  master  Caius,  that 
calls  himbelf  Doctor  of  Physic  ? 

Sim.  Marry,  sir,  the  city- ward,  the  park-ward,  | 
every  way ;  old  Windsor  way,  and  every  way  but 
the  town  way. 

Eva.  I  most  fehemeutly  desire  you,  you  will  also 
look  that  way. 
Sim.  I  will,  sir. 

Eva.  'Plcss  my  soul !  how  full  of  cholers  I  am, 
and  trempling  of  mind ! — I  shall  be  glad,  if  he  have 
deceived  me: — how  melancholies  1  am! — I  will 
knog  his  urinals  about  his  knave's  costard,'  when  I 
have  good  opportunities  for  the  'ork : — 'pless  my 
soul !  [Sings, 

To  shallow  rivers,  to  tchose  falls 
Melodious  birds  sing  madrigals  ; 
There  will  we  inakt  our  peas  oj  roses, 
And  a  thousand  fragrant  posies. 
To  shallcw 

Mercy  on  me !  I  have  a  great  dispositions  to  cry. 

Melodious  birds  sing  madrigals  ; — 
When  as  I  sat  in  Pahylon,^ 
Jind  a  thousand  fragrant  posies. 
To  shallow 

Sim.  Yonder  he  is  coming,  this  way,  sir  Hugh. 
Eva.  He's  welcome : 

To  shallow  rivers,  to  whose  falls 

Heaven  prosper  the  right ! — What  weapons  is  he? 

Sim.  No  weapons,  sir :  There  comes  my  master, 
masier  Shallo'.v,  and  another  gentleman  from  Frog- 
more,  over  the  stile,  this  way. 


(1)  Head. 


Eva.  Pray  you,  give  roe  my  gown ;  or  eUc  keep 

it  in  your  arms. 

Enter  Page,  Shallow,  and  Slender. 

Shal.  How  now,  master  parson  ?  Good  morrow, 
good  sir  Hugh.  Keep  a  gamester  from  the  dice, 
and  a  good  student  from  his  book,  and  it  is  won* 
derful. 

Slen.  Ah,  sweet  Anne  Pa^e ! 

Page.  Save  you,  good  sir  Hugh ! 

Eva.  'Pless  you  from  his  mercy  sake,  all  of  you  ! 

Shal.  What !  the  sword  and  the  world !  do  you 
study  them  both,  master  parson  ? 

Page.  And  youthful  still,  in  your  doublet  and 
hose,  this  raw  rheumatic  day  ? 

Eva.  There  is  reasons  and  causes  for  it. 

Page,  We  are  come  to  you,  to  do  a  good  office, 
master  parson. 

Eva,  Fery  well :  what  is  it  ? 

Page,  Vender  is  a  most  reverend  gentleman,  who 
belike,  having  received  wrong  by  some  person,  is 
at  most  odds  with  his  own  gravity  and  patience, 
that  ever  you  saw, 

Shal,  I  have  lived  fourscore  years  and  upward ; 
I  never  heard  a  man  of  his  place,  gravity,  and 
learning,  so  wide  of  his  own  respect. 
Tea.  What  is  he  ? 

Page,  I  think  you  know  him ;  master  doctor 
Caius,  the  renowned  French  physician. 

Eva,  Got's  will,  and  his  passion  of  my  heart  I  I 
had  as  lief  you  would  tell  me  of  a  mess  of  por* 
ridffe. 

Page.  Why? 

Eva.  He  has  no  more  knowledge  in  Hibocratcs 
and  Galen, — and  he  is  a  knave  besides  :  a  cowardly 
knave,  as  you  would  desires  to  be  acquamted  withal. 

Pa^e.  I  warrant  you,  he's  the  man  should  fight 
I  with  him. 

Slen.  O,  sweet  Anne  Page ! 

Shal,  It  appears  so,  by  his  weapons :— Keep 
them  asunder ; — here  comes  doctor  Caius. 

Enter  Host,  Caius,  and  Rugby. 

Page.  Nay,  good  master  parson,  keep  in  your 
weapon. 

Slial.  So  do  you,  good  master  doctor. 

Host.  Disarm  them,  and  let  them  question :  let 
them  keep  their  limbs  whole,  and  hack  our  English. 

Caius.  I  pray  you,  let-a  me  speak  a  word  vit 
your  ear :  \  erefore  will  you  not  meet-a  me  ? 

Eva.  Pray  you,  use  your  patience  :  In  good  time. 

Caius.  By  gar,  you  are  ae  coward,  de  Jack  dog, 
John  ape. 

Eva.  Pray  you,  let  us  not  be  laughing-stogs  to 
other  men's  humours ;  I  desire  you  in  friendship, 
and  I  will  one  way  or  other  make  you  amends : — 
I  will  knoz  your  urinals  about  your  knave's 
cogscomb,  lor  missing  your  meetings  and  appoint- 
ments. 

Caius.  Diable  ! — Jack  Rugby, — mine  Host  de 
Jarterre,  have  I  not  stay  for  him,  to  kill  him  ?  have 
I  not,  at  de  place  I  did  appoint  ? 

Eva.  As  I  am  a  Christians  soul,  now,  look  you, 
this  is  the  place  appointed;  I'll  be  judgment  by 
mine  host  of  the  Garter. 

Hat.  Peace,  I  say,  GualHa  and  Gaul,  French 
and  Welsh ;  soul-curer  and  body-curer. 

Caius.  Ay,  dat  is  very  good  !  excellent ! 

Host.  Peace,  I  say ;  hear  mine  host  of  the  Gar» 
ter.    Am  I  pouUc  ?  am  I  subtle  7  am  I  a  Machia- 

(2)  Babylon,  the  first  line  of  the  137U)  PmIo. 
li 


58 


MERRY  WIVES  OP  WINDSOR. 


Act  111. 


Tcl  7  Shall  I  lose  my  doctor  ?  no ;  he  gives  me  the 
potions,  and  the  motions.  Shall  I  lose  my  parson  ? 
my  priest?  my  sir  Hugh?  no:  he  gives  me  the 
pro- verbs  and  the  no-verbs. — Give  me  thy  hand, 
terrestrial ;  so : — Give  me  thy  hand,  celestial :  so. 
— — Bovs  of  art,  I  have  deceived  you  both  ;  I  have 
directed  }'ou  to  wrong  places :  your  hearts  are 
mighty,  your  skins  are  whole,  and  let  burnt  sack 
be  the  issue. — Come,  lay  their  swords  to  pawn : — 
Follow  me,  lad  of  peace  ;  lollow,  follow,  follow. 

IShal.  Trust  me,  a  mad  host: — ^l^oUow,  gentle- 
men, follow. 

Sun.  0,  sweet  Anne  Page ! 

[Exeunt  Shal.  Sle.n.  Page,  and  Host. 

Caius.  Ha!  do  I  perceive  dat?  have  you  muke- 
a  de  sol'  of  us  ?  ha,  ha ! 

Eva.  Tins  is  well ;  he  has  made  us  his  vlouting- 
stog.* — I  desire  you,  that  we  may  be  friends ;  and 
let  us  knog  our  prains  together,  to  be  revenge  on 
this  same  scall,  scurvy,  cogguig  companion,  the 
host  of  the  Garter. 

Caiiis.  By  gar,  vit  all  mv  heart;  he  promise 
to  bring  me  vere  is  Aune  Page ;  by  gar,  he  de- 
ceive me  too. 

Eva.  Well,  I  will  smite  his  noddies: — Pray 
you,  follow.  [Exeunt. 

SCEXE  II.— The  Street  in  Windsor.     Enter 
J\Irs.  Page  and  Robin. 

Jl/rj.  Pa!^e.  Nay,  keep  your  way,  little  gallant; 

i^ou  were  wont  to  be  a  follower,  but  now  you  are  a 
eader :  Whctlicr  had  you  rather,  lead  miine  eyes, 
or  eye  your  master's  heels  ? 

Rob.  I  had  rather,  forsooth,  go  before  you  like 
a  man,  than  follow  him  like  a  dnarf. 

Mrs.  Page.  O  you  are  a  flattering  boy  ;  now,  I 
•ee,  you'll  be  a  courtier. 

Enter  Ford. 

Ford.  Well  met,  mistress  Page :  Whither  go 
you? 

Mrs.  Page.  Trulj',  sir,  to  see  your  wife :  Is  she 
at  home  ? 

Ford.  Ay ;  and  as  idle  as  she  may  hang  together, 
for  want  of  company:  I  think,  if  your  husbands 
were  dead,  you  two  v.'ould  marry. 

Mr.i.  Page.  Bs  sure  of  that, — two  other  hus- 
bands. 

Ford.  Where  had  you  this  pretty  weather-cock  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  I  cannot  tell  what  the  dickens  his 
name  is  my  husband  had  him  of:  What  do  you 
call  your  knight's  name,  sirrah  ? 

Jiob.  Sir  John  Falstatf, 

Ford.  Sir  John  Falstafl"! 

Mrs.  Page.  He,  he :  I  can  never  hit  on's  name. 
There  is  such  a  league  between  my  good  man 
and  he ! — Is  your  wife  at  home,  indeed  ? 

Ford.  Indeed,  she  is. 

Mrs.  Page.  By  your  leave,  sir ; — I  am  sick,  till 
I  see  h;;r.  [Exeunt  J*f/-s.  Page  and  Robin. 

Ford.  Has  Paore  any  brains  ?  hath  he  any  eves  ? 
hath  he  any  thinking  ?  Sure,  they  sleep  ;  he  liath 
no  use  of  them.  Why,  this  boy  will  carry  a  letter 
twenty  miles,  as  easy  as  a  cannon  will  shoot  point- 
blank  twelve  score.  He  pieces-out  his  ivife's  in- 
clination ;  he  gives  her  folly  motion,  and  advan- 
tage :  and  now  she's  going  to  my  wife,  and  FalstaflPs 
ooy  with  her.  A  man  may  hear  this  shower  sing 
m  the  wind ! — and  Falslaff 's  boy  with  her  I — Good 

(llFool.    (2)  Plouting-stock.    (3)  Specious. 
{4}  Shall  encourage. 


plots  ! — they  are  laid ;  and  our  revolted  wivea 
share  damnation  top:ctlier.  Well :  I  will  take  him, 
then  torture  my  wife,  pluck  the  borrowed  veil  ol 
modesty  from  the  so  seemuig'  mistress  Page,  di- 
vulge Page  himself  for  a  secure  and  wilful  Actteon  ; 
and  to  these  violent  proceedings  all  my  neighbours 
shall  cry  aim.*  [Clock  strikes.]  The  clccK  gives 
me  my  cue,  and  my  assurance  bids  me  search : 
there  I  shall  find  Falstaff:  I  sliall  be  rather  priiisea 
for  this,  than  mocked ;  for  it  is  as  positive  as  the 
earth  is  firm,  that  Falstaff  is  there :  I  will  go. 

Enter  Page,  Shallow,  Slender,  Host,  Sir  Hugh 
Evans,  Caius,  and  Rugby. 

Shal.  Page,  &,c.  Well  met,  master  Ford. 

Ford.  Trust  me,  a  good  knot :  I  have  good 
cheer  at  home  ;  and,  I  pray  you,  all  go  with  me. 

Shal.  I  must  excuse  mysell'i  master  Ford. 

Slen.  And  so  must  I,  sir ;  we  have  appointed 
to  dine  with  mistress  Anne,  and  I  would  not  break 
with  her  for  more  money  than  I'll  speak  of. 

Shal.  We  have  lingei-'d  about  a  match  between 
Anne  Page  and  my  cousin  Slender,  and  this  day 
we  shall  have  our  answer. 

Slen.  I  hope,  I  have  your  good-will,  father 
Page. 

Page.  You  have,  master  Slender ;  I  stand  whol- 
ly for  you : — but  my  wife,  master  doctor,  is  for 
you  altogether. 

Caius.  Ay.  bv  gar ;  and  de  maid  is  love-a  me  ; 
my  nursh-a  Quickly  tell  me  so  mush. 

Host.  What  say  you  to  young  master  Fenton  ? 
he  capers,  he  dances,  he  has  eyes  of  youth,  he 
writes  verses,  he  speaks  holiday,'  he  smells  April 
and  May :  he  will  carrj't,  he  will  carry't ;  'tis  in 
his  buttons ;  he  will  carry't. 

Page.  Not  by  my  consent,  I  promise  you.  The 
gentlemen  is  of  no  having  :*  he  kept  companj  willi 
Ine  wild  Prince  and  Poins  ;  he  is  of  too  hign  a  re- 
gion, he  knows  too  much.  No,  he  shall  not  knit  a 
knot  in  his  fortunes  with  the  finger  of  m)'  suti- 
stance :  if  he  take  her,  let  him  talie  her  simply  ; 
the  wealth  I  have  waits  on  my  consent,  and  my 
consent  goes  not  that  way. 

Ford.  I  beseech  you,  heartily,  some  of  you  go 
home  with  me  to  dinner  :  besides  your  cheer,  you 

shall  have  sport ;  I  will  show  you  a  monster. 

Master  doctor,  you  shall  pro  ; — so  shall  you,  master 
Page  ; — and  you,  sir  Hugn. 

Shal.  Well,  fare  you  well : — we  shall  have  the 
freei'  wooing  at  master  Page's. 

f  E.rei(ji(  Shallow  and  Slender. 

Caius.  Go  home,  John  Rugby ;  I  come  anon. 

[Exit  Rugby. 

Host.  Farewell,  my  hearts :  I  will  to  my  honest 
knight  Falstaff,  and  druik  canary  with  him, 

'Exit  Host. 


Ford,  [^side.]  I  think,  I    shall   drink  in  pip 
'ine  first  with  him  ;  I'll  make  him  dance.    Wi 


ill 
you  go,  gentles'? 
Ml.  Have  with  you,  to  see  this  monster. 

[Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E  ni.—Jl  room  in  Ford's  house.    Enter 
Mrs.  Ford  and  Mrs.  Page. 

Mrs.  Ford.  What,  John !  what,  Robert ! 
Mrs.   Page.    Quickly,  quickly  :   is    the  buck 
basket — 
Mrs.   Ford.   I  warrant : — what,  Robin,  I  say, 

(5)  Out  of  the  common  style.      (6)  Not  rich. 


Setn*  TIL 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


» 


Enter  Sertanls  with  a  basket. 


I    Mrs.  Ford.  Believe  me,  there's  no  such  thing 

I  in  me. 

I    Fal.   What  made  me  love  thee?  let  that  per- 

_    suade  Uiee,  there's  something  exlraordinarj-  in  thee. 

Come,  I  cannot  cog,  and  say,  thou  art  this  and 


,Vr».  Page.  Come,  come,  come. 
J\Irs.  Ford.  Here,  set  it  down. 
jVm.  Pa^e.    Give  your  men  the  charge 
must  be  brief.  u„r„^    To;,n    that,  like  a  many  of'lhese  lisping  hawthorn  buds, 

.yrs.  ^ord    Many,  as  I  told  you  before,  John,  ^^at'come  like  women  in  men's  apparel,  and  smell 

and  Robert,  be  '•e^'^y ]»?>•«  J'^'^f,  ^^."V^^^f,  feh"  hke  BucUeribur>-' in  simple-Ume  :  I  cannot:  but 
house ;  and  when  I  suddenly  call  you,  come  forth,  j  j^^.^  ^j^^^    ^^^-^  ^^^  ^^^     ^„d  ^j^^^  ^eservest  it. 
and  (without  any  pause  or  staggermg,)  tike  this     -^      ^,  '^    j,        ^  ^^^^^        ^-^    I  ^ 
basket  on  your  snoulders:  tnat  done,  trudge  witn  jp^.gj^.^^^^^gpj^^g  J       '       '  'J 

it  in  all  hasie,  and  curry  it  arnon-  tne  whiisters-  in  p^  ^j^ "  ^j-ht'st  as  well  sav,  I  love  to  walk 
Datchet  Mead,  and  there  empty  it  in  the  mudoy  ,  ^^^  Counter«.|ate ;  which  is  as-jkuful  to  me  as 
ditch,  close  by  the  Tliames'  side.  j,J^  ^^^^  ^j.  ^  Un^e-kUn. 

.1.r*.  Pa«    Youwiildoit?  ,    ,  „„„         Mrs.  Ford.   Well,  heeven  knows,  how  I  love 

Vrs.  ford.  I  have  told  tnem  over  and  over ;  •  ^  ,,_^1, '^„^  ,j^^„^^  .^_ 

they  lack  no  direction:  be  gone,  end  come  wlien  J    .,S    j^ 
you  are  called.  [flxeimt  Hervmils 

•\(r*.  Page.  Here  comes  little  Robin. 


Enter  Robin. 


eep  in  that  mind  ;  I'll  deserve  it. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Nay,  I  must  tell  you,  so  you  do ;  or 
else  I  could  not  be  in  that  rauid. 

Rob.  [tct(/tt»i.]  Mistress  Ford,  mistress  Ford  ! 
here's  mistress  Page  at  the  door,  sweating  and 


Mrs.  Ford.  How  now,  my  cyas-muskel  7*  what  blowm?,  and  looking  wiidly,  and  would  needs 
news  with  vou?  |speak«1th  you  presently. 

Rob.  My  master,  sir  John,  is  come  in  at  your  I     l?i-  She  shall  not  see  me ;  I  wiU  ensconce'  me 
back-door,  mistress  Ford ;  and  requests  your  com-1 '^"^"«  the  arras, 
panv. 

Mrs.  Page.  You  little  Jack-a-lcnt,'  have  you 
been  true  to  us  ? 


Jlfrs.  Ford.  Pray  you,  do  so ;  she's  a  very  tat- 
tling woman. —        '  [Falstafl'AtdM  AiniJtZ/. 


Enter  Mistress  Page  and  Robin. 

AVTiat's  the  matter  ?  how  now  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  O  mistress  Ford,  what  have  you 
done?  You're  shamed,  you  are  overthrown,  you 
are  undone  for  ever. 

Mrs.  Ford.  What's  the  matter,  good  mistresa 
Pa^c? 

Mrs.  Page.  O  wcll-a-day,  mistress  Ford !  hav- 
ing an  honest  man  to  your  husband,  to  give  him 
such  cause  of  suspicion  ! 
Mrs.  Ford.  What  cause  of  suspicion? 
Mrs.  Page.  What  cause  of  suspicion? — Out  ujw 
on  you !  how  am  I  mistook  in  you  ! 
Mrs.  Ford.  ^V'hy,  alas !  what's  the  matter  ? 
Mrs.  Page.  Your  husband's  coming  hither,  wo- 
man, with  all  the  officers  in  Windsor,  to  search  for 
a  gentleman,  that,   he  saj's,  is  here  now  in  the 
_        _  _         ,  ,  ^  ^  I  house,  by  your  consent,  to  take  an  ill  advantage  of 

Whyj  now  let  me  die,  for  I  have  lived  long  enough  ;  ihis  absence.     You  are  undone, 
this  IS  the  period  of  my  ambition:  0  this  blessedj     Mrs.  Ford.    Speak  louder. — [»5siJf.] — 'Tis  not 
hour!  so,  I  hope. 

Mrs.  Ford.  O  sweet  sir  John  !  |    Mrs.  Page.  Pray  heaven  it  be  not  so,  that  you 

Fal.  Mistress  Ford,  I  cannot  cog,  I  cannot  prate,  I  have  such  a  man  here ;  but  'tis  most  certain  your 
Mistress  Ford.  Now  shall  I  sin  in  my  wish:  1 1 husband's  coming,  with  half  Windsor  at  his  heels, 
would  thv  husband  were  dead :  I'll  spealt  it  before  to  search  for  such  a  one.     I  come  before  to  tell 


Rob.  Ay,  I'll  be  sworn :  my  master  knows  not 
of  your  being  here ;  and  hath  threatened  to  put 
me  into  everlasting  liberty,  if  I  tell  you  of  it ;  for, 
he  swears,  he'll  turn  me  away. 

Mrs.  Page.  Thou'rt  a  good  boy ;  this  secrecy  of 
thine  shall  be  a  tailor  to  thee,  and  shall  make  thee 
a  new  doublet  and  hose. — I'll  go  hide  me. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Do  so : — Go  tell  thy  master,  I  am 
alone.    Mrs.  Page,  remember  you  your  cue. 

[Exit  Robin. 

Mrs.  Page.  I  warrant  thee ;  if  I  do  not  act  it, 
his>  aie.  [Exit  Mrs.  Page. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Go  to  then ;  we'll  use  this  unwhole- 
some humidity,  this  gross  watrjr  pumpion ; — we'll 
teach  him  to  know  turtles  from  jays. 

Enter  FalstafT. 
Fal.   Have  I  caught  thee,  my  heavenly  jetcel  ? 


the  best  lord,  I  would  make  thee  my*  lady. 

Mrs.  Ford.  I  your  lady,  sir  Jolm !  alas,  I  should 
be  a  pitiful  lady. 

F(d.  Let  the  court  of  France  show  me  such  ano- 
ther ;  I  see  how  thine  eyes  would  emulate  the 
diamond :  thou  hast  the  riaht  arched  bent  of  the 
brow,  that  becomes  the  ship-tire,  the  tire-valiant, 
or  anv  tire  of  Venetian  admittance.* 


you :  if  you  know  yourself  clear,  why  I  am  glad 
of  it:  but  if  you  have  a  friend  here,  convey,  con- 
vey him  out.  Be  not  amazed  ;  call  all  your  senses 
to  you  ;  defend  your  reputation,  or  bid  farewell  to 
your  good  life  forever. 

Mrs.  Ford.  What  shall  I  do  ? — There  is  a  gen- 
tleman, my  dear  friend  ;  and  I  fear  not  mine  own 
sharne,  so  much  as  his  peril :  I  had  rather  than  a 


Mrs.   Ford.    A  plain  kerchief,  sir  John:    my  i  thousand  pound,  he  were  out  of  the  house, 
brows  become  nothing  else  ;  nor  that  well  neither.  I     Mrs.  Page.    For  shame,  never  stand  yoxi  had 

Fal.  Thou  art  a  traitor  to  say  so:  thou  would'stlrnf/ifr,  and  yon  had  rather;  your  husband's  here 
make  an  absolute  courtier  :  and  the  firm  fi^iture  of!  at  hand,  bethink  you  of  some  conveyance :  in  the 
thy  foot  would  give  an  excellent  motion  to  thy  gait,  house  you  cannot  hide  him. — O,  how  have  you  de^ 


in  a  semi-circled  farthinffale.  I  see  what  thou 
wert,  if  fortune  thy  foe  were  not ;  nature  is  thy 
friend :  come,  thou  canst  not  hide  it. 

{\)  Bleachers  of  linen. 

(2)  A  young  small  hawk. 

(3)  A  puppet  thrown  at  in  Lent,  like  shrove-oocks. 


ceived  me ! — Look,  here  is  a  basket ;  if  he  be  of 
any  reasonable  stature,  he  may  creep  in  here  ;  and 
throw  foul  linen  upon  him,  as  if  it  %vere  going  to 


4)  Venetian  fashions. 

5)  Formerly  chieflv  inhabited  by  druggists. 

6)  Prison.       (7)  Hide.       (8)  Tapestry. 


60 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


^ct  m» 


buekinr:  or,  it  is  whiting'Ume/  send  him  by  your 
men  to  Datchet  Mead. 

Mn.  Ford.  He's  too  bie  to  eo  in  there :  what 
shaU  I  do  ? 

Rc-enler  FalstafT. 

Fal.  Let  me  see't.  let  me  see't !  0  let  me  see't ! 
I'll  in,  I'll  in: — follow  your  friend's  counsel; — 
I'll  in. 

Jtirs.  Page.  "What !  sir  John  FalstafT!  Are  these 
your  letters,  knight  7 

Fal.  I  love  thee,  and  none  but  thee ;  help  me 
away :  let  me  creep  in  here  ;  I'll  never — 

[He  goes  into  the  basket ;  they  cover  him  with 
fold  linen.] 

Mrs.  Page.  Help  to  cover  your  master,  boy :  call 
your  men,  mistress  Ford:— You  dissembling  kniirhU 

Mrs.  Ford.  What,  John,  Robert,  John !  [Exit 
Robin;  re-enter  Servants.]  Go  take  up  these 
clothes  here,  quickly-  where's  the  cowl-stafll'?2 
look,  how  you  drumble :'  carry  them  to  the  laun- 
dress in  Datchet  Mead  ;  quickly,  come. 

Enter  Ford,  Page,  Caius,  and  Sir  Hugh  Evans. 

Ford.  Pray  you,  come  near ;  if  I  suspect  with- 
out cause,  why  then  make  sport  at  me,  then  let  me 
be  your  jest ;  I  deserve  it. — How  now  ?  whither 
bear  you  this  ? 

Serv.  To  the  laundress,  forsooth. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Why,  what  have  you  to  do  whither 
they  bear  it  ?  you  were  best  meddle  with  buck- 
washing. 

Ford.  Buck?  I  would  I  could  wash  myself  of 
the  buck  !  Buck,  buck,  buck  ?  ay,  buck  ;'  I  war- 
rant you,  buck  ;  and  of  the  season  too,  it  shall  ap- 
pear. [Exeunt  Servants  with  the  basket.]  Gentle- 
men, I  have  dreamed  to-night ;  I'll  tell  you  my 
dream.  Here,  here,  here  be  my  keys :  ascend  my 
chambers,  search,  seek,  find  out :  I'll  warrant,  we'll 
unkennel  the  fox : — Let  me  stop  this  way  first : — 
So,  now,  uncape.* 

Page.  Good  master  Ford,  be  contented:  you 
wrong  yourself  too  much. 

Ford.  True,  master  Page.-^Up,  gentlemen ;  you 
shall  sec  sport  anon  :  follow  me,  gentlemen. 

[Exit. 

Eva.  This  is  fery  fantastical  humours,  and  jea- 
lousies. 

Caius.  Bj  fpr,  'tis  no  de  fasliion  of  France  :  it 
is  not  jealous  in  France. 

Page.  Nay,  follow  him,  eentlemen  ;  see  the  issue 
of  his  search.       [Exeunt  Evans,  Page,  and  Caius. 

Mrs.  Page.  Is  there  not  a  double  excellency  in 
this? 

Mrs.  Ford.  I  know  not  which  pleases  me  better, 
that  my  husband  is  deceived,  or  sir  John. 

Mrs.  Page.  What  a  takiiicr  was  he  in,  when  yoiu" 
husband  asked  %vho'  was  in  ihe  basket ! 

Mrs.  Ford.  1  am  half  afraid  he  will  have  need  of 
washing ;  so  throwing  him  into  the  water  will  do 
him  a  benefit 

Mrs.  P<ige.  Hangr  him,  dishonest  rascal!  I 
would,  all  of  the  same  strain  were  in  the  same 
distress. 

Mrs.  Ford.  I  think,  my  husband  hath  some  spe- 
cial suspicion  of  Falstaft's  being  here ;  for  I  never 
saw  him  so  gross  in  his  jealousy  till  now. 

Mrs.  Page.  I  will  lay  a  plot  to  try  that :  And 
we  will  yet  nave  more  tricks  with  Falstaff:  his  dis- 
solute disease  will  scarce  obey  this  medicine. 

(1)  Bleaching-time. 

tt;  A  »t«ff  for  carryio;  &  Urge  tub  or  basket. 


Mrs.  Ford.  Shall  we  send  that  foolish  carrion, 
mistress  Quickly,  to  him,  and  excuse  his  throwing 
into  the  water ;  and  give  him  another  hope,  to  be- 
tray him  to  another  punishment  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  We'll  do  it ;  let  him  be  sent  for  to* 
morrow  eight  o'clock,  to  have  amends. 

Re-enler  Ford,  Page,  Caius,  and  Sir  Hugh  Evans. 

Ford.  I  cannot  find  him :  may  be  the  knaTa 
bragged  of  that  he  could  not  compass. 

Mrs.  Page.  Heard  you  that  ? 

Mrs.  Ford.  Ay,  ay,  peace : — You  use  me  well, 
master  Ford,  do  you  ? 

Ford.  Ay,  I  do  so. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Heaven  make  you  better  than  your 
thoughts ! 

Ford.  Amen. 

Mrs.  Page.  You  do  yourself  mighty  wrong, 
master  Ford. 

Ford.  Ay.  ay ;  I  must  bear  it. 

Eva.  If  there  be  any  pody  in  the  house,  and  in 
the  chambers,  and  in  the  coffers,  and  in  the  presses, 
heaven  forffive  my  sins  at  the  day  of  judgment! 

Caiics.  By  gar,  nor  I  too ;  dere  is  no  bodies. 

Page.  Fie,  lie,  master  Ford  !  are  you  not  asham- 
ed ?  VVhat  spirit,  what  devil  suggests  this  imagina- 
tion ?  I  would  not  have  your  distemper  in  this  kind, 
for  the  wealth  of  Windsor  Castle. 

Ford.  'Tis  my  fault,  master  Page :  I  suffer  for  it. 

Eva.  Y^ou  suffer  for  a  pad  conscience :  your  wife 
is  as  honest  a  'omans,  as  I  will  desires  among  five 
thousand,  and  five  hundred  too. 

Cains.  By  gar,  I  see  'tis  an  honest  woman. 

Ford.  Well ; — I  promised  you  a  dinner  : — Come, 
come,  walk  in  the  park :  I  pray  you,  pardon  me ; 
I  will  hereafter  make  known  to  you,  why  I  have 
done  this.  Come,  wife ;— come,  mistress  Page ;  I 
pray  you  pardon  me ;  pray  heaitily,  pardon  me. 

Page.  Let's  go  in,  gentlemen ;  but,  trust  me, 
we'll  mock  him.  I  do  invite  you  to-morrow  morn- 
ing to  my  house  to  breakfast :  after,  we'll  a  bird- 
ing  together :  I  have  a  fine  nawk  for  the  bush : 
shall  it  be  so  ? 

Ford.  Any  thing. 

Eva.  If  there  is  one,  I  shall  make  two  in  the 
company. 

Caius.  If  there  be  one  or  two,  I  shall  make-a  dt 
tird. 

Eva.  In  your  teelh :  for  shame. 

Ford,  Pray  you  go,  master  Page. 

Eva.  I  pray  you  now,  remembrance  to-morrow 
on  the  lousy  knave,  mine  host. 

Caiiis.  Dat  is  good ;  by  gar,  vit  all  my  heart. 

Eva.  A  lousy  knave ;  to  nave  his  jibes  and  his 
mockeries.  [Exeunt 

SCEJ^  IV.— ^2  rocm  in  Page's  house.    Enter 
Fenton  and  Mistress  Jinne  Page. 

Fcnt.  I  see,  I  cannot  get  thy  father's  love ; 
Therefore,  no  more  turn  me  to  him,  sweet  Nan. 

^Snne.  Alas  !  how  then  ? 

Fent.  Wiy,  thou  must  be  thyself. 

He  doth  object,  I  am  too  great  of  birth ; 
And  (hat,  my  state  being  sjall'd  with  my  expense, 
I  seek  to  heal  it  only  by  his  wealth : 
Besides  these,  other  bars  he  lays  before  me,— — 
My  riots  past,  my  wild  societies  • 
And  tells  me,  'tis  a  thing  impossible 
I  should  love  thee,  but  as  a  property. 

dnne.  May  be,  he  tells  you  true. 

(8)  Drone,    (4)  Unbag  the  fox.    (i)  Whtt. 


Stent  r. 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


61 


Fent.  No,  heaven  so  speed  me  in  my  time  to 
come ! 
Albeit,  I  will  confess,  thy  father's  wealth 
Was  the  prst  motive  that  I  woo'd  thee,  Anne : 
Vet,  wooing  thee,  I  found  thee  of  more  value 
Than  stamps  in  gold,  or  sums  in  sealed  bags ; 
And  'tis  the  very  riches  of  thyself 
That  now  I  aim  at. 

^nnt.  Gentle  master  Fenton, 
Yet  seek  my  father's  love :  still  seek  it,  sir : 
If  opportunity  and  humble  suit 
Camiot  attain  it,  why  then — Hark  you  hither. 

[They  convtrse  apart. 

£n{er  Shallow,  Slender,  and  JV/r*.  Quickly. 

Shot.  Break  their  talk,  mistress  Quickly ;  my 
kinsman  shall  speak  for  himself. 

Slen.  I'll  make  a  shaft  or  a  bolt  on't:'  slid,  'tis 
but  venturing. 

Shal.  Be  not  dismav'd. 

Slen.  No,  she  shall  not  dismay  me :  I  care  not 
for  that, — but  that  I  am  afeard. 

Q^^tc^•.  Hark  ye ;  master  Slender  would  speak  a 
word  with  you. 

Jlnne.  I  come  to  him. — This  is  my  father's  choice. 
O,  what  a  world  of  vile  ill-favour'd  faults 
Looks  handsome  in  three  hundred  pounds  a  year  ! 

[^Iside. 

Qia'cfc.  And  how  does  good  master  Fenton  ? 
Pray  you,  a  word  with  you. 

Shal.  She's  comins; ;  to  her,  coz,  O  boy,  thou 
hadst  a  father ! 

Slen.  I  had  a  father,  mistress  Anne  ; — my  uncle 
can  tell  you  pood  jests  of  him : — Pray  you,  uncle, 
tell  mistress  Anne  ihc  jest,  how  my  father  stole  two 
geese  out  of  a  pen,  pood  uncle. 

Shal.  Mistress  Arine,  my  cousin  loves  you. 

Slen.  Ay,  that  I  do ;  as  well  as  I  love  any  woman 
in  Glocestershire. 

Shal.  He  will  maintain  you  like  a  gentlewoman. 

Slen.  Ay,  that  I  will,  come  cut  and  long-tail, * 
under  the  degree  of  a  squire. 

Sluil.  He  will  make  you  a  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds  jointure. 

^9nne.  Good  master  Shallow,  let  him  woo  for 
himself. 

Shal.  Marry^  I  thank  you  for  it;  I  thank  tou  for 
that  good  comlort.    She  calls  you,  coz  ;  I'll  leave 

TOU. 

*  ^nne.  Now,  master  Slender. 

SUn.  Now,  pood  mistress  Anne. 

^nne.  What  is  your  will  ? 

SUn.  My  will?  od's  heartlincrs,  that's  a  pretty 
iest,  indeed !  I  ne'er  made  my  will  yet,  I  thank 
heaven ;  I  am  not  such  a  sickly  creature,  I  give 
heaven  praise. 

tinne,  I  mean,  master  Slender,  what  would  you 
with  me  ? 

Slen.  Truly,  for  mine  own  part,  I  would  little  or 
nothing  with  you:  your  father,  and  my  uncle,  have 
made  motions:  if  it  be  my  luck,  so  :  "if  not,  happy 
man  be  his  dole  !'     They  can  tell  you  how  thinsrs 

go,  better  than  I  can :  you  may  ask  your  father  ; 
crc  he  comes. 

Enter  Page,  and  Mistress  Pasre. 

Page.  Now,  master  Slender:— Love  him,  daugh- 
ter Anne. — 
Why,  how  now !  what  does  master  Fenton  here  ? 
You  wrong  me,  sir,  thus  still  to  haunt  my  house : 

n)  A  proverb— a  shaft  was  a  long  arroTi,  and  a 
Wi  a  thick  short  one.  I 


I  told  you,  sir,  my  daughter  is  dispos'd  of. 

Fent.  Nay,  master  Page,  be  not  impatient. 

Mrs.  Page.  Good  master  Fenton,  come  not  to 
my  child. 

Page.  She  b  no  match  for  you. 

Fent.  Sir,  will  you  hear  me  ? 

Page.  No,  good  master  Fenton. 

Come,  master  Shallow :  come,  son  Slender:  in : — 

Kuowing  my  mind,  you  wronij  me,  master  Fenton. 

[Exeunt  Page,  Shallow,  and  Slender. 

Quick.  Speak  to  mistress  Pape. 

Fent.  Good  mistress  Page,  for  that  I  love  your 
daughter 
In  such  a  righteous  fashion  as  I  do. 
Perforce,  against  all  checks,  rebukes,  and  manners, 
I  must  advance  the  colours  of  my  love. 
And  not  retire :  let  me  have  your  good  will. 

,^nne.  Good  mother,  do  not  marry  me  to  vond' 
fool. 

Mrs.  Page.  I  mcSn  it  not ;  I  seek  you  a  better 
husband. 

Quick.  That's  mv  master,  master  doctor. 

.inne.  Alas,  I  had  rather  be  set  quick  i'  the  earth, 
and  bowl'd  to  death  with  turnips. 

Mrs.  Page.  Come,  trouble  not  yourself:  good 
master  Fenton. 
I  will  not  be  your  friend,  nor  enemy : 
My  dauehter  will  I  question  how  she  loves  you, 
And  as  I  find  her,  so  am  I  affected; 
'Till  then,  farewell,  sir : — She  must  needs  go  in ; 
Her  father  will  be  an<rry. 

[Exeunt  Mrs.  Page  and  Anne. 

Fent.  Farewell,  gentle  mistress  ;  farewell.  Nan. 

Quick.  This  is  my  doing  now ; — Nay,  said  I,  will 
you  cast  away  your  child  on  a  fool,  and  a  physician  7 
Look  on  master  Fenton : — this  is  my  doing. 

Fent.  I  thank  thee ;  and  I  pray  thee,  once  to 
night 
Give  my  sweet  Nan  this  ring :  there's  for  thy  pains. 

[ExU. 

Quick.  Now  heaven  send  thee  good  fortune !  A 
kind  heart  he  hath :  a  woman  would  run  through 
fire  and  water  for  such  a  kind  heart.  But  yet,  I 
would  my  master  had  mistress  Anne  ;  or  I  would 
master  Slender  had  her;  or,  in  sooth,  I  would 
master  Fenton  had  her :  I  will  do  what  I  can  for 
them  all  three  ;  for  so  I  have  promised,  and  I'll  be 
as  pood  ;is  my  word  ;  but  speciously*  for  master 
Fenton.  Well,  I  must  of  another  errand  to  sir  John 
Falstaff  from  my  two  mistresses ;  what  a  beast  am 
I  to  slack'  it !  [ExU. 


Enter 


SCBJ^E  V.—Jl  room  in  the  Garter  Inn. 
Falstaff  and  Bardolph. 

Fat.  Bardolph,  I  say,— 
Bard.  Here,  sir. 

Fal.  Go  fetch  me  a  quart  of  sack  ;  put  a  toast  in't. 
[Exit  Bard.]  Have  I  lived  to  be  carried  in  a  basket, 
like  a  barrow  of  butcher's  offal ;  and  to  be  thrown 
into  the  Thames?  Well;  if  I  be  served  such  an- 

j  other  trick,  I'll  have  my  brains  ta'en  out,  and  but- 

'  tcr'd,  and  give  them  to  a  dog  for  a  new  year's  gift. 

The  rogues  slighted  me  into" the  river  with  as  little 

jremorsc'^  as  they  would  have  drown'd  a  bitch's 
blind  puppies,  fifteen  i'  the  litter:  and  you  may 

[know  by  my  size,  that  I  have  a  kind  of  alacrity  in 
sinking ;  if  the  bottom  were  as  deep  as  hell,  I  should 

(down.  I  had  been  drowned,  but  that  the  shore  »vas 
shLlvv  and  shallow  ;  a  death  that  I  abhor  ;  for  the 

: water  swells  a  man;  and  what  a  thing  should  1 

(2)  Come  poor  or  rich.    (8)  LoU   (4)  Specially, 
(»)  Neglect,    (6)  Pity,  ^       ' 


m 


MERRY  WIVES  01?  WINDSOR. 


Jet  III 


hare  been,  when  I  had  been  swelled!  I  should 
hare  been  a  mountain  of  mummy. 

Re-enter  Bardolph,  with  the  wine. 

Bard.  Here's  mistress  Quickly,  sir,  to  speak 
with  you. 

Fat.  Come,  let  me  pour  in  some  sack  to  the 
Thames  water ;  for  my  belly's  as  cold,  as  if  I  had 
swallowed  snow-balls  for  pilb  to  cool  the  reins. 
Call  her  in. 

Bard.  Come  in,  woman. 

EfUer  Jlfrj.  Quickly. 

Qiticfc.  By  your  leave ;  I  cry  you  mercy :  gire 
your  worship  good-morrow. 

Fat.  Take  awavtiicse  chalices:'  go  brew  me  a 
pottle  of  sack  finefv. 

Bard.  With  eprgs,  sir  ? 

Fal.  Simple  of  itself ;  I'll  no  pullet-sperm  in  my 
brewage. — [Exit  Banlolph.] — How  now  " 


Ford.  "What,  while  you  wefo  there  ? 

Fal.  Wliile  I  was  there. 

Ford.  And  did  he  search  for  you,  and  could  not 
find  you  ? 

Fal.  You  shall  hear.  As  good  luck  would  hare 
it,  comes  in  one  mistress  Page  :  gives  intelligence 
of  Ford's  approach ;  and,  by  her  invention,  and 
Ford's  wife's  distraction,  they  conveyed  me  wlc  c 
buck-basket. 

Ford.  A  buck-basket ! 

Fd.  By  the  Lord,  a  buck-basket :  r&mTned  me 
in  with  foui  shirts  and  smocks,  socks,  foul  stockings, 
and  greasy  napkins ;  that,  master  Brook,  there  was 
the  rankest  compound  of  villanous  smell,  that  ever 
otfended  nostril. 

Ford.  And  how  loni^  lay  you  there  ? 

Fal.  Nay,  you  shall  hear,  master  Brook,  what  I 
have  suffered  to  bring  this  woman  to  evil  for  your 
good.  Being  thus  crammed  in  tlie  basket,  a  couple 
of  Ford's  knaves,  his  hinds,  were  calleu  forth  by 
their  mistress,  to  carry  me  in  the  name  of  ibul 
clothes  to  Datchet-lane :   they  took  me  on  their 


Q,uick.  Marry,  sir,  I  come  to  your  worship  from  I  shoulders ;  met  thejealous  knave,  their  master,  in 
mistress  Ford.  *  I  the  door :  who  asked  them  once  or  twice  what  thev 

Fal.  Mistress  Ford !  I  have  had  fordenoiicrh:  I  [had  in  their  basket.    I  quaked  for  fear,  lest  Uie 


was  thrown  into  the  ford ;  I  have  my  belly  full  of 
ford. 

Quicfc.  Alas  the  day !  ^ood  heart,  that  was  not 
her  fault :  she  does  so  take  on  with  her  men ;  they 
mistook  tncir  erection. 

Fal.  So  did  I  mine,  to  build  upon  a  foolish 
woman's  promise. 

Qiticfc.  Well,  she  laments,  sir,  fo'*  it,  that  it 


lunatic  knave  would  hare  searched  it ;  but  Fate 
o-daining  he  should  be  a  cuckold,  held  his  hand. 
Well :  on  went  he  for  a  search,  and  away  went  I 
for  foul  clothes.  But  mark  the  sequel,  master  Brook : 
I  sufFered  the  pansys  of  three  several  deaths  :  first, 
an  intolerable  fright,  to  be  detected  %vith  a  jealous 
rotten-bell-wether :  next,  to  be  compassed  like  a 
good  bilbo,*  in  the  circumference  of  a  peck,  hilt  to 


would  yearn  your  heart  to  see  it.     Her  husband! point,  heel  to  head:  and  then,  to  be  stopped  in,  like 
goes  this  morning  a  birding;  she  desires  yoti  onceja  strontr  distillation,  with  stinking  clothes  that  fret 


more  to  come  to  her  between  eisrht  and  nine:  I  must 
carry  her  word  quickly :  she'll  make  you  amends, 
I  warrant  you. 

Fal.  Well,  I  will  visit  her:  tell  h^rso;  and  bid 
her  think,  what  a  man  is :  let  her  consider  his 
frailty,  and  then  judge  of  my  merit, 

Qwic/.-.  I  will  tell  her. 

Fal.  Do  so.  Between  nine  and  ten,  say'st  thou? 

Qiticfc.  Eight  and  nine,  sir. 

Fal.  Well,  be  crone :  I  will  not  miss  her. 

Q(«cfc.  Peace  be  with  you,  sir !  f  Exit. 

Fal.  I  marvel,  I  hear  not  of  master  Brook ;  he 
sent  me  word  to  stay  within :  I  like  his  money  v/ell. 
O,  here  he  comes. 

Enter  Ford. 

Ford.  Bless  you,  sir ! 

Fal.  Now,  master  Brook ;  you  corns  to  know 
what  hath  passed  between  me  and  Ford's  wife  ? 

ford.  That,  indeed,  sir  John,  is  my  business. 

Fal.  Master  Brook,  I  will  not  lie  to  you ;  I  was 
at  her  house  the  hour  she  appointed  mc. 

Ford.  And  how  speed  you,  sir  ? 

Fal.  Very  ill-favonredlv,  mas'tcr  Brook. 

Ford.  How  so,  sir?  Did  she  change  her  deter- 
mination 7 

Fal.  No,  master  Brook ;  but  the  pr- aking  cornu- 
to,  her  husband,  master  Brook,  dwelling  in  a  con- 
tinual 'larum  of  jealousy,  comes  mc  in  the  instant 


ted  in  their  own  grease:  think  of  that, — a  man  of 
my  kidney, — think  of  that ;  that  am  as  subject  to 
heat  as  butter ;  a  man  of  continual  dissolution  and 
thaw ;  it  was  a  miracle  to  'scape  sutfocation.  And 
in  the  height  of  this  bath,  when  I  was  more  than 
half  stewed  in  grease,  like  a  Dutch  dish,  to  be 
thrown  into  the  Thames,  and  cooled,  glowin?  hoi, 

in  that  surge,  like  a  horse-shoe  ;  thniK  of  that ; 

hissing  hot,— think  of  that,  master  Brook. 

Ford.  In  good  sadness,'  sir,  I  am  sorry  that  for 
my  sake  you  have  suffered  all  this.  My  suit  then 
is  desperate ;  you'll  undertake  her  no  more. 

Fal.  Master'Brook,  I  will  be  thrown  into  JEtna, 
as  I  have  been  into  the  Thames,  ere  I  will  leave 
her  thus.  Her  husband  is  this  morning  gone  a  bird- 
ing :  I  have  received  from  her  another  embassy  of 
meeting;  'twixt  eight  and  nine  is  the  hour,  master 
Brook. 

Ford,  'Tis  past  eight  already,  sir. 

Fal.  Is  it  ?  I  will  then  address  me*  to  my  appoint- 
ment. Come  to  me  at  your  convenient  leisure,  and 
you  shall  know  howl  speed;  and  the  conclusion 
shall  be  crowned  with  your  enjoying  her :  adieu. 
You  shall  have  her,  master  Brook;  master  Brook, 
you  shall  cuckold  Ford.  [Exit. 

Ford.  Hum !  ha !  is  this  a  vision  ?  is  this  a  dream  7 
do  I  slcip  ?  Master  Ford,  awake :  awake,  master 
Ford ;  there's  a  hole  made  in  your  best  coat,  master 
Ford.  This  'tis  to  be  married  !  this  'tis  to  have  linen. 


,  ,    -     - have  linen, 

-  -....,.  and  buck-baskets !— Well,  I  will  proclaim  mysell 

of  our  encounter,  after  we  had  embraced,  kissed,  |  what  I  am :  I  will  now  take  the  lecher  •  he  is  at  mv 
protested,  and,  as  it  were,  spoke  the  prologue  of i house  :  he  cannot  'scape  me;  'tis  impossible  he 
our  comedy  :  and  at  his  heels  a  rabble  of  his  com-  should  ;  he  cannot  creep  into  a  half-penny  purse 
pamons,  thither  provoked  and  ins'.icatcd  by  his  d  is- nor  into  a  pepper-box:  but,  lest  the  devil  that 
temper,  and,  forsooth,  to  search  his  house  for  bis  guides  him  should  aid  him,  I  will  search  impossible 
wife  s  love.  places.    Though  what  I  am  I  cannot  avoid,  yet  to 


(1)  Cups. 

\V  Bilooft,  wb<r«  the  beit  bladci  are  ma^e. 


(3)  Seriousneu.       '4}  Muke  myself  rtadj. 


Scene  /,  //. 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


be  what  I  would  not,  shall  not  make  me  tame :  if 
I  have  horns  to  make  one  mad,  let  the  proverb  50 
with  me,  I'll  be  horn  mad.  [Exit. 


ACT  IV. 

SCE^'E  I.— The  Street.    Enter  Mrs.  Page,  Mrs. 
Quickly,  and  William, 

Mrs.  Page.  Is  he  at  master  Ford's  already, 
think'st  thou  ? 

Q,uick.  Sure  he  is  by  this  ;  or  will  be  presently  : 
but  truly,  he  is  very  couraojeous'  mad,  about  his 
throwing  into  the  water.  Mistress  Ford  desires  you 
to  come  suddenly. 

Mrs.  Pap^e.  I'll  be  with  her  by  and  by ;  I'll  but 
brinar  my  young  man  here  to  school :  look,  wiiere 
his  master  comes ;  'tis  a  playing-day,  I  see. 

Enter  Sir  Hugh  Evans. 

How  now,  sir  Hua:h  ?  no  school  to-day  ? 

Eva.  No ;  master  Slender  is  let  the  boys  leave 
to  play. 

Qui'c/:.  Blessing  of  his  heart! 
Mrs.  Page.   Sir  Hugh,  mv  husband  says,  my 
son  profits  nothing  in  the  world  at  his  book  ;  I  pray 
you,  ask  him  some  questions  in  his  accidence. 

Eva.  Come  hither,  William;  hold  up  your 
head ;  come. 

Mrs.  Page.  Come  on,  sirrah ;  hold  up  your 
head ;  answer  your  master,  be  not  afraid. 

Eva.  William,  how  many  numbers  is  in  nouns  ? 

Will.  Two. 

(Ittick.  Truly,  I  thought  there  had  been  one 
number  more ;  because  they  say,  od's  nouns. 

Eva.  Peace  your  tattlings.  What  is  fair,  Wil- 
liam ? 

Will.  Pulcher. 

(luick.  Poulcats !  there  are  fairer  things  than 
poulcats,  sure. 

Eva.  You  are  a  very  simplicity  'oman  ;  I  pray 
you,  peace.    What  is  lapis,  William  ? 

Will.  A  stone. 

Eva.  And  what  is  a  stone,  William  ? 

WUl.  A  pebble. 

Eva.  No,  it  is  lapis;  I  pray  you  remember  in 
your  prain. 

Will.  Lapis. 

Eva.  That  is  j^ood  William.  What  is  he,  Wil 
liam,  that  docs  lend  articles? 

Will.  Articles  are  borrowed  of  the  pronoun ; 
and  be  thus  declined,  Singtdariter,  nominativo, 
hie,  hcEC,  hoc. 

Eva.  ^ominalivOf  hi^,  hag,  hog ;  pray  you, 
mark:  genilivo,  hujus:  Well,  what  is  your  occu 
sative  case  ? 

Will.  .iccMsafiro,  hinc. 

Eva.  I  pray  you,  have  your  remembrance, 
child ;  ^iccusativo,  hing,  hang,  hog. 

Quick.  Hang  hog  is  Latiii  for  bacon,  I  warrant 
you. 

Eva.  Leave  your  prabbles,  'oman.  What  is 
the  focative  case,  Wilham  ? 

Will.  0—Vocativo,  O. 

Eva.  Remember,  William ;  focative  is,  caret, 

Q,uick.  And  that's  a  good  root. 


Eva.  'Oman,  forbear. 

JSIrs.  Page.  Peace. 

Eva,  What  is  your  genitive  case,  pUtrd,  Wfl 
liam? 

WUl.  Genitive  case  ? 

Eva.  Ay. 

Will.  Gmitive, — hmttm,  harum,  h^mitn. 

(iuick.  'Vengeance  of  Jenny^s  case!  fie  on 
her ! — never  name  her,  child,  if  she  be  a  whore. 

Eva.  For  shame,  'oman. 

Q,uick.  You  do  ill  to  teach  the  child  such  words: 
he  teaches  him  to  hick  and  to  hack,  which  they'll 
do  fast  enough  of  themselves ;  and  to  call  horum  :— 
fie  upon  you ! 

Eva.  'Oman,  art  thou  lunatics?  hast  Ihou  no 
understandings  for  thy  cases,  and  ths  numbers  of 
the  genders  ?  Thou  art  as  foolish  Christian  crea- 
tures as  I  %vould  desires. 

Mrs.  Page.  Pr'y  thee,  hold  thy  peace. 

Eva.  Show  me  now,  William,  some  declensions 
ol'your  pronouns. 

JVilt.  Forsooth,  I  have  forgot. 

Eva.  It  is  ki,  kce,  codj  if  you  forget  your  kies, 
your  kccs,  and  your  cods,  you  must  be  preeches." 
(jo  your  ways,  and  play,  go. 

Mrs.  Page.  He  is  a  better  scholar  than  I 
thought  he  was. 

Eva.  He  is  a  good  sprag*  memory.  Farewell, 
mistress  Page. 

Mrs.  Page.  Adieu,  good  sir  Hugh.  [Exit  Sir 
Hugh.]  Get  you  home,  boy. — Come,  we  stay 
too  long.  [Exeunt, 

SCJEJVE  II.— ^i  room  in  Ford's  house,     Enler 
Falstaff  and  Mrs.  Ford. 

Fal.  Mistress  Ford,  your  sorrow  hath  eaten  up 
my  sufferance :  I  sec,  you  are  obsequious*  in  your 
love,  and  I  profess  requital  to  a  hair's  breadth ;  not 
only,  mistress  Ford,  in  the  simple  office  of  love,  but 
in  all  the  accoutrement,  complement,  and  ceremo- 
ny of  it.    But  are  you  sure  of  your  husband  now? 

Mrs.  Ford.  He's  a  birdinsr,  sweet  sir  John. 

Mrs.  Page.  [IRtAin.]  What  hoa, gossip  Ford! 
what  hoa ! 

Mrs.  Ford.  Step  into  the  chamber,  sir  John. 

[Exit  FalstaiT. 

Enter  Mrs.  Page. 

Mrs.  Page.  How  now,  sweetheart?  who's  at 
home  beside  yourself? 

Mrs.  Ford.  Why,  none  but  mine  own  people. 

Mrs.  Page.  Indeed  ? 

.Mrs.  Ford.  No, certainly; — speaklouder.  [.^side. 

.Mrs.  Page.  Truly,  I  am  so  glad  you  have  no- 
bodv  here. 

.yJrs.  Ford.  Why? 

Mrs.  Page.  Why,  woman,  your  husband  is  in 
his  old  lunes*  again  :  he  so  takes  on  yonder  with 
my  husband ;  so  rails  airainst  ail  married  mankind ; 
so' curses  all  Eve's  daughters,  o/'wnat  complexion 
soever;  and  to  buffets  hims-elf  on  the  forehead, 
crying,  peer  out,  peer  out !"  that  any  madness  I 
ever  yet  beheld,  seemed  but  taincness,  civility, 
and  patience,  to  this  his  distemper  he  is  in  now  :  1 
am  glad  the  fat  knight  is  not  hcrr. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Why,  does  he  talk  of  him  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  Of  none  but  him ;  and  swears,  he 
was  carried  out,  the  las*  time  he  searched  for  him, 
in  a  basket :  protests  to  my  husband,  he  is  now 


il)  Outrageous. 
S)  Apt  to  learn. 


t^ 


Breeched,  i.  e.  flowered.         (6)  As  cliildren  call  on  a  snail  to  push  forth  bii 
Sorrowful.    (5)  >Iadfits.lhorns, 


64 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


Act  If. 


here ;  imd  hath  drawn  him  and  the  rest  of  their 
company  from  their  sport,  to  make  another  experi- 
ment 01  his  suspicion :  but  I  am  glad  the  Icnight 
is  not  here  ;  now  he  shall  see  his  own  foolery. 

Mrs.  Ford.  How  near  is  he,  mistress  Page  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  Hard  by ;  at  street  end ;  he  ^vill 
be  here  anon. 

Mrs.  Ford.  I  am  undone !— the  knight  is  here. 

Mrs.  Page.  Why,  then  you  are  utterly  shamed, 
and  he's  but  a  dead  man.  What  a  woman  are 
you !— Away  with  him,  away  with  him  ;  better 
shame  than  murder. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Which  way  should  he  go?  how 
•hould  I  bestow  him  ?  Shall  I  put  him  into  the  bas- 
ket ag^  ? 

Re-enter  Falstafil 

Fd.  No,  I'll  come  no  more  i'  the  basket :  may 
I  not  go  out,  ere  he  come  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  Alas,  three  of  master  Ford's  bro- 
thers watch  the  door  with  pistols,  that  none  should 
issue  out ;  otherwise  you  might  slip  away  ere  he 
came.    But  what  make  you  here  ? 

Fal.  What  shall  I  do  ?— I'll  creep  up  into  the 
chimney. 

Mrs.  Ford.  There  they  always  use  to  discharge 
their  birding-pieces :  creep  into  the  kiln-hole. 

Fal.  Where  is  it  ? 

Mrs.  Ford.  He  will  seek  there  on  my  word. 
Neither  press,  coffer,  chest,  trunk,  well,  vault,  but 
he  hath  an  abstract'  for  the  remembrance  of  such 
places,  and  goes  to  them  by  his  note:  there  is  no 
hiding  you  in  the  house. 

F(u.  I'll  go  out  then. 

Mrs.  Page.  If  you  go  out  m  your  own  sem- 
blance, you  die,  sir  John.  Unless  you  go  out  dis 
guised, — 

Mrs.  Ford.  How  might  we  disguise  him  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  Alas  the  day,  I  know  net.  There 
Is  no  woman's  gown  big  enough  for  him  ;  other- 
wise, he  might  put  on  a  hat,  a  muffler,  and  a  ker 
chief,  and  so  escape. 

Fal.  Good  hearts,  devise  something :  any  extre- 
mity, rather  than  a  mischief. 

Mrs.  Ford.  My  maid's  aunt,  the  fat  woman  of 
Brentford,  has  a  gown  above. 

Mrs.  Page.  On  my  word,  it  will  serve  him ; 
she's  as  big  as  he  is :  and  there's  her  thrum'd  hat, 
and  her  mu  filer  too :  run  up,  sir  John. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Go,  go,  sweet  sir  John ;  mistress 
Page  and  I  will  look  some  linen  for  your  head. 

Mrs.  Page.  Quick,  quick;  we'll  come  dress 
you  straight :  put  on  the  gown  the  while. 

lExit  Fal 

Mrs.  Ford.  I  would  my  husband  would  meet 
him  in  this  shape :  he  cannot  abjde  the  old  woman 
of  Brentford  ;  he  swears,  she's  a  witch  ;  forbade 
her  my  house,  and  hath  threatened  to  beat  her. 

Mrs.  Page.  Heaven  guide  him  to  thy  husband's 
cudMl ;  and  the  devil  guide  iiis  cudgel  after- 
wards! 

Mrs.  Ford.  But  is  my  husband  coming? 

Mrs.  Page.  Ay,  in  good  sadness,*  is  he ;  and 
talks  of  the  basket  too,  howsoever  he  hath  had  in' 
telli2:ence. 

Mrs.  Ford.  We'll  try  that ;  for  I'll  appoint  my 
men  to  carry  the  basket  again,  to  meet  him  at  the 
door  wilh  if,  as  they  did  last  time. 

Mrs.  Page.  Nay,  but  he'll  be  here  presently: 
Ut's  go  dress  him  like  tlie  witch  of  Brentford. 

(I)  Sho'4  note  ofi       (2)  Seriousness, 


Mrs.  Ford.  I'll  first  direct  my  men,  what  they 
shall  do  with  the  basket.  Go  up,  I'll  bring  liner, 
for  him  straight  . .        ,.  .  ,  l^*»** 

Mrs.  Page.    Hang  him,  dishonest  Tarlet !   we 
cannot  misuse  him  enough. 
We'll  leave  a  proof,  by  that  which  we  will  do, 
Wives  may  be  merry,  and  yet  honest  too  : 
We  do  not  act,  that  often  jest  and  laugh ; 
'Tis  old  but  true,  Still  swine  eat  all  the  draff. 

[ExU. 

Re-enter  Mrs,  Ford,  toith  (too  servants. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Go,  sirs,  take  the  basket  again  on 
your  shoulders ;  your  master  is  hard  at  door :  if  he 
bid  you  set  it  down,  obey  him :  quickly,  despatch. 

[Exit. 

1  Serv.  Come,  come,  take  it  up. 

2  Serv.  Pray  heaven,  it  be  not  full  of  the  knight 
again. 

1  Serv.  I  hope  not ;  I  had  as  lief  bear  so  much 
lead. 

Enter  Ford,  Page,  Shallow,  Caius,  and  Sir  Hugh 
Evans. 

Ford.  Ay,  but  if  it  prove  true,  master  Page, 
have  you  any  way  then  to  unfool  me  a^ain  ? — Set 
down  the   basket,   villain  : — Somebody  call   my 

wife : You,  youth  in  a  basket,  come  out  here ! 

— O,  you  panderly  rascals !  there's  a  knot,  a  gin»,» 
a  pack,  a  conspiracy  acrainst  me :  now  shall  the 
devil  be  shamed.  What !  wife,  1  say !  come, 
come  forth ;  behold  what  honest  clothes  you  send 
forth  to  bleachinir. 

Page.  Why,  this  passes;*  Master  Ford,  you 
are  not  to  go  loose  any  longer  ;  you  must  be 
pinioned. 

Eva.  Why,  this  is  lunatics !  this  is  mad  as  a  mad 
dog! 

Skal.  Indeed,  master  Ford,  this  is  not  well ; 
indeed. 

Enter  Mrs.  Ford. 

Ford.  So  say  I  too,  Sir. — Come  hither,  mistress 
Ford ;  mistress  Ford,  the  honest  woman,  the 
modest  %vife,  the  virtuous  creature,  that  hath  the 
jealous  fool  to  her  husband! — I  suspect  without 
cause,  mistress,  do  I  ? 

Mrs.  Ford.  Heaven  be  my  witness,  you  do,  if 
you  suspect  me  in  any  dishonesty. 

jPord.  Well  said,  brazen-face ;  hold  it  out^— 
Come  forth,  sirrah. 

[Pidls  the  clothes  out  of  the  basket. 

Page.  This  passes ! 

Mrs.  Ford.  Are  you  not  ashamed?  let  the 
clothes  alone.  * 

Ford.  I  shall  find  you  anon. 

Eva.  'Tis  unreasonable!  Will  you  take  up  your 
wife'*  clothes  ?  Come  away. 

Ford.  Empty  the  basket,  I  say. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Why,  man,  why, — 

Ford.  Master  Page,  as  I  am  a  man,  there  was 
one  conveyed  out  of  my  house  yesterday  in  this 
basket :  Why  may  not  he  be  there  again  ?  In  my 
house  I  am  sure  he  is :  my  intelligence  is  true ; 
my  jealousy  is  reasonable:  Pluck  me  out  all  the 
linen. 

Mrs.  Ford.  If  you  find  a  man  there,  he  shall 
die  a  flea's  death. 

Page.  Here's  no  man. 

(3)  Gang.   (4)  Surpasses,  to  go  beyond  bounds. 


Seen*  ///,  IV. 


MERRY  WIVES  OP  ^VINl>s6ll. 


SLil.  By  my  fidelity,  this  is  not  well,  master, licly shamed:  and,  methlnVs.  there  would  be  no 
>rd ;  this  wrongs  you.  period  to  the   jest,  should  he   not  be    publicly 


Ford,  w...  . .....;.-, ™ 

Eva.  Master  Tord,  you  must  pray,  and  not 
follow  Uie  imaginations  of  your  own  heart :  this  is 
jealousies. 

Ford.  Well,  he's  not  here  I  seek  for. 

i^age.  No.  nor  no  where  else,  but  m  your  brain. 

Ford.  Help  to  search  my  house  this  one  time : 
if  I  tind  not  what  I  seek,  show  no  colour  for  my 
extremity,  let  me  for  ever  be  your  table-sport :  let 
them  say  of  me.  As  jealous  as  Ford,  that  search'd 
a  hollow  walnut  for  his  wife's  leman. '  Satisfy  me 
ouce  more ;  once  more  search  with  me. 

J\irf.  Ford.  What  hoa,  mistress  Page!  come 
you,  and  thp  old  woman  down ;  my  husband  will 
come  into  the  chamber. 

F^»•d.  Old  woman  !  What  old  woman's  that  ? 

Jtfr*.  Ford.  Why,  it's  my  maid's  aunt  of  Brent- 
ford. 

Ford.  A  witch,  a  Quean,  an  old  cozening  quean ! 
Have  I  not  forbid  her  my  house?  She  comes  ol 
errands,  does  she  ?  We  are  simple  men  ;  we  do 
not  know  what's  brought  to  pass  under  the  profes- 
sion of  fortune-telling.  She  works  by  charms,  by 
spells,  by  the  figure,  and  such  daubery  as  this  is  ; 

beyond  our  element ;  we  know  nothini;. Come 

down,  you  witch^  you  hag  you ;  come  down,  I  say. 

Mrs.  Ford.  N  ay,  good  sweet  husband  ; — goou 
gentlemen,  let  him  not  strike  the  old  woman. 

Enter  Falstaff  in  toojnen's  clothes,  led  by  Mrs.  Page. 

^rs.  Page.  Come,  mother  Pratt,  come,  give  me 
your  hand. 

Ford.  I'll  prat  her : Out  of  my  door,  you 

witch!  [bctUs  him.]  you  rag,  you  baggage,  you 

folecat,  you  ronyon  !^  out !  out !  I'll  conjure  you, 
'11  fortune-tell  you.  [Emt  Falstali. 

.?ilrs.  Page.  Are  you  not  ashamed  /  I  think,  you 
have  kill'd  the  poor  w  oman. 

J^rs.  Ford.  Nay,  he  will  do  it:— 'Tis  a  goodly 
credit  for  vou. 

Ford.  Hang  her,  witch ! 

Eva.  By  yea  and  no,  I  think,  the  'oman  is  a 
witch  indeed  :  I  like  not  when  a  'oman  has  a  great 
peard  ;  I  spy  a  great  peard  under  her  muffler. 

Ford.  Will  you  follow,  gentlemen  ?  I  beseech 
you,  follow  ;  see  but  the  issue  of  my  jealousy :  if  I 
cry  out  thus  upon  no  trail, ^  never  trust  me  when  1 
opcn^  again. 

Page.  Let's  obey  his  humour  a  little  further  ; 

Come,  gentlemen.  [Ex.  Page,  Ford,  Shal.  and  Eva. 

Mrs.  Page.  Trust  me,  he  beat  him  most  pitifully. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Nay,  by  tlie  mass,  that  he  did  not ; 

he  beat  him  most  unpitifully,  meihought. 

Mrs.  Pagt.  I'll  have  the  cudgel  halloived,  and 
hung  o'er  the  altar;  it  hath  done  meritorious  service. 
Mrs.  Ford.  What  think  you  ?  May  we,  with  the 
warrant  of  womanhood,  and  the  witness  of  a  good 
conscience,  pursue  him  with  any  further  revenge  ? 
Mrs.  Page.  The  spirit  of  wantotniess  is,  sure, 
scared  out  of  him  ;  if  tlie  devil  have  him  not  in  fee- 
simple,  with  fine  and  recovery,  he  will  never,  I 
think,  in  the  way  of  waste,  attempt  us  again. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Shall  we  tell  our  husbands  how  we 
have  served  him  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  Ves,  by  all  means ;  if  it  be  but  to 
scrape  the  fiwures  out  of  your  husband's  brains.  If 
they  can  tind  in  their  hearts,  the  poor  unvirtuous 
ftt linighl  shall  be  any  further  atllicted,  wc  tivo  v.Ill 
•till  be  the  ministers. 
Mrs.  Ford.  I'll  warrant,  they'll  have  him  pub- 

(ni'Over.        (2)  Scab,        (3}  Scent, 


Mrs.  Page.  Come,  to  the  forge  with  it  then, 
shape  it :  I  would  not  have  things  cpol.    [Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E  Ill.—Jl  room  in  the  Garter  Inn.    Enttr 
Host  and  Bardolph. 

Bard.  Sir,  the  Germans  desire  to  have  three  of 
your  horses  :  the  duke  himself  will  bj  to-morrow  at 
court,  and  they  are  going  to  meet  him. 

Host.  What  duke  should  that  be,  comes  so  *e 
cretly  ?  I  hoar  not  of  him  in  the  court :  Let  m« 
speak  with  the  gentlemen  ;  they  speak  EngUsh? 

Bard.  Ay,  sir ;  I'll  call  them  to  you. 

Host.  They  shall  have  my  horses ;  but  I'll  make 
them  pay,  I'll  sauce  them :  they  have  had  my  hou$f 
a  week  at  command  ;  I  have  turned  away  my  other 
guests :  they  must  come  pfl'j  I'll  sauce  them :  CornV* 

[£x(UNJt. 


SCEXE  IV.— A  room  in  Fprd's  Housf.    Enter 
Page.  Ford,  Mr?.  Ptije,  Mrs,  Fprd,  and  Sir 

Hugh  Evans. 

Eva.  'Tis  one  of  the  pest  discretipns  of  a  'pm«a 
as  ever  I  did  look  upon. 

Page.  And  did  he  send  you  both  these  letter*  at 
an  instant  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  Within  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

Ford.  Pardon  me,  wife :  Henceforth  do  what 
thou  wilt ; 
I  rather  will  suspect  the  sun  with  cold. 
Than  thee  with  wantonness :  now  dotn  thy  hpnout 

stand, 
In  him  that  Avas  of  late  a  heretic, 
.■\.s  firm  as  faith. 

Page.  'Tis  well,  'tis  well ;  no  more, 

Be  not  as  dxtreme  in  submission, 
As  in  offence  ; 

But  let  our  plot  go  forward  :  let  our  wives 
Vet  once  again,  lo  make  us  public  sport. 
Appoint  a  meeting  with  this  old  fat  feiloiv, 
W  iiere  we  may  tal;e  him,  and  disgrace  him  for  it. 

Ford.  There  is  no  better  way  than  that  Uiej 
spoke  of. 

Page.  How !  to  send  him  word  they'll  meet  him 
in  the  park  at  midni;jhl !  fie,  fie ;  he'll  never  come. 

Era.  You  say  he  has  been  thrown  in  the  rivers  ; 
and  has  been  grievously  peaten,  as  an  old  'oman  ; 
methinks,  there  should  be  terrors  in  him,  that  he 
should  not  come;  methinks  his  flesh  is  punished, 
he  shall  have  no  desires. 

Page.  So  think  I  too. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Devise  but  how  you'll  use  him  when 
he  comes. 
And  let  us  two  devise  to  bring  him  thither. 

Jlfrs.  Page.  There  is  an  old  tale  goes,  that  Heme 
the  hunter. 
Sometime  a  keeper  here  in  Windsor  forest, 
Doth  all  the  winter  time,  at  still  midnieht. 
Walk  round  about  an  oak,  with  preat  ragg'd  horns ; 
And  there  he  blasts  the  tree,  and  takes*  the  cattle ; 
And  makes  milch-kine  yield  blood,  and  shakes  a 

chain  -   ■ 

In  a  most  hideous  and  dreadful  manner. 
You  have  heard  of  such  a  spirit ;  and  well  you 

know. 
The  superstitious  idle-headed  eld* 
Keceiv'd,  and  did  deliver  to  our  age. 
This  tale  of  Hcrne  the  hunter  for  «  truth. 

(4)  Cry  out.       (5)  Strikes.      (6)Ulda«|e, 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


Jet  ir. 


Page,  Why,  yet  there  vrant  not  many,  that  do  fear 
In  deep  of  night  to  walk  by  this  Herue's  oak ; 
But  what  of  this? 

Mrs.  Ford.  Marry,  this  is  our  device  ; 

That  Falstaff  atthat  oak  shall  meet  with  us^ 
Disguis'd  like  Heme,  willi  huge  horns  on  his  head 

Page.  Well,  let  it  not  be  doubted  but  he'll  come, 
And  in  this  shape :  When  you  have  brought  him 

thither. 
What  shall  be  done  with  him  ?  what  is  your  plot  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  That  likewise  have  we  thought  up- 
on, and  thus : 
Nan  Page  my  daughter,  and  my  little  son, 
And  three  or  four  more  oC  their  growth,  we'll  dress 
Like  urchins,  ouphes,'  and  fairies,  green  and  white, 
With  rounds  of  waxen  tapers  on  their  heads, 
And  rattles  in  their  hands  ;  upon  a  sudden, 
\s  FalstafT,  she,  and  I,  are  newly  met, 
Let  them  from  forth  a  saw-pit  rush  at  once 
With  some  diffused'  song ;  upon  their  sight. 
We  two  in  great  amazedness  will  fly : 
Then  let  them  all  encircle  him  about, 
And,  fairy-like,  to  pinch  the  unclean  knight ; 
And  a-sk  nim,  why,  that  hour  of  fairy  revel, 
In  their  so  sacred  pads  he  dares  to  tread. 
In  shape  profane. 

Mrs.  Ford.  And  till  he  tell  the  truth, 

Let  the  supposed  fairies  pinch  him  sound,' 
And  bum  nun  with  their  tapers. 

Mrs.  Page.  The  truth  being  known, 

We'll  all  present  ourselves ;  dis-hom  the  spirit, 
And  mock  him  home  to  Windsor. 

Ford.  The  children  must 

Be  practised  well  to  this,  or  they'll  ne'er  do't. 

Eva.  I  will  teach  the  children  their  behaviours ; 
and  I  will  be  like  a  jack-an-napes  also,  to  bum  the 
knizht  with  my  taber. 

Ford.  That  will  be  excellent  I'll  go  buy  them 
Tizards. 

Mrs.  Page.  My  Nan  shall  be  the  queen  of  all 
the  fairies, 
Finely  attired  in  a  robe  of  white. 

Page.  That  silk  will  I  ffo  buy :— and  in  that  time 
Shall  master  Slender  steal  my  "Nan  away,  [^side. 

And  marry  her  at  Eton. Go,  send  to  Falstaff 

straight. 

Ford.  Nay,  I'll  to  him  again  in  name  of  Brook : 
He'll  tell  me  all  his  purpose :  sure  he'll  come. 

Mrs.  Page.  Fear  not  you  that :  Go,  get  us  pro- 
perties,* 
And  tricking  for  our  fairies. 

Eva.  Let  us  about  it :  It  is  admirable  pleasures, 
and  fery  honest  knaveries. 

[Exeunt  Page,  Ford,  and  Evans, 

Mrs.  Pa^e.  Go,  mistress  Ford, 
Send  quickly  to  sir  John,  to  know  his  mind. 

[ExU  Mrs.  Ford, 
I'll  to  the  doctor;  he  hath  my  good  will, 
And  none  but  he,  to  marry  with  Nan  Page. 
That  Slender,  though  well  landed,  is  an  idiot ; 
And  he  my  husband  best  of  all  affects  : 
The  doctor  is  well  money'd,  and  his  friends 
Potent  at  court ;  he,  none  but  he,  shall  have  her, 
lliough  twenty  thousand  worthier  come  to  crave 
her.  [ExU 


SCEJfE  V,—^  room  in  the  Garter  Inn.    Enter 
Host  and  Simple. 

Host.  What  would'st  thou  have,  boor?  what, 

i\)  Elft,  hobgoblins,        (2)  WUd.  discordant. 
(SjSflumdly,    (4)  |<8ceM aw'     '*)  CannibaL 


thick-skin  ?  speak,  breathe,  discuu ;  brief,  short, 

quick,  snap. 

Sim.  Marry,  sir,  I  come  to  speak  with  sir  John 
Falstaff  from  master  Slender. 

Host.  There's  his  chamber,  his  house,  his  castle, 
his  standing-bed,  and  truckle-bed ;  'tis  painted 
about  with  the  story  of  the  prodigal,  fresh  and  new  : 
Go,  knock  and  call ;  he'll  speak  like  an  Jlnthropo- 
phaginiaii'-'  unto  thee :  Knock,  I  say. 

Him.  There's  an  old  woman,  a  fat  woman,  gone 
up  into  his  chamber;  I'll  be  so  bold  as  to  stay,  sir, 
till  she  come  down :  I  come  to  speak  with  her,  in- 
deed. 

Host.  Ha  !  a  fat  woman !  the  knight  may  be  rob- 
bed: I'll  call.— Bully  knight!  Bully  sir  John! 
speak  from  thv  lun?s  military :  Art  thou  there?  it 
is  thine  host,  tliine  Ephesian,  calls. 

Fal.  [Jlbove.]  How  nowj  mine  host  ? 

Host.  Here's  a  Bohemian  Tartar  tarries  the 
comin"  down  of  tliy  fat  woman :  Let  her  descend, 
bully,  let  her  descend :  my  chambers  are  honoura- 
ble :  Fie !  privacy  ?  fie ! 

Enter  Falstaff. 

Fal.  There  was,  mine  host,  an  old  fat  woman 
even  now  with  me ;  but  she's  gone. 

Sim.  Pray  you,  sir,  was't  not  the  wise*  woman 
of  Brentford? 

Fed.  Ay,  marry,  was  it,  muscle-shell;  What 
would  you  with  her  ? 

Sim.  My  master,  sir,  my  master  Slender,  sent  to 
her,  seeing  her  jfo  througH  the  streets,  to  know,  sir, 
whether  one  Nym,  sir,  that  beguiled  him  of  a  chain, 
liad  the  chain,  or  no. 

Fal.  I  spake  with  the  old  woman  about  it. 

Sim.  And  what  says  she,  I  praj ,  sir  ? 

Fid.  Many-,  she  says,  that  the  very  same  man. 
that  beguiled  master  Slender  of  his  chain,  cozened 
him  of  It. 

Sim.  I  would,  I  could  have  spoken  with  the 
woman  herself;  I  had  other  things  to  have  spoken 
with  her  too,  from  him. 

Fal.  What  are  they  ?  let  us  know. 

Host,  Ay,  come ;  quick. 

Sim.  I  may  not  conceal  them,  sir. 

Fai.  Conceal  them,  or  thou  diest. 

Sim.  Why,  sir,  they  were  nothing  but  about 
mistress  Anne  Page ;  to  know,  if  it  were  mv  mas- 
ter's fortune  to  have  her,  or  no. 

Fal.  'Tis,  'tis  his  fortune. 

Sim.  What,  sir  ? 

Fal.  To  have  her,— or  no :  Go ;  say,  the  woman 
told  me  so. 

Sim.  May  I  he  so  bold  to  say  so,  sir  ? 

Fal.  Ay,  sir  Tike  ;  who  more  bold  ? 

Sim.  I  thank  your  worship :  I  shall  make  my 
master  glad  with  these  tidings.  [Exit  Simple. 

Host.  Thou  art  clerkly,*^ thou  art  clerkly,  sir 
John :  Was  there  a  wise  %voman  with  thee  ? 

Fal.  Ay,  that  there  was,  mine  host;  one  Ih&t 
hath  taught  me  more  wit  than  ever  1  learned  before 
in  my  life :  and  I  paid  nothing  for  it  neither,  but 
was  paid  for  my  learning. 

Enter  Bardolph. 

Bard.  Out,  alas,  sir !  cozenage !  meer  cozenage ! 
Host.  Where  be  my  iiorses  ?  speak  well  of  them, 
varletto. 
Hard.  Run  away  with  the  cozeners ;  for  so  «ooa 

(6)  Cunning  woman,  a  fortun««teUer. 

(7)  Sch9lar-Uk9, 


Scene  VI. 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR, 


sslcaine  beyond  Eton,  they  threw  me  off,  fromiSCUA'fl  Vl.—Jinolhtr  Roomin  the  Garter  hm. 

behind  one  ot  them,  in  a.  slou?h  of  mire ;  and  seti  Enter  FentoQ  and  Host, 

spurs,  and  awar,  like  three  Lrerman  devils,  three 

Doctor  Faustuses.  Ho*t.  Master  Fenton,  talk  not  to  mc ;  my  mind 

Host.  They  are  gone  but  to  meet  the  duke,  vil-  is  heavy,  I  will  give  over  all. 
lain:  do  not  say,  they  be  fled ;  Germans  are  honest;     Fent.   Yet  hear  me  speak:    Assist  me  in  mj 

purpose. 
And,  as  1  am  a  gentleman,  I'll  give  tliee 
A  hundred  pounds  in  gold,  more  than  your  loss. 

Host.  I  will  hear  you,  master  Fenton ;   and  I 
will,  at  the  least,  keep  your  counsel. 

Fent.  From  time  to  time  I  have  acquainted  you 
With  the  dear  love  I  bear  to  fair  Anne  Page  ; 
\yho,  mutually,  hath  answered  my  afllction 
(So  far  forth  as  hers-elf  might  be  her  chooser,) 


Enter  Sir  Hug^h  Evans. 


Eva.  Where  is  mine  host  7 

Host,  AVhat  is  the  matter,  sir  ? 

Eva.  Have  a  care  of  your  entertainments:  there 
M  a  friend  of  mine  come  to  town,  tells  me,  there 

is  three  cousin  Germaiig,  that  has  cozened  all  thciy  —  — •^-  ..^..-v,.v  u»»pi.c  ut  uti  <^„<jvs> 

hosts  of  Readings,  of  Maidenhead,  of  Colebrook, '  t^en  to  my  wish  :  I  have  a  letter  from  her 
of  horses  and  money.     I  tell  you  for  a  good- will,  I  Of  such  contents  as  you  will  wonder  at ; 
look  you:  you  are' wise,  and  full  of  gibes  and  j  The  mirth  whereof  so  larded  with  my  matter, 
vlouting-stoys  ;  and  'tis  not  convenient  you  should! That  neither,  singly,  can  be  manifested, 
be  cozened :  Fare  you  well.  [£jrit. '  Without  the  show  of  both  ;  wherein  fat  Falstaff 

I  Hath  a  great  scene  ;  the  image  ai  the  jest 
Enter  Doctor  Caius. 


Cuius.  Vere  is  mine  Host  de  Jarterre  ? 
Host.  Here,  master  doctor,  in  perplexity,  and 
doubtful  dilemma. 

Caiiis.  I  cannot  tell  vat  is  dat 


{Hhoicinz  the  letter. 
I'll  show  you  here  at  large.  Hark,  good  mine  host : 
To-night  at  Heme's  oak,  just  'twixt  twelve  and 

one. 
Must  my  sweet  Nan  present  the  fairv  queen  , 


..  ,  ,  I  ""?""  t^"-a  The  purpose  why,  is  here:-  in  which  disguise, 

me,  dat  you  make  grand  preparation  for  a  duke  d<|  While  other  jesU  are  something  rank  on  foot. 
Jannany:   by  my  trot,  dere  u  no   duke,  dat  de;Her  father  hath  commanded  her  to  slip 
court  IS  know  to  come  ;  I  tell  you  for  good  vill :  Awav  with  Slender,  and  with  him  at  Etc- 
adieu.  [Exit.  •       ■  -      • 

Host.  Hue  and  crj',  villain,  go  : — assist  me, 
knight;  I  am  undone: — fly,  run,  hue  and  cry,  vil- 
lain !  I  am  undone  !    [£xei(n(  Host  and  Bardolph. 

Fa(.  I  would,  all  the  world  might  be  cozened  ; 
for  I  have  been  cozen'd  and  beaten  too.  If  it  should 
come  to  the  ear  of  the  court,  how  I  have  been 


Immediately  to  marry :  she  hath  consented : 
Now,  sir. 

Her  mother,  even  strong  against  that  match. 
And  firm  for  doctor  Caius,  hath  appointed 
That  he  shall  likewise  shuffle  her  away, 
While  other  sports  are  tasking  of  their  minds, 
r         J       J .  »        i.         ..      u  .u  ,         *^"*^  ^^  ^^  deanery,  where  a  priest  attends, 

transformed,  and  how  my  transformation  hath  been  [straight  marrv  her:  to  this  her  mother's  p\ot 
washed  and  cudselled,  thev  would  melt  me  out  of  She,  seemingfv  obedient,  likewise  hath 

my  fat,  drop  by  drop,  and  hquor  fishermen's  boots  »•--■ ••-.->      .    '. 

with  me ;    I  warrant,  they  would  whip  me  with 
their  Cne  wits,  till  I  were  as  crest-fallen  as  a  dried 


1  intended, 


Made  promise  to  the  doctor ;— Now,  thus  it  reats. 
Her  father  means  she  shall  be  all  in  white  ; 

,  J     •        .  /.  ,,  And  in  that  habit,  when  Slender  sees  his  time 

pear.     I  never  prospered  since  I  forswore  myself  To  take  her  by  the  hand,  and  bid  her  ?o 
at  Pnmero.  •     W  ell,  if  my  wind  were   but  long | She  shall  go  with  him  :-her  mother  hatk  i 
enough  to  say  my  prayers,  I  would  repent.—  jThe  better  to  denote  her  to  the  doctor, 

i(For  they  must  all  be  mask'd  and  vizarded,) 
IThat,  quaint'  in  green,  she  shall  be  loose  enrob'd. 
Now !  whence  come  you  ?  ^^  '^'^  ribbands  pendant,  flaring  'bout  her  head  ; 

(luick.  From  the  two  parties,  forsooth.  ;5^""  when  the  doctor  spies  his  vanUge  ripe, 

Fal.  The  devil  take  one  partv,  and  his  dam  the|4^u  P^^h  herby  the  hand,  and,  on  that  token, 


Enter  Mrs.  Quicklv. 


The  maid  hath  given  consent  to  go  with  him. 
Host.  Which  means  she  to  deceive  ?  father  or 

mother? 


Fent.  Both,  my  good  host,  to  go  along  with  me : 
1         ^       -       ...        ,j| 


.  And  have  not  they  suffered?  Yes,  ll^"*^  here  it  rests —that  you'll  procure  the  vicar 
;  speciously  one  of  them  ;  mistress  Ford,  i"?^^*?.'"  ">«  *S*='>"''ch, 'twixt  twelve  and  one, 
irt,  is  beaten  black  and  blue,  that  you  can-^"^'.'"  ^^^  '•?'*''^"/  "a"?^  of  manying, 


other,  and  so  they  shall  be  both  bestowed  !  I  have 
suffered  more  for  their  sakes,  more,  than  the  vil- 
lanous  inconstancy  of  man's  deposition  is  able  to 
bear. 

Qwtct 
warrant 

good  heart,  JO  utaicii  uin«.B.  uim  i/iuc,  ui,!!.  .uu  van-, rr.„  „•„  „        ,  .  .,     ,     ^    -I 

not  sec  a  white  spot  about  her.  '  I     rf  ?  w  .^'e"^  ""'^ed  ceremony. 

Fal.  Whattell'st  thou  me  of  black  and  blue?  I      """•  *yell,  husband  your  device;  I'll  to  the 
was  beaten  myself  into  all  the  colours  of  the  rain-'-  ■  >icar; 

bow, 
witch 
terity 

woman,  deliver'd  me,  the  knave  constable  had  set 
me  i'  the  stocks,  i'  the  common  stocks,  for  a  witch. 

Quicfc.  Sir,  let  mc  speak  with  you  in  your 
chamber ;  you  shall  hear  how  things  go ;  and,  I 
warrant,  to  your  content.  Here  is  a  letter  yvill 
»ay  somewhat.  Good  heairts,  what  ado  here  is  to 
bnng  you  together !  Sure,  one  of  you  does  not 
ierve  heaven  well^  that  you  arc  so  crossed. 

foL  Come  up  mto  my  chamber.  [Exeunt. 

(1)  AgameatcahUt 


ACT  V. 

SCEJ^E  I.—.t  Room  in  th:  Garter  Inn.    Enter 
Falstaff  omi  .Mrs.  Quickly. 

Fal.  Pry'thee,  no  more  prattling ;— go I'U 

(X)  In  tht  letUT,    .   (3)  FaatasticiUf. 


MERRY  \VIV£S  OF  WINDSOR. 


^ct  f  . 


hold :  ■  This  is  the  tliird  time  ;  |  hope  ^od  luck 
lies  in  odd  numbers.  Away,  go ;  they  say,  there 
is  divinity  in  odd  numbers,  either  in  nativity, 
chance,  or  death. — Away. 

^uick.  I'll  provide  you  a  chain ;  and  I'll  do 
what  I  can  to  get  you  a  pair  of  horns. 

Fid.  Away,  I  say;  time  wears;   hold  up  your 


oead,  and  nunce. 


[Exit  Jlfr*.  Quickly. 


Enter  Ford. 


How  now,  master  Brook  ?  Master  Brook,  the  mat- 
ter 1*'ill  be  known  to-night,  or  never.  Be  you  in 
the  Park  about  midnight,  at  Heme's  oak,  and  you 
shall  see  wonders. 

Ford.  Went  you  not  to  her  yesterday,  sir,  as 
you  told  me  you  had  appointed  ? " 

Fal.  I  went  to  her,  master  Brook,  as  you  see, 
like  a  poor  old  man :  but  I  came  from  her,  master 
Brook,  like  a  poor  old  woman.  That  same  knave. 
Ford  ner  husoand,  hath  the  finest  mad  devil  of 
Jealousy  in  him,  master  Brook,  that  ever  jroverned 
phrensy.  I  will  tell  you. — He  beat  me  grievously, 
in  the  shape  of  a  woman  ;  for  in  tlic  shape  of  man, 
master  Brook,  I  fear  not  Goliath  with  a  weaver's 
beam ;  because  I  know  also,  life  is  a  shuttle.  I  am 
in  haste ;  go  along  with  me ;  I'll  tell  you  all,  mas- 
ter Brook.  Since  I  plucked  jjeese,  played  truant, 
and  whipped  top,  I  Knew  not  what  it  was  to  be 
beaten,  till  lately.  Follow  me :  I'll  tell  you  stranjje 
things  of  this  knave  Ford  :  on  whom  to-ni^ht  I  will 
be  revenged,  and  I  will  deliver  his  wife  into  your 
hand.-r-FoUow :  Strange  thincfs  in  hand,  master 
Brook!  follow.  [Exeunt. 

SCEJiE  IT.—Windsor  Park.    Enter  Page,  Shal- 
low,  and  81cnder. 

Pffl^e.  Come,  come ;  we'll  couch  i'  the  castle- 
ditch,  till  we  see  the  \izht  of  our  fairies. — Remem- 
ber, son  Slender,  my  daughter. 

Slen.  Ay,  forsooth  ;  I  have  spoke  with  her,  and 
we  have  a  nay-wordj*  how  to  know  one  another. 

5  come  to  her  in  white,  and  cry,  mum ;  she  cries, 
uds;et ;  and  by  that  wc  kno^v  one  another. 

Shal.  Thai's  grood  too:  But  what  needs  either 
your  mum,  or  her  budget  ?  the  white  will  decipher 
her  well  enough.—It  hath  struck  ten  o'clock. 

Pag-e.  The  night  is  dark ;  light  and  spirits  will 
become  it  well.  Heaven  prosper  our  sport !  No 
man  means  evil  but  the  devil,  and  we  shall  know 
Kim  by  his  horns.    Let's  away ;  fellow  mc. 

[Exeunt. 

^C£.V£  III.—Tht  Street  in  Windsnr.     Enter 
Mrs.  Page,  J\Irs.  Ford,  and  Dr.  Caius. 

Mrs.  Page.  Master  doctor,  my  daughter  is  in 
green :  when  you  see  your  time,  take  her  by  the 
hand^  away  with  her  to  the  deanery,  and  despatch 
it  quickly :  Go  before  into  the  park ;  wc  two  must 
go  together. 

Caius.  I  know  rat  I  have  to  do  ;  Adieu. 

Mrs.  Page.  Fare  you  well,  sir.  [Exit  Caius.] 
My  husband  will  not  reioice  so  much  at  the  abuse 
of  Falstaff,  as  he  will  chafe  at  the  doctor's  marry- 
ing my  daughter :  but  'tis  no  matter ;  better  a  lit- 
tle chidin?,  than  a  jireat  deal  of  heart-break. 

Mrs.  Ford.  ^Vhcrc  is  Nan  now,  and  her  troop 
of  fairies?  and  tlie  Welsh  devil,  Hujrh? 

Mrs.  Page.  They  arc  all  couched  in  a  pit  hard 
by  Heme's  oak,  with  obscured  lights ;  which,  at 

(I )  Keq)  to  the  time.       (2)  Watch«word. 


the  very  instant  of  FalstafTt  and  our  mcetingr,  thejT 
will  at  once  display  to  the  nieht. 

Mrs.  Ford.  That  cannot  choose  but  amaze  him. 

Mrs.  Page.  If  he  be  not  amazed,  he  will  bo 
mocked ;  if  he  be  amazed,  he  will  ererj  way  be 
mocked. 

Mrs.  Ford.  W^e'U  betray  him  finely. 

Mrs.  Pace.  Against  such  lewdsters,  and  their 
lechery, 
Those  that  betray  them  do  no  treachery. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Tne  hour  draws  on :  To  the  oak, 
to  the  oak.  [Exnmt. 

SCE.YE  IV.^Winds(yr  Park.    Enter  Sir  Httgli 
Evans,  and  Fairies. 

Eva.  Trib,  trib,  fairies;  como;  and  remember 
your  parts:  be  pold,  I  pravyou;  follow  me  iftto 
the  pit ;  and  when  I  give  the  watch-'ords,  do  as  I 
pidyou:  Come,  come;  trib,  trib.  [Exeunt. 

SCE.XE  V — Another  part  of  the  Park.    Enter 
Falstaff  disg'uisej/,  ivith  a  buck's  head  on. 

Fal.  The  Windsor  bell  hath  struck  twelve  ;  the 
minute  draws  on :  Now,  the  hot-blooded  gods  assist 
me ! — Remember,  Jove,  thou  wast  a  bull  for  thy 
Europa  ;  love  set  on  thy  horns. — 0  powerful  love! 
that,  m  some  respects,  makes  a  beast  a  man  j  in 
some  other,  a  man  a  beast.— You  were  also,  Jupiter, 
a  swan,  for  the  love  of  Leda;  0,  omnipotent 
love !  how  near  the  god  drew  to  the  complexion  of 
a  goose ! — A  fault  done  first  in  the  form  of  a  beast ; 
— O  Jove,  a  beastly  fault !  and  then  another  fault 
in  the  semblance  of  a  fowl ;  think  on't,  Jove ;  a 
foul  fault. — When  gods  have  hot  backs,  what  shall 
poor  men  do  ?  For  me,  I  am  here  a  Windsor  stag ; 
and  the  fattest,  I  think,  i'  the  forest :  send  me  a 
cool  rut-time,  Jove,  or  who  can  blame  me  to  pisa 
my  taliow !  Who  comes  here  ?  my  dOe  ? 

Enter  Mrs.  Ford  and  Mrs.  Page- 

Mrs.  Ford.  Sir  John?  art  thou  there,  my  deer? 
mv  male  deer  ? 

'Fal.  I\Iy  doe,  with  the  black  scut?— Let  the  sky ' 
rain  potatoes,  let  it  thunder  to  the  tune  of  Green 
Sleeves,  hail  kissin^j  comfits,  and  snow  erinpoes  ; 
let  there  come  a  tempest  of  provocation,  I  will 
shelter  mc  here.  [Embracing  ker. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Mistress  Page  is  come  with  me, 
sweetheart. 

Fal.  Divide  me  like  a  bribe-buck,  each  a  haunch  s 
I  will  keep  my  sides  to  myself,  my  shoulders  for  the 
fellow'  of  this  walk,  and  my  horns  I  bequeath  your 
husbands.  Am  I  a  woodman  ?  ha  !  Speak  I  like 
Heme  the  hunter? — WTiy,  now  is  Cupid  a  child  of 
conscience ;  he  makes  restitution.  As  I  am  a  tru« 
spirit,  welcome !  [wVowe  within. 

Airs.  Page.  Alas  !  what  noise  ? 

Mrs. Ford.  Heaven  forjjive  our  sins ! 

Fal.  What  should  this  be? 

Mrl:  P^t  }  ^''^i-'  '^"■^y-  I77».j,  run  <^. 

Fal.  I  think,  the  devil  will  not  have  me  damned, 
lest  the  oil  that  is  in  me  should  set  hell  on  fire ;  he 
would  never  else  cross  me  thus. 

Enter  Sir  Hugh  Evans,  like  a  satyr;  Mrs.  Quictcly 
and  Pistol ;  Anne  Page,  as  the  Fairy  Qceeen,  at 
tended  by  her  brother  and  others,  dressed  likt 
fairies,  with  waxen  tapers  on  their  heads. 

Qutcfc.  Fairies,  black,  grey,  green,  tnd  1rhlt«, 

(S)  Keeper  of  the  foitet* 


0MMK. 


MEHHY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


You  moon-shine  revellers,  and  shades  of  night. 
You  orphan-heirs  of  fixed  destiny, 
Attend  your  office,  and  your  quality.'—— 
Crier  Hobgoblin,  make  the  fairy  o-ybs. 

Pitt.  Elves,  list  your  names ;  silence,  you  airy 
toys. 
Cricket,  to  Windsor  chimneys  shalt  Ihou  leap : 
Where  fires  thou  find'st  unrak'd,  and  hearths  un- 

swept, 
There  pinch  the  maids  as  blue  as  bilberry :' 
Our  radiant  queen  hates  sluts,  and  sluttery. 

Fal,  They  are  fairies ;  he,  that  speaks  to  them, 
shall  die. 
I'll  wink  and  couch :  No  man  their  works  must  eye. 
[Lies  doion  upon  his  face. 

Eva.  Wljere's  Pede  ? — Go  you,  and  where  you 
find  a  maid. 
That,  ere  she  sleep,  has  thrice  her  prayers  said. 
Raise  up  the  organs  of  her  fantasr. 
Sleep  she  as  sound  as  careless  infancy ; 
But  those  as  sleep,  and  think  not  on  their  sins. 
Pinch  them,  arms,  legs,  backs,  shoulders,  sides, 
and  shins. 

Qutcit.  About,  about ; 
Search  Windsor  castle,  elves,  within  and  out : 
Strew  good  luck,  ouphcs,  on  every  sacred  room  ; 
That  it  may  stand  till  the  perpetual  doom, 
In  state  as  wholesome,  as  in  state  'tis  fit ; 
Worthy  the  OAvner,  and  the  owner  it. 
The  several  chairs  of  order  look  you  scour 
With  juice  of  balm,  and  every  precious  flower: 
Each  lair  instalment,  coat,  ana  several  crest, 
With  loval  blazon,  evermore  be  blest ! 
And  niffiiUy,  meadoAv-fairies,  look,  you  sing-. 
Like  to  the  Garter's  compass,  in  a  rin^: 
The  espressure  that  it  bears,  green  let  it  be. 
More  fertile-fresh  than  all  the  field  to  see  ; 
And,  Hony  soil  qui  7)ial  y  pense,  write. 
In  emerald  tufts,  flowers  purple,  blue,  and  wliite ; 
Like  sapphire,  pearl,  and  rich  embroidery,  ) 

Buckled  below  fair  kni«ththood's  bending  knee  :  > 
Fairies  use  flowers  for  their  charactery.'  ) 

Away;  disperse:  But,  till 'tis  one  o'clock. 
Our  dance  of  custom,  round  about  the  oak 
Of  Heme  the  hunter,  let  us  not  forget. 

Eva.  Pray  you,  lock  hand  in  hand ;  yourselves 
in  order  set : 
And  twenty  glow-worms  shall  our  lanterns  be, 
To  guide  our  measure  round  about  the  tree. 
But,  stay  ;  I  smell  a  man  of  middle  earth. 

Fal.  Heavens  defend  me  from  that  Welch  fairy, 
lest  he  transform  me  to  a  piece  of  cheese ! 

Pist.  Vile  worm,  thou  wast  o'er-look'd  even  in 
thv  birth. 

Q,uick.  With  trial-fire  touch  me  his  finger  end : 
If  he  be  chaste,  the  flame  will  back  descend, 
And  turn  him  to  no  pain  ;  but  if  he  start. 
It  is  the  flesh  of  a  corrupted  heart. 

Pist,  A  trial,  come. 

Eva.  Come,  will  this  wood  take  Cre  ? 

[They  burn  him  wUh  their  tapers. 

Fal.  Oh,  oh,  oh! 

Q,utefe.  Corrupt,  corrupt,  and  tainted  in  desire  I 
About  him,  fairies ;  sing  a  scornful  rhyme : 
And,  as  you  trip,  still  pinch  him  to  your  time. 

jftti.  It  is  right ;  indeed  he  is  full  of  lecheries  and 
iniquity. 

SONG. 


ie  m  sinful  fantasy  ! 
Fie  on  lust  and  luxury  ! 


(1)  Fellowship. 
(9)  The  letters. 


(2)  ^Vbprtleljeny. 


Lust  is  but  ^utoadyfire, 
Kindled  with  unchaste  desire, 
Fed  in  heart;  whose  flames  aspire, 
,is  thoughts  do  blow  them,  higher  and  higher,  ' 
Pinch  him,  fairies,  mutiiaUy  ; 
Pinch  him  for  his  villany  ; 
Pinch  him,  and  burn  him.  and  turn  him  about 
Till  candles,  ajid  star-liglit,  and  moonshine,  bt  out. 

Durim;  this  scri^,  the  fairies  pinch  Falstafll  Doe- 
tor  Caius  comes  one  way,  and  steals  away  a  fairy 
in  gTe«i;  Slender  another  way,  and  takes  off  a 
fairy  in  white  ;  and  Fenton  comes,  and  steals 
'away  jyirs.  Anne  Page.  ,S  noise  of  hunting  is 
made  icithin.  Ml  the  fairies  run  away.  Falstaff 
pidls  off  his  btich^s  he^d,  and  rises. 

Enter  Page,  Ford,  Mrs.  Page,  and  Mrs.  Ford. 
They  lay  hold  on  him. 

Page.  Nay,  do  not  fly:  I  think,  we  have  watcb'd 
you  now ; 
Will  none  but  Heme  the  hunter  serve  your  turn  ? 

J\irs.  Page.  I  pray  you,  come ;  hold,  up  the  jest 
no  higher ; — 
Now,  good  sir  John,  how  like  you  Windsor  wives  ? 
See  you  these,  husband  ?  do  not  these  fair  yokes* 
Become  the  forest  better  than  the  town  ? 

Ford.  Now,  sir,  who's  a  cuckold  now  ? — Master 
Brook,  FalstaiPs  a  knave,  a  cuckoldly  knave ;  here 
are  his  horns,  master  Brook :  And,  master  Brook, 
he  hath  enjoyed  nothing  of  Ford's  but  his  buck- 
basket,  his  cudge!,_  and  twenty  pounds  of  money ; 
which  must  be  paid  to  master  Brook ;  his  horses 
are  arrested  for  it,  master  Brook. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Sir  John,  we  have  had  ill  luck ;  we 
could  never  meet.  I  will  never  talce  you  for  my 
love  again,  but  I  will  always  count  you  mr  deer. ' 

Fal.  I  do  begin  to  perceive  that  1  am  made  an 
ass. 

Ford.  Ay,  and  an  ox  too ;  both  the  proofs  are 
extant. 

Fal.  And  these  are  not  fairies  ?  I  was  three  or 
four  times  in  the  thought,  they  were  not  fairies : 
and  yet  the  guiltiness  of  my  mind,  the  sudden  sur- 
prise of  my  powers,  drove  the  grossness  of  tlie  fop- 
pery into  a  received  belief,  in  despite  of  the  teeth 
of  all  rhyme  and  reason,  that  they  were  fairies. 
See  now,  how  wit  may  be  made  a  Jack-a-lcnt, 
ivhen  'tis  upon  ill  employment ! . 

Eva.  Sir  John  FalstafF,  serve  Got,  and  leave 
your  desires,  and  tairies  will  not  pinsc  you. 

Ford.  Well  said,  fairy  Hugh. 

Era.  And  leave  you  your  jealousies  too,  I  pray 
you. 

Ford.  I  will  never  mistrust  my  wife  again,  till 
thou  art  able  to  woo  her  in  good  English. 

Fal.  Have  I  laid  my  brain  in  the  sun,  and  dried 
it,  that  it  wants  matter  to  prevent  so  gross  o'er- 
reachin?  as  this  1  Am  I  ridden  with  a  Welch  goat 
too  ?  Shall  I  have  a  coxcomb  of  frize  ?'  'tis  time 
I  were  cho-iked  with  a  piece  of  toasted  cheese. 

Eva.  Seese  is  not  good  to  give  putter ;  your 
pellv  is  all  putter. 

Fal.  Seese  and  putter !  Have  I  lived  to  stand  at 
the  taunt  of  one  that  makes  fritters  of  English  T 
This  is  enough  to  be  the  decay  of  lust  and  late- 
walking,  through  the  realm. 

Mrs.Pa«:e.  Why,  sir  John,  do  you  think,  though 
we  would  have  thrust  virtue  out  of  our  hearta  By 

(4j  Horns  which  Falstaff  had. 

(6)  A  fool's  cap  of  Welch  materials. 


n 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


Jetr. 


the  head  and  sKoulders,  and  hajre  given  ourselves 
without  scruple  to  hell,  that  ever  the  devil  could 
hare  made  you  our  delight  ? 

Fcrd.  what,  a  hodge-pudding  ?  a  bag  of  flax  ? 

jMrs.  P<iS'-  A  puffed  man  ? 

Pa^t.  Old,  cold,  withered,  and  of  intolerable 
entrails. 

Ford.  And  one  that  is  as  slanderous  as  Satan  ? 

Page.  And  as  poor  as  Job  ? 

Ford.  And  as  wicked  as  his  wife  ? 

Eva.  And  given  to  fornications,  and  to  taverns, 
and  sack,  and  wine,  and  methcglins,  and  to  drink- 
ings,  and  swearings,  and  starings,  pribbles  and 
prabbles  ? 

Fal.  Well,  I  am  your  theme :  you  have  the  start 
of  mc ;  I  am  dejected ;  I  am  not  able  to  ans«ver 
the  Welch  flannel ;  ignorance  itself  is  a  plummet 
o'er  mc :  use  me  as  you  will. 

Ford.  Marry,  sir,  we'll  bring  you  to  Windsor, 
to  one  master  Brook,  that  you  have  cozened  of 
money,  to  whom  you  should  have  been  a  pander : 
over  and  above  that  vou  iiave  suffered,  I  think,  to 
repay  that  money  will  be  a  biting  atlliction. 

Mrs.  Ford.  >  ay,  husband,  let  that  go  to  make 
amends : 
Forgive  that  sum,  and  so  we'll  all  be  friends 

Ford.  Well,  here's  my  hand;  all's  forgiven  at 
last. 

Page.  Yet  be  cheerful,  knight :  thou  shalt  eat  a 
posset  to-night  at  my  house;  where  I  will  desire 
thee  to  laugh  at  my  wife,  that  now  laughs  at  thee  : 
Tell  her^naster  Slender  nath  married  her  daughter. 

Mrs,  Page.  Doctors  doubt  that:  If  Anne  Pac-e 
be  my  daughter,  she  is,  by  this,  doctor  Caius'  wite. 

[^side. 

Enter  Slender. 

Slen.  Whoo,  ho !  ho !  father  Page ! 

Page.  Son !  how  now  ?  how  now,  son  ?  have  you 
despatched  7 

i>len.  Despatched — I'll  make  the  best  in  Gloces- 
tershire  know  on't ;  would  I  were  hanged,  la,  else. 

Page.  Of  what,  son  ? 

i»/e;i.  I  came  yonder  at  Eton  to  marry  mistress 
Anne  Page,  and  she's  a  great  lubberly  boy :  If  it 
had  not  been  i'  the  churcb,  I  ■ivould  have  swinged 
him,  or  he  should  have  swinged  me.  If  I  did  not 
think  it  had  been  Anne  Page,  would  I  might  never 
stir,  and  'lis  a  post-master's  boy. 

Page.  Upon  my  life  then,  you  took  the  wrong. 

Slen.  What  need  you  tell  me  that  ?  I  think  so, 
when  I  took  a  boy  for  a  girl :  If  I  had  been  mar- 
ried to  him,  for  all  he  was  in  woman's  apparel,  I 
would  not  have  had  him. 

Paf^e.  Why,  this  is  your  own  folly.  Did  not  I 
tell  you,  how  you  should  know  my  daughter  by  her 
garments  ? 

Slen.  I  went  to  her  in  white,  and  cry'd  vium, 
and  she  cry'd  budget,  as  Anne  and  I  had  appointed ; 
and  yet  it  was  not  Anne,  but  a  post-master's  boy. 

Eva.  Jeshu !  Master  Slender,  cannot  you  see 
but  marry  poys  ? 

Page.  0,  I  am  vexed  at  heart:  What  shall  I  do  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  Good  George,  be  not  angry :  I 
knew  of  your  purpose  ;  turned  my  daughter  into 
trreen  ;  and,  indeed,  she  is  noiv  with  the  doctor  at 
the  deanery,  and  there  married. 

Enter  Caius. 

Caius.  Vere  is  mistress  Page?    By  gar,  I  am 

(1)  Confound  her  by  your  questions.  (2)  Avoid. 


cozened ;  I  ha'  married  un  gar<;m,  a  boy:  un  pai- 
san,  by  gar,  a  boy ;  it  is  not  Anne  Page :  by  gar,  I 
am  cozened. 

Airs.  Page.  Why,  did  you  take  her  in  green  ? 

Caius.  Ay,  be  gar,  and  'tis  a  boy  :  be  gar,  I'll 
raise  all  Windsor.  [Exit  Caius. 

Ford.  This  is  strange :  Who  hath  got  the  right 
Anne? 

Page.  My  heart  misgives  me :  Here  comes  mas* 
ter  Fenton. 

Enter  Fenton  and  Anne  Page. 

How  now.  master  Fenton  ? 

^mu.  Pardon,  good  father!  good  my  mother 
pardon  ! 

Page,  No^v,  mistress  ?  how  chance  you  went 
not  with  master  Slender  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  Why  went  you  not  with  master  doc- 
tor, maid  ? 

Pent.  Vou  do  amaze'  her :  Hear  the  truth  of  it. 
You  would  have  married  her  most  shamefully, 
Where  there  was  no  pronortion  held  in  love. 
The  truth  is,  she  and  I,  long  since  contracted, 
Are  now  so  sure  that  nothing  can  dissolve  us. 
The  offence  is  holy,  that  she  hath  committed : 
And  this  deceit  loses  the  name  of  craft, 
Of  disobedience,  or  unduteous  title ; 
Since  therein  she  doth  evitate-  and  shun 
A  thousand  irreligious  cursed  hours. 
Which  forced  marriage  would  have  brought  upon 
her. 

Ford.  Stand  not  amaz'd :  here  is  no  remedy  : — 
In  love,  the  heavens  themselves  do  guide  the  state  ; 
Money  buys  lands,  and  wives  are  sold  by  fate. 

Fal.  I  am  glad,  though  you  have  ta'en  a  special 
stand  to  strike  at  me,  that  vour  arrow  hath  glanced. 

Page,  Well,  what  remedy  ?  Fenton,  heaven  give 
thee  joy ! 
What  cannot  be  eschew'd,  must  be  embrac'd. 

Fal.  When  night-dogs  run,  all  sorts  of  deer  are 
chas'd. 

Eva.  I  will  dance  and  eat  plumbs  at  your  wed* 
ding. , 

Mrs,  Page.  Well,  I  will  muse  no  further:— 
Master  Fenton, 
Heaven  give  you  many,  many  merry  days  ' 
Good  husband,  let  us  every  one  go  home, 
And  laugh  this  sport  o'er  by  a  country  fire ; 
Sir  John  and  all. 

Ford.  Let  it  be  so : — Sir  John, 

To  master  Brook  you  yet  shall  hold  your  word ; 
For  he,  to-night,  shall  lie  with  Mrs.  Ford. 

[Exeunt. 


Of  this  play  there  is  a  tradition  preserved  by  Mr. 
Rowe,  that  it  was  written  at  the  command  of 
Queen  Elizabeth,  who  was  so  deligiited  with  the 
character  of  Falstatf,  that  she  wished  it  to  be  dif- 
fused through  more  plays  ;  but  suspecting  that  it 
might  pall  by  continued  uniformity,  directed  the 
poet  to  diversify  his  manner,  by  showing  him  in 
love.  No  task  is  harder  than  that  of  writing  to  the 
ideas  of  another.  Shakspeare  knew  what  the  queen, 
if  the  story  be  true,  seems  not  to  have  known,  that 
by  any  real  passion  of  tenderness,  the  selfish  craft, 
the  careless  jollity,  and  the  lazy  luxury  of  Falstaff, 
must  have  suffered  so  much  abatement,  that  little 
of  his  former  cast  would  have  remained.  Falstaff 
could  not  love,  but  by  ceasing  to  be  Falstaff.    Ho 


MERRY  WITE3  OF  WINDSOR.  fg 

eould  only  counterfeit  love,  and  his  professions  of  formin*  ridiculous  characters  can  confer  praise 
could  be  prompted,  not  by  the  hope  of  pleasure,  only  on  him  who  originally  discorered  it,  for  it  re- 
but of  money.  Thus  the  poet  approached  as  near  quires  not  much  of  either  wit  or  judgment;  its 
as  he  could  to  the  work  enjoined  him;  yet  having 'Success  must  be  derived  almost  wholly  from  the 
perhaps  in  the  former  plays  completed  his  own  player,  but  its  power  in  a  skilful  mouth,  even  he 
idea,  seems  not  to  have  been  able  to  give  Falstatr|that  despises  it,  is  unable  to  resist. 
all  his  former  power  of  entertainment.  I    The  conduct  of  this  drama  is  deficient ;  the  ac- 

This  comedy  is  remarkable  for  the  variety  and  |  tion  begins  and  ends  often,  before  the  conclusion, 
number  of  the  personages,  who  exhibit  more  cha-jand  the  different  parts  might  change  places  with- 
racters  appropriated  and  discriminated,  than  por-  out  inconvenience:  but  its  general  power,  that 
haps  can  be  found  in  any  other  play.  power  by  which  all  works  ot  genius  shall  finally 

uheiher  Shakspeare  was  the  first  that  produced  [be  tried,  is  such,  that  perhaps  it  never  yet  had 
upon  the  English  stace  the  effect  of  language  dis-ireader  or  spectator  who  did  not  think  it  too  sooo 
torted  and  depraved  by  provincial  or  foreign  pro- [at  the  end. 
nunciation,  I  cannot  certainl}'  decide.    This  modej  JOHNSON 


(    73    ) 


TWELFTH  night;  OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


Orsino,  duke  of  lUyria. 

Sebastian,  a  young  ^eiillemmi,  brother  to  Viola, 
Antonio,  a  sea-caplain,  friend  to  Sebastian. 
A  sea-captain, /rienc/ <o  Viola. 

Curlo'"'^'  \senllemen,  altending  on  the  duke. 
Sir  Toby  Belch,  uncle  of  Olivia. 
Sir  Andrew  Ague-cheek. 
Malvolio,  sletoard  to  Olivia. 


n'  ^ 


Olivia,  a  rich  countess. 
Viola,  t)t  love  with  the  dukt. 
Maria,  OUvia^s  woman. 


Ijrrds,  priests,  sailors,  officers,  musicians,  and  otha 
attendants. 


Scene,  a  city  in  Illyria ;  and  the  sea^coast  near  it. 


ACT  I. 

SCEJ^E  I. — Jin  apartment  in  the  Duke's  palace. 
Enter  Duke,  Curio,  Lords ;  musicians  attending. 

Duke. 

If  music  be  the  food  of  love,  play  on, 
Give  me  excess  of  it ;  that,  surfeiting, 

The  appetite  may  sicken,  and  so  die! 

That  strain  again  ; — it  had  a  dying  fall : 

O,  it  came  o'er  my  ear  like  the  sweet  south, 

That  breathes  upon  a  bank  of  violets. 

Stealing,  and  giving  odour. — Enough  ;  nc  more ; 

'Tis  not  so  sweet  now,  as  it  was  before. 

O  spirit  of  love,  how  quick  and  fresh  art  thou ! 

That  notwithstanding  thy  capacity 

Receiveth  as  the  sea,  nought  enters  there,  ' 

Of  what  validity'  and  pitch  soever, 

But  falls  into  abatement  and  low  price. 

Even  in  a  minute  !  so  full  of  shapes  is  fancy, 

That  it  alone  is  high-fantastical.^ 

Cur.  Will  you  go  hunt,  my  lord  ? 

Duke.  What,  Curio  ? 

Cur.  The  hart 

Duke.  Why,  so  I  do,  the  noblest  that  I  have : 
O,  when  mine  eyes  did  see  Olivia  firsL 
Methought,  she  purg'd  the  air  of  pestilence ; 
That  instant  was  i  turn'd  into  a  hart; 
And  my  desires,  like  fell  and  cruel  hounds. 
E'er  ance  pursue  me. — How  now?  what  news 
from  her  / 

Enter  Valentine. 

Vol.  So  please  my  lord,  I  might  not  be  admitted, 
But  from  her  handmaid  do  return  this  answer 
The  element  itself,  till  seven  years  heat,* 
Shall  not  behold  her  face  at  ample  view  ; 
But.  like  a  cloistress,  she  will  veiled  walk, 
Ana  water  once  a  day  her  chamber  round. 
With  eye-oflcnding  brine  :  all  this,  to  season 
A  brother's  dead  love,  which  she  would  keep  fresh. 
And  lasting,  in  her  sad  remembrance. 

Duke.  O,  she  that  hath  a  heart  of  thul  fine  frame, 
To  pay  this  debt  of  love  but  to  a  brolher, 
How  will  she  lave,  when  the  rich  golden  shaft 

(I)  Value.        (2)  Fantastical  to  the  height. 


Hath  kill'd  the  flock  of  all  affections  else 
That  live  in  her !  when  liver,  brain,  and  heart. 
These  sovereign  thrones,  arc  all  supplied,  and  fill'd, 
(Her  sweet  perfections,)  with  one  self  king! — 
Away  before  me  to  sweet  beds  of  flowers  ; 
!  Love-thoughts  he  rich,  when  canopied  with  bowers 

[Exeunt 

SCEJfE  II.— The  sea^coast.    Enter  Viola,  Cap 
tain,  and  Sailors. 

Vio.  What  country,  friends,  is  this  ? 

Cap.  Illyria,  lady. 

Vio.  And  what  should  I  do  in  Illyria  I 
My  brother  he  is  in  Elysium. 
Perchance,  he  is  not  arown'd:— What  think  you, 
sailors  ? 

Cap.    It  is  perchance,  that  you  yourself  were 
saved. 

Vio.    O  my  poor  brother!   and  so,  perchance, 
may  he  be. 

Cap.  True,  madam :  and,  to  comfort  you  with 
chance. 
Assure  yourself,  after  our  ship  did  split. 
When  you,  and  that  poor  number  saved  with  yoii, 
Hung  on  our  driving  boat,  I  saw  your  brother, 
Most  provident  in  peril,  bind  himself 
(Courage  and  hope  both  teaching  him  the  prac- 
tice) 
To  a  strong  mast,  that  lived  upon  the  sea  5 
Where,  like  Arion  on  the  dolphin's  back, 
I  saw  him  hold  acquaintance  with  the  waves, 
So  long  as  I  could  see. 

Vio.  For  saying  so,  there's  gold : 

Mine  own  escape  unfoldetli  to  my  hope. 
Whereto  thy  speech  serves  for  authority. 
The  like  of  nim.    Know'st  thou  this  country  ? 

Cap.   Ay,  madam,  well ;    for  I  was  bred  and 
born, 
Not  three  hours'  travel  from  this  very  place. 

Vio.  Who  governs  here  7 

Cap.  A  noble  duke,  in  nature, 

As  in  his  name. 

Vio.  WTiat  is  his  name  ? 

Cap.       .  Orsino. 

Vio.  Orsrno !  I  have  heard  my  father  name  him : 
He  was  a  bachelor  then. 

(3)  Heated. 


a 


TWELFTH  NIGHT ;  OR,  WHAT  YOU  ^V1LL. 


Cap.  And  so  U  now 

Or  was  M  very  late  ;  for  but  a,  month 
Ago  I  went  from  hence ;  and  then  'twas  fresh 
In  murmur  (as,  you  know,  what  great  ones  do, 
The  less  will  prattle  of,)  that  he  (fid  seek 
The  lore  of  fair  Olivia. 

Vio.  What's  she  ? 

Cap.  A  virtuous  maid,  the  daughter  of  a  count 
That  died  some  twelvemonth  since ;  then  leaving 

her 
In  the  protection  of  his  son,  her  brother, 
Who  shortly  also  died  :  for  whose  dear  love, 
They  say,  she  hath  abjur'd  the  company 
And  sight  of  men. 

Vio.  O,  that  I  served  that  lady  ; 

And  might  not  be  delivered  to  the  world, 
Till  1  had  made  mine  own  occasion  mcUaw, 
What  my  estate  is. 

Cap.  That  were  hard  to  compass  ; 

Because  she  will  admit  no  kind  of  suit. 
No,  not  the  duke's. 

yio.  There  is  a  fair  behaviour  in  thee,  captain  ; 
And  though  that  nature  with  a  beauteous  wall 
Doth  oft  close  in  pollution,  yet  of  thee 
I  will  believe,  thou  hast  a  mmd  that  suits 
With  this  thy  fair  and  outward  character. 
I  pray  thee,  and  I'll  pay  thee  bounteously, 
Conceal  me  what  I  am  ;  and  be  my  aid 
For  such  disguise  as,  haply,  shall  become 
The  form  of  my  intent.    I'll  serve  this  duke ; 
Thou  shalt  present  me  as  a  eunuch  to  him, 
It  may  be  worth  thy  pains  ;  for  I  can  sing, 
And  speak  to  him  in  many  sorts  of  music, 
That  will  allow'  me  very  worth  his  service. 
What  else  may  hap,  to  time  I  will  commit ; 
Only  shape  thou  thy  silence  to  my  wit. 

Cap.  Be  you  his  eunuch,  and  your  mute  I'll  be : 
When  my  tongue  blabs,  then  let  mine  eyes  not  sec ! 

Vio.  I  thank  thee :  lead  me  on.  [Exeunt. 

SCEXE  III.—^1  room  in  Olivia's  hoxise.    Enterl 
Sir  Toby  Belch  arid  Maria. 

Sir  To.  What  a  plague  means  my  niece,  to  take 
the  death  of  her  brother  thus  7  1  am  sure,  care's 
an  enemy  to  life. 

Mar.  By  troth,  sir  Toby,  you  piust  come  in 
earlier  o'  nights  ;  your  cousin,  my  lady,  takes  great 
exceptions  to  your  ill  hours. 

Sir  To.  Why,  let  her  except  before  excepted. 

Mar.  At,  but  you  must  confine  yourself  within 
the  modest  limits  of  order. 

Sir  To.  Confine?  I'll  confine  myself  no  finer  than 
I  am :  these  clothes  are  good  enough  to  drink  in, 
and  so  be  these  boots  too  ;  an  they  be  not,  let  them 
hanz  themselves  in  their  own  stiaps. 

.Vor.  That  quaffinsr  and  drinking  n  ill  undo  you  : 
I  heard  my  lady  talk  of  it  yesterday ;  and  of  a 
foolish  knight,  that  you  brought  in  one  night  here, 
to  be  her  wooer. 

Sir  To.  Who  ?  Sir  Andrew  Ague-cheek  ? 

Mar.  Ay,  he. 

Sir  To.  He's  as  tall*  a  man  as  any's  in  Illyria. 

Mar.  What's  that  to  the  purpose  7 

Sir  To.  Why,  he  has  three  thousand  ducats  a 
year. 

Mar,  Ay,  but  he'll  have  but  a  year  in  all  these 
ducats  :  he's  a  very  fool,  and  a  prodigal. 

Sir  To.  Fie,  tliat  you'll  say  so !  he  plays  o'  the 
viol-de-ganibo,  and  speaks  three  or  four  languages 
word  for  word  without  book,  and  hath  all  the  good 
gifts  of  nature.  \ 

(1)  Approve.         (S)  Stout 


I  Mar.  He  hath,  indeed,— almost  natural :  for,  be- 
sides that  he's  a  fool,  he's  a  great  quarreller  ;  and, 
but  that  he  hath  the  gift  of  a  coward  to  allay  the 
gust  he  hath  in  quarrelling,  'tis  thought  among 
the  prudent,  he  would  quickly  have  the  gift  of  a 
grave. 

Sir  To.  By  this  hand,  they  are  scoundrels,  and 
substractors,  that  say  so  of  him.    Who  are  they  7 

Mar.  They  tha*  add  moreover,  he's  drunk  night- 
ly in  vour  company. 

"  Sir  To.  With  drinking  healths  to  my  niece ;  I'll 
drink  to  her,  as  lon^  as  there  is  a  passage  in  my 
throat,  and  drink  in  fllyria :  he's  a  coward  and  a 
coystril,^  that  will  not  drink  to  my  niece,  till  his 
brains  turn  o'  the  toe,  like  a  parish-top.  What, 
wench  ?  Castiliano  vulgo  ;  for  here  comes  sir  An- 
drew Ague-face. 


Enter  Sir  Andrew  A^ue-cbeek. 

Sir  And.  Sir  Toby  Belch !  how  now,  sir  Toby 
Belch? 

Sir  To.  Sweet  sir  Andrew  ? 

Sir  Jind.  Bless  you,  fair  shrew. 

Mar.  And  you  too,  sir. 

Sir  To.  Accost,  sir  Andrew,  accost. 

Sir  Jind.  What's  that? 

Sir  To.  Nly  niece's  chamber-maid. 

Sir  dnd.  Good  mistress  Accost,  I  desire  better 
acquaintance. 

Mar.  My  name  is  Marj',  sir. 

Sir  wind.  Good  mistress  Mary  Accost,—— 

Sir  To.  You  mistake,  knight :  accost,  is,  firont 
her,  board  her,  woo  her,  assail  her. 

Sir  Jind.  By  my  troth,  I  would  not  undertake 
her  in  this  company.  Is  that  the  meaning  of  accost? 

Mar.  Fare  you  well,  gentlemen. 

Sir  To.  An  thoa  let  part  so,  sir  .\ndrew,  'would 
thou  might'st  never  draw  sword  again. 

Sir  And.  An  you  part  so,  mistress.  I  would  I 
might  never  draw  sword  again.  Fair  lady,  do  you 
think  you  have  fools  in  hand  ? 

Mar.  Sir,  I  have  not  you  bv  the  hand. 

Sir  And.  Marry,  but  you  shall  have ;  and  here's 
my  hand. 

Mar.  Now,  sir,  thought  is  free  ;  I  praj  you,  bring 
your  hand  to  the  buttery-bar,  and  let  it  drink. 

Sir  And.  Wherefore,  sweetheart  ?  what's  your 
metaphor  ? 

Mar.  It's  dry,  sir. 

Sir  And.  Why,  I  think  so ;  I  am  not  such  an  ass. 
but  I  can  keep  my  hand  dry.  But  what's  your  jest ' 

Mar.  .\  dry  jest,  sir. 

Sir  And.  Are  you  full  of  them  ? 

Mar.  .\y,  sir ;  I  have  them  at  my  fingers'  ends  ; 
marry,  now  I  let  go  your  hand,  I  am  barren. 

[Exit  Maria. 

Sir  To.  0  knight,  thou  lack'st  a  cup  of  canary 
when  did  I  see  thee  so  put  down  ? 

Sir  And.  Never  in  your  l;fe,  I  think ;  unless  you 
see  canary  put  me  dow  n :  methinks,  sometimes  I 
have  no  more  wit  than  a  Christian,  or  an  ordinary 
man  has :  but  I  am  a  great  eater  of  beef,  and,  1 
believe,  that  does  harm  to  my  wit. 

iSr  To.  No  question. 
,    Sir  And.  An  I  Uiought  that,  I'd  forswear  it.    I'll 
ride  home  to-morrow,  sir  Toby. 
Sir  To.  Pmtrquoy,  my  dear  "knight  7 
Sir  And.  What  is  pmrqiioy  ?  do  or  not  do  7  I 
would  I  had  bestowed  that  time  in  the  tongues, 
[that  I  have  in  fencing,  dancing,  and  bear-baiting: 
lo,  had  I  but  followed  the  arts  ! 

(3)  Kcystril,  a  bastard  b&wk. 


*l 


TWELFTH  NIGHT ;  OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


Jtell, 


Sir  To.  Then  hadst  thou  had  an  excellent  head 
of  hair. 

Sir  Jlnd.  ^Vhy,  would  that  have  mended  my  harir  ? 

Sir  To.  Past  question ;  for  thou  seest,  it  will  not 
curl  by  nature. 

Sir\ind.  But  it  becomes  me  well  enough,  does't 
not/ 

Sir  To.  Excellent ;  it  hangs  like  flax  on  a  dis- 
taff; and  I  hope  to  see  a  housewile  take  thee  be- 
tween her  leffs,  and  spin  it  off. 

Sir  And.  'Faith,  I'll  home  to-morrow,  sir  Toby : 
your  niece  will  not  be  seen ;  or,  iishe  be,  it's  four 
to  one  she'll  none  of  me :  tlie  count  himself,  here 
hard  bv,  woos  her. 

Sir  To.  She'll  none  o'  the  count :  she'll  not  match 
above  her  degree,  neither  in  estate,  vears,  nor  ivit ; 
I  have  heara  her  swear  it.  Tut,  tliere's  liie  in't, 
man. 

Sir  .ind.  I'll  stay  a  month  longer.  I  am  a  fel- 
low o'  tiic  strangest  mind  i'  the  world  ;  I  delight  in 
masquns  and  revels  sometimes  altogether. 

Sir  To.  Art  thou  good  at  these  kick-shaws, 
knieht  7 

Bir  And.  As  any  man  in  IHj'rii,  whatsoever  he 
be,  under  the  decree  of  my  belters ;  and  yet,  I  will 
not  compare  with  an  old  man. 

Sir  To.  Wiiat  is  thy  excellence  in  a  galliard, 
knight  ? 

Sir  And.  'Faith,  I  can  cut  a  caper. 

Sir  To.  And  I  can  cut  the  mutton  tot. 

Sir  And.  And,  I  think,  I  have  the  back-trick, 
cimply  as  strong  as  any  man  in  Illyria. 

Sir  To.  Wherefore  are  these  things  hid  ?  where- 
fore have  these  sifts  a  curtain  before  them?  are 
they  like  to  take  dust,  like  mistress  Mall's  picture  ? 
Why  dost  thou  not  go  to  church  in  a  galliard, 
and  come  home  in  a  coranto  ?  My  very  walk 
should  be  a  jig ;  I  ivonld  not  so  much  as  make 
water,  but  in  a  sink-a-pace. '  What  dost  thou 
mean  ?  is  it  a  world  to  hide  virtues  in  ?  I  did  Ihink, 
by  the  excellent  constitution  of  thy  leg,  it  was 
formed  under  the  star  of  a  galliard. 

Sir  And.  Ay,  'tis  strong,  and  it  docs  indifferent 
■well  in  a  flame-coloured  stock.*  Shall  we  set  about 
some  revels  ? 

Sir  To.  What  shall  we  do  else  ?  were  we  not 
bom  under  Taurus  ? 

Sir  And.  Taurus?  that's  sides  and  heart. 

Sir  To.  No,  sir;  it  is  legs  and  thighs.  Let  me 
tee  thee  caper :  ha !  higher :  ha,  ha ! — tscellent ! 

[Exeittit. 

SCEJi'E  IV.— A  room  in  the  Duke's  paLice.    En- 
ter Valentine,  and  V  ioia  in  man's  attire. 


Vol.  If  the  duke  continue  these  favours  towards 
Vou,  Cesario,  you  are  like  to  l>e  much  advanced  ; 
he  hatJi  known  you  but  three  days,  and  already 
you  are  no  stranger. 

Vio.  You  either  fear  his  humour,  or  my  negli- 
gence, that  you  call  in  question  the  continuance  of 
his  love :  is  he  inconstant,  sir,  in  his  favours  ? 

Vol.  No,  believe  me. 

Er.ter  Duke,  Curio,  and  attendants.     • 

Vioi  I  thank  you.    Here  comes  the  count. 
DiiJce.  Who  saw  Cesario,  ho  ? 
Vio.  On  your  attendance,  my  lord  ;  here. 
Ditke.  Stand  you  aivhile  aloof. — Cesario, 
Thou  know'st  no  less  but  all ;  I  have  unclasp'd 

(1)  Cinque-pacc,  the  name  of  a  dance. 

(2)  Stocking.  (3)  Go  tliy  way. 
14)  Full  of  unpediment?. 


To  thee  the  book  even  of  my  secret  soul : 
Therefore,  good  youth,  address  thy  gait*  unto  her; 
Be  not  denv'd  access,  stand  at  her  doors, 
And  tell  them,  there  thy  fixed  foot  shall  grow, 
Till  thou  have  audience. 

Vio.  Sure,  my  noble  lord. 

If  she  be  so  ahandon'd  to  her  sorrow 
As  it  is  spoke,  she  never  will  admit  me. 

Duke.  Be  clamorous,  and  leap  all  civil  bounds, 
Rather  than  make  unproiited  return. 

Vio.  Say,  I  do  speak  with  her,  my  lord ;  what 
then? 

Duke.  O,  then  unfold  the  passion  of  my  love, 
Surprise  her  witli  discourse  of  my  dear  faith : 
It  shall  become  thee  well  to  act  my  woes  ; 
She  will  attend  it  better  in  thy  youth. 
Than  in  a  nuncio  of  more  ^rave  aspect. 

Vio.  I  tliink  not  so,  my  lord. 

Duke.  Dear  lad,  belicTe  it. 

For  they  shall  yet  belie  thy  happy  years 
That  say,  thou  art  a  man  :  Diana's  lip 
Is  not  more  smootli  and  rubious  ;  thy  small  pipe 
Is  as  tlie  maiden's  organ,  shrill  and  sound, 
And  all  is  seinblative  a  woman's  part. 
I  know,  thv  constellation  is  right  apt 
For  this  allair: — Some  four,  or  five,  attend  him , 
All,  if  you  will ;  for  I  myself  am  best. 
When  least  in  company : — Prosper  well  in  this. 
And  thou  shalt  live  as  freely  as  thy  lord, 
To  call  his  fortunes  thine. 

Vio.  I'll  do  my  best. 

To  woo  your  lady :  yet  [Aside.]  a  barful*  strife ! 
Whoe'er  I  woo,  myself  would  be  his  wife. 

[Exeunt. 

SCEJiTE  F.— .5  room  in  Olivia's  bouse.    Enter 
Maria  and  Clown. 

J\Iar.  Nay,  either  tell  me  where  thou  hast  been, 
or  I  will  not  open  my  lips  so  wide  as  a  bristle  may 
enter,  in  way  of  thy  excuse ;  my  lady  will  hang 
thee  for  thy  absence. 

Clo.  Let  her  hang  me :  he,  that  is  well  hanged 
in  this  world,  needs  to  fear  no  colours. 

JSIar.  Make  that  good. 

Clo.  He  shall  see  none  to  fear. 

jyjar.  A  good  lenten'  answer:  I  can  tell  thee 
ivhere  that  saying  was  born,  of,  I  fear  no  colours. 

Clo.  Where,  gQod  mistress  Mary  ? 

Mar.  In  the  ^vars ;  and  that  may  you  be  bold  to 
say  in  your  foolery, 

Clo.  Well,  God  give  them  wisdom,  that  have  it ; 
and  those  that  are  fools,  let  them  use  their  talents. 

J\!ar.  Yet  you  will  be  hanged,  for  being  so  long 
absent :  or,  to  be  turned  away,  is  nst  that  as  goco 
as  a  hanging  to  you  ? 

Clo.  IVIany  a  good  hanging  prevents  a  bad  mar- 
riage ;  and,  for  tummg  away,  let  summer  bear  it 
out. 

Mar.  You  are  resolute  then  ? 

Clo.  Not  so  neither ;  but  I  am  resolved  on  two 
points.* 

Mar.  That,  if  one  break,  the  other  will  hold ;  or, 
if  both  break,  your  gasldns  fall. 

Clo.  Apt,  in  good  faith  ;  very  apt !  Well,  go  thy 
way  J  if  sir  Toby  would  leave  drinking,  thou  wcrt 
as  witty  a  piece  of  Eve's  flesh  as  any  in  Illyria. 

Marl  Peace,  you  rogue,  no  more  o'  that ;  here 
conies  my  lady :  make  your  excuse  wisely,  you 
were  best  [hxit. 

(5)  Short  and  spare. 

(6)  Points  ivcrc  hooks  which  fastened  the  hose 
lor  breeches. 


Seme  V. 


TWELFTH  NIGHT  5  OR,  WHAT  YOU  ^VILL. 


Vs 


Enter  Olivia  and  Malvolio. 


lie-enler  Maria. 


Ck.  Wit,  an'tbethy  ivill,  put  me  into  pood  fool- 
jng  !  Those  wits,  that'think  they  have  thee,  do  very 
oft  prove  fools ;  and  I,  that  am  sure  I  lack  thee, 
mav  pass  for  a  wise  man :  for  what  sa  vs  Quinapa- 
lus'?  Better  a  witty  fool,  than  a  Ibolisn  wit.— Uod 
bless  thee,  lady ! 

on.  Take  the  fool  away. 

Clo.  Do  you  not  hear,  fellows  ?  take  away  the 
ladv. 

On.  Go  to,  you  are  a  dry  fool ;  I'll  no  more  of  you 
besides,  you  grow  dishonest, 


,Mar.  Madam,  there  is  at  the  gate  a  younj  gen* 
llcman,  much  desires  to  speak  wilh  you. 

OH.  From  the  count  Orsino,  is  it? 

Mar.  1  know  not,  madam ;  'tis  a  fair  young  man, 
and  well  attended. 

OIL  Who  of  my  people  hold  him  in  delay  ? 

J\lar.  Sir  Toby,  madam,  your  kinsman. 

Oli.  Fetch  him  off,  I  pray  you:  he  speaks  no- 
thing but  madman  :  lie  ou  him  !  [Exit  Maria.l  Go 
,  Malvolio  :  if  it  be  a  suit  from  the  count,  i  am 
home  ;  what  you  will,  to  dismiss  it. 


you:  Desiaes,  vou  crow  msnonest.  I ^'ck,  or  not  at  home  ;  . 

Clo.  Two  i'aulU,  madoima,'  that  drink  and  srood  [Exit  Malvobo.]  N  ow  you  see,  sir,  how  your  fooU 
counsel  will  amend  :  for  give  the  dry  fool  drink,  ing  grows  old,  and  people  dislike  it. 
then  is  the  fool  not  drv  ;  bid  the  dishonest  mend  Clo.  1  hou  nast  spoke  lor  us,  maaonna,  as  if  thy 
himself:  if  he  mend.  He  is  no  longer  diihoncst ;  if!  eldest  son  should  be  a  fool :  whose  skull  Jove  cram 
he  cannot,  let  the  botcher  mend  him :  any  thing,!  with  brains,  tor  here  he  comes,  one  of  thy  kin,  hM 
that's  mended,  is  but  patched  :  virtue,  that  trans-  a  most  weakyia  mater^ 
jjresses,  is   but  patched  with  sin  ;    and  sin,  that 


amends,  is  but  patched  with  virtue:  if  that  this 
simple  syllogism  will  serve,  so ;  if  it  will  not,  what 
remedy  I  As  there  is  no  true  cuckold  but  calamity, 
so  beauty's  a  flower  : — the  lady  bade  take  away  the 
fool ;  thereibre,  I  say  .ififain,  take  her  away. 

Oli.  Sir,  I  bade  them  take  away  vou. 

Clo.  Misprision  in  the  highest  decree! — ^Lady, 
CucuUus  non  facit  monachum  ;  that's  as  much  as 
U)  say,  I  wear  not  motley  in  my  brain.  Good  ma- 
donna, prive  me  leave  to  prove  you  a  fool. 

Oli.  Can  you  do  it? 

Clo.  Dexterously,  good  madonna. 

Oli.  Make  your  proof. 

Clo.  I  must  catechise  you  for  it,  madonna ;  good 
my  mouse  of  virtue,  answer  me. 

Oli.  Well,  sir,  for  want  of  other  idleness,  I'll 
'bide  your  proof. 

Clo.  Good  madonna,  why  mourn'stthou? 

Oli.  Good  fool,  for  my  brother's  death. 

Clo.  I  think,  his  soul  is  in  hell,  madonna. 

Oli.  I  know  his  soul  is  in  heaven,  fool. 

Clo.  The  more  fool  you,  madonna,  to  mourn  for 
your  brother's  soul  being  in  heaven. — Take  away 
the  fool,  gentlemen. 

Oli.  AVnat  think  you  of  this  fool,  Malvolio  ?  doth 
be  not  mend  ? 

.Vai.  Yes  ;  and  shall  do,  till  the  pangs  of  death 
shake  him :  infirmity,  that  decays  the  wise,  doth 
ever  make  the  better  fool. 

Clo.  God  send  you,  sir,  a  speedy  infirmity,  for 
the  better  increasing  your  folly !  Sir  Toby  will  be 
sworn,  that  I  am  no  fox  ;  but  he  will  not  pass  his 
word  for  two-pence  that  you  are  no  fool. 

Oli.  How  say  you  to  that,  Malvolio? 

Mai.  1  marvel  your  ladyship  takes  delight  in 
such  a  barren  rascal :  I  saw  him  put  down  the 
other  day  with  an  ordinary  fool,  that  has  no  more 
brain  than  a  stone.  Look'  you  now,  he's  out  of  his 
puard  already :  unless  you  laugh  and  minister  oc- 
casion to  him,  he  is  gagged.  I  protest,  I  take  these 
vrbe  men,  that  crow  so  at  these  set  kind  of  fools, 
no  better  than  the  fools'  zanies.' 

Oli.  0,  you  are  sick  of  sell-love,  Malvolio,  and 
taste  with  a  distempered  appetite.  To  be  generous, 
guiltless,  and  of  free  disposition,  is  to  take  those 
things  for  bird-bolts,'  that  you  deem  cannon-bul- 
lets :  there  is  no  slander  in  an  allowed  fool,  though 
he  do  nothing  but  rail ;  nor  no  railing  in  a  known 
discreet  man,  though  he  do  nothing  but  reprove. 

Clo.  Now  Mercury  endue  thee  with  leasing,^ 
for  thou  speakest  well  of  fools ! 

(1 )  Italian,  mistress,  dame.    (2)  Fools'  baubles. 
(3)  Short  arrows,       (4)  Lying. 


Enter  Sir  Toby  Belch. 

Oli.  By  mine  honour,  half  drunk.— What  is  he 
at  the  gate,  cousin  1 

Sir  To.  A  gentleman. 

Oli.  A  gentleman  ?  What  gentleman  ? 

Sir  To.  'Tis  a  gentleman  here — A  plague  o' 
these  pickle-herrings  ! — How  now,  sot  ? 

Clo.  Good  sir  Toby, 

Oli.  Cousin,  cousin,  how  have  you  come  so  early 
by  this  lethargy  ? 

Sir  To.  Lechery !  I  defy  lechery :  there's  one  at 
the  gate. 

Oli.  Ay,  marry ;  what  is  he  ? 

Sir  To.  Let  him  be  the  devil,  an  he  will,  I  care 
not :  give  me  faith,  say  I.    Well,  it's  all  one. 

[£xt/. 

Oli.  W"hat's  a  drunken  man  like,  fool  ? 

Clo.  Like  a  drown'd  man,  a  fool,  and  a  mad- 
man :  one  draught  above  heat  makes  him  a  fool ; 
tlie  second  mads  him  ;  and  a  third  drowns  him. 

Oli.  Go  thou  and  seek  the  coroner,  and  let  him 
sit  o'  my  coz  ;  for  he's  in  the  third  degree  of  drink, 
he's  drown'd  :  go,  look  after  him. 

Clo.  He  is  but  mad  yet,  madonna ;  and  the  fool 
shall  look  to  the  madman.  [Exit  Clown. 


Rc'Cnter  Malvolio. 

Mai.  Madam,  vond  voung  fellow  swears  he  will 
speak  with  you.  1  told  him  you  were  sick  ;  he  takes 
on  him  to  understand  so  much,  and  therefore  comes 
to  speak  with  you  :  I  told  him  you  were  asleep ;  he 
seerns  to  have  a  fore-knowledge  of  that  too,  and 
therefore  comes  to  speak  with  you.    What  is  to  be 

id  to  him.  lady  ?  he's  fortified  against  any  denial. 

Oli.  Tell  him,  he  shall  not  speak  with  me. 

Mai.  He  has  been  told  so:  and  he  sa3's,  he'll 
stand  at  your  door  like  a  sheriff's  post,  and  be  the 
supporter  of  a  bench,  but  he'll  speak  with  you. 

Gli.  What  kind  of  man  is  he  I 

Mai.  Why,  of  m.in  kind. 

Oli.  Wliat  manner  of  man  7 

Mai.  Of  very  ill  manner :  he'll  speak  with  you, 
w  ill  you,  or  no. 

Ofi.  Of  what  personage,  and  jears,  is  he  7 

Mai.  Not  vet  old  enough  for  a  man,  nor  young 
enough  for  a  boy  ;  as  a  squash  is  before  'tis  a  peas- 
cod,  or  a  codling  when  'tis  almost  an  apple :  'tis 
with  him  e'en  standing  water,  between  hoy  and 
man.  He  is  very  well-favoured,  and  he  speaks 
very  shrewishly;  one  would  think,  his  mcther's 
rails  were  scarce  out  of  him. 

(5)  The  cover  of  the  brain. 


TWELFTH-NIGHT ;  OR,  WHAT  VOU  \V1LL. 


OIL  Let  him  approach :  call  in  my  gentlewoman. 
Mai.  Gentlewoman,  my  lady  calls.  [Exit. 

Re-'tiUtr  Maria. 

Oti.  Gift  me  my  tcU  :  come,  throw  it  o'er  my 
face; 
We'll  once  more  hear  Orsino's  embassy 

Enter  Viola. 

Via.  The  honourable  lady  of  the  bouse,  which 
is  she? 

OIL  Speak  to  me,  I  shall  answer  for  her.  Your 
will  ? 

Fu>.  Most  radiant,  exquisite,  and  unmatchable 
beauty, — I  prav  you,  tell  me,  if  this  be  the  lady  of 
the  house,  lor  1  never  saw  her :  I  would  be  loath  to 
cast  awav  my  speech ;  for,  besides  that  it  is  excel- 
lently well  penn'd,  I  have  taken  wreat  pains  to  con 
it.  Good  beauties,  let  me  sustain  no  scorn ;  I  am 
yerv  comptible,'  even  to  the  least  sinister  usage. 

On.  Whence  came  you,  sir  ? 

Vio.  I  can  say  little  more  than  I  have  studied, 
and  that  question's  out  of  my  part.  Good  gentle 
one,  give  me  modest  assurance,  if  you  be  tiie  lady 
of  the  house,  that  I  may  proceed  in  my  speech. 

on.  Are  you  a  comsdian  ? 

Vu>.  No,  my  proibund  heart:  and  yet,  by  the 
yery  fanja  of  malice,  I  swear,  I  am  not  that  I  play 
Are  you  the  lady  of  the  house  ? 

Oli.  If  I  do  not  usurp  myself,  I  am. 

Vio.  Most  certain,  if  you  are  siie,  you  do  usurp 
yourself;  for  what  is  yours  to  bestow,  is  not  yours 
to  reserve.  But  tliis  is  from  my  commission  :  I  will 
on  with  my  speech  in  your  praise,  and  then  show 
you  the  heart  of  my  message. 

Oli.  Come  to  what  is  important  in't :  I  forgive 
you  the  praise. 

Vio.  Alas,  I  took  great  pains  to  study  it,  and 
His  poetical. 

Oli,  It  is  the  more  like  to  be  feig;ned ;  I  pray  you 
keep  it  in.  1  heard,  you  were  saucy  at  my  pates 
and  allowed  your  approacli,  rather  to  wonder  at 
you  than  to  hear  you.  If  you  be  not  mad,  be 
pone ;  if  you  have  reason,  be  brief:  'tis  not  that 
time  of  moon  with  me,  to  make  one  in  so  skipping' 
a  dialop:uc. 

.Mar.  Will  you  hoist  sail,  sir  ?  here  lies  your  way. 

Vio.  No,  (?ood  swabber:  I  am  to  hull  here  a 
Kttle  Ioniser. — Some  mollification  for  your  giant,' 
sweet  lady. 

Oli,  Tell  me  your  mind. 

Vio.  I  am  a  messenger. 

OIL  Sure,  you  have  some  hideous  matter  to  de- 
liver, when  the  courtesy  of  it  is  so  fearful.  Speak 
jour  office. 

Vio,  It  alone  concerns  your  ear.  I  bring  no 
overture  of  war,  no  taxation  of  homage ;  I  hold 
the  olive  in  my  hand :  my  words  are  as  full  of  peace 
as  matter. 

OIL  Yet  you  began  rudely.  What  are  you  ? 
what  would  you  ? 

Vio.  The  rudeness  that  hath  appear'd  in  me, 
have  I  learn'd  from  my  entertainment.  >Vhat  I  am, 
and  what  I  would,  are  as  secret  as  maidenhead :  to 
your  ears,  divinity ;  to  any  other's,  profanation. 

Oli,  Give  us  the  place  alone :  we  will  hear  this 
divinity.  [Exit  Maria.  ]  Now ;  sir,  what  is  your  text  ? 

Vio.  Most  sweet  lady,— — 

(I^  Accountable. 

(S)  It  appears  from  several  parts  of  this  play, 
U»t  the  origin&l  actrece  of  Maria  was  very  short. 


OIL  A  comfortable  doctrine,  and  much  may  ba 

said  of  it.    Where  lies  your  text  ? 

Vio.  In  Orsino's  bosom. 

OIL  I II  his  bosom  ?  1  n  what  chapter  of  his  bosom  t 

Vio.  To  answer  by  the  method,  in  the  first  ol 
his  heart. 

OIL  O,  I  have  read  it ;  it  is  heresy.  Have  you 
no  more  to  say  ? 

Vio,  Good  madam,  let  me  see  your  face. 

Oli,  Have  you  any  commission  from  your  lord  to 
negociate  with  my  (ace  ?  you  are  now  out  of  your 
text :  but  we  will  draw  the  curtain,  and  show  you 
the  picture.  Look  you,  sir,  such  a  one  as  I  was 
this  present :'  is't  not  well  done  ?  [  Unveiling. 

Vio.  Excellently  done,  ifGoddidall. 

OIL  'Tis  in  grain,  sir ;  'twill  endure  wind  and 
weather. 

Vio,  'Tis  beauty  truly  blent,*  whose  red  and 
white 
Nature's  own  sweet  and  cunning  hand  laid  on : 
Lady,  you  are  the  cruell'st  she  alive, 
If  you  will  lead  these  graces  to  the  grave. 
And  leave  the  world  no  copy. 

OIL  0,  sir,  I  will  not  be  so  hard-hearted ;  I  will 
£?ive  out  divers  schedules  of  my  beauty :  it  shall  b« 
inventoried;  and  every  particle,  and  utensil,  la- 
belled to  my  will :  as,  item,  two  lips  indifl'erent  red ; 
item,  two.grey  eyes,  with  lids  to  them ;  item,  one 
neck,  one  chin,  and  so  forth.  Were  you  sent 
hither  to  'praise  me  ? 

Vio,  I  see  you  ^vhat  you  are :  you  are  too  proud : 
But,  if  you  were  the  devil,  you  are  fair. 
My  lord  and  master  loves  you ;  O,  such  love 
Could    but   be   recompens'd,    though  you  were 

crown'd 
The  nonpareil  of  beauty ! 

Oli,  How  does  he  love  me  7 

Vio.  With  adorations,  with  fertile  tears, 
With  groans  that  thunder  love,  with  si^hs  of  fire. 

OIL  Your  lord  does  know  my  mind,  I  cannot 
love  him : 
Yet  I  suppose  him  virtuous,  know  him  noble, 
Of  great  estate,  of  fresh  and  stainless  youth  ; 
In  voices  well  divulg'd,'  free,  learn'd,  and  valiant. 
And,  in  dimension,  and  the  shape  of  nature, 
A  gracious  person  :  but  yet  I  cannot  love  him  ; 
He  might  have  took  his  answer  long  ago. 

Fio.'lf  I  did  love  you  in  my  master's  flame. 
With  such  a  sufiering.  such  a  deadly  life. 
In  your  denial  I  woula  find  no  sense, 
I  would  not  understand  it. 

OIL  W'hy,  what  would  yon  : 

Vio.  Make  me  a  willow  cabu)  at  your  gate. 
And  call  upon  my  soul  within  the  house  ; 
Write  loyal  cantons*  of  contemned  love. 
And  sing  them  loud  even  in  the  dead  of  night. 
Holla  your  name  to  the  reverberate'  hills. 
And  make  the  babbling  gossip  of  the  air 
Cry  out,  Olivia  !     O,  you  should  not  rest 
Between  the  elements  of  air  and  earth. 
But  you  should  pity  me. 

OIL  You  might  do  much :  What  is  your  parent* 
age? 

Vio,  Above  my  fortunes,  yet  my  state  is  well : 
I  am  a  gentleman. 

Oli,  Get  you  to  vour  lord  ; 

I  cannot  love  him :  let  him  send  no  more ; 
Unless,  perchance,  you  come  to  me  again. 
To  tell  me  how  he  takes  it.    Fare  you  well  J 

(3)  Presents.  (4)  Blended,  mixed  together 

(5)  Well  spoken  of  by  the  world. 

(6)  Cantos,  verses.  (7)  EcboWf. 


Stent  i,  11,  III. 


TWELFTH-NIGHT;  OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


I  thank  you  for  your  pains :  spend  this  for  me. 

Kw.  I  am  no  fee'd  posL'  lady  ;  keep  your  purse ; 
My  master,  not  myself,  lacks  recompense. 
Lore  make  his  heart  of  flint,  that  you  shall  Iotc  ; 
A.d  let  your  fervour,  like  mv  master's,  be 
Plac'd  in  contempt !  Farewell,  fair  cruelty.  [Exit. 

on.  AVTiat  is  your  parentage  ? 
Jlbcxe  my  fortunes,  yet  my  state  is  well : 

J  am  a  gentleman. I'll  be  sworn  thou  art  ; 

Thy  tongue,  thy  face,  thy  limbs,  actions,  and  spirit, 
Do  give  thee  five-fold  blazon:* — Not  too  fast: — 

soft !  soft ! 
Unless  the  master  were  the  man. — How  now? 
Even  so  quickly  may  one  catch  the  plague  ? 
Methinks,  I  feci  this  youth's  perfections, 
With  an  invisible  and  subtle  stealth. 
To  creep  in  at  mine  eyes.    Well,  let  it  be. — 
What,  ho,  Malvolio  !-^ 

Re-enter  Malvolio. 

Mai.  Here,  madam,  at  your  service. 

Oli.  Run  after  that  same  peevish  messenocr. 
The  county's'  man  :  he  left  this  ring  behind  him, 
W^ould  I,  or  not:  tell  him,  I'll  none  of  it. 
Desire  him  not  to  flatter  with  his  lord, 
Nor  hold  him  up  with  hopes ;  I  am  not  for  him  : 
If  that  the  youth  will  come  this  way  to-morrow, 
I'll  give  him  reasons  for't.    Hie  thee,  Malvolio. 

Mai.  Madam,  I  will.  [ExU. 

(Hi.  I  do  I  know  not  what :  and  fear  to  find 
Mine  eye  too  great  a  flatterer  for  my  mind. 
Fate,  sfiow  thy  force  :  ourselves  we  do  not  owe  ;* 
What  ie  decreed,  must  be ;  and  be  this  so !  [Exit. 


ACT  II. 


SCEXE  /.- 


-The  sfa-coast.    Enter  Antonio  and 
Sebastian. 


w!n/.  Will  vou  stay  no  longer?  nor  will  you  not,lSne  made  good  view  of  me ;  indeed,  so  much. 


not  but  call  (kir :  she  is  drowned  already,  tir,  with 
salt  water,  though  I  seem  to  drown  h«r  remea 
brance  ag^ain  with  more. 

JJnt.  Pardon  me,  sir,  your  bad  entertainment 

Seb.  O,  good  Antonio,  forpve  me  your  trouble. 

.^?it.  If  you  will  not  murder  me  for  my  lore,  Id 
me  be  ycur  servant, 

Seb.  If  vou  will  not  undo  what  you  hare  done, 
that  is,  kill  him  whom  you  have  recovered,  desire 
it  not.  Fare  re  well  at  once  :  my  bosom  is  full  of 
kindness ;  and  I  am  yet  so  near  the  manners  of  my 
mother,  that  upon  (he  least  occasion  more,  mine 
eyes  will  tell  tales  of  me.  I  am  bound  to  the 
count  Orsino's  court  :  farewell.  [Exit. 

Jint.  The  jrcntleness  of  all  the  gods  ^o  with  thee ' 
I  hare  many  enemies  in  Orsino's  court. 
Else  would  I  verj'  shortly  see  thee  there  : 
But,  come  what  may.  I  oo  adoi-e  thee  so. 
That  danger  shall  seem  sport,  and  1  will  go.  [Exit. 

SCEXE  11.-^  street.    Enter  Viola ;  MaltoU* 

/ollQieing. 

Mai.  Were  not  you  eren  now  with  the  countes* 
Olivia  ? 

Vio.  Even  now,  sir ;  on  a  moderate  pace  I  hare 
since  arrived  but  hither. 

Mai.  She  returns  this  ring  to  you,  sir ;  you  might 
laave  saved  me  my  pains,  to  Hare  taken  it  away 
yourself.  She  adds  moreover,  that  you  should  put 
your  lord  into  a  desperate  assurance  she  will  none 
of  him :  and  one  thing  more ;  that  you  be  nerer 
so  hardy  to  come  again  in  his  aflairs,  unless  it  be  to 
report  your  lord's  taking  of  this.    Receive  it  so. 

Fto.She  took  the  ring  of  me  ;  I'll  none  of  it. 

Mai.  Come,  sir,  you  peevishly  threw  it  to  ker ; 
and  her  will  is,  it  should  be  so  returned :  if  it  be 
worth  stooping  for,  there  it  lies  in  your  eye;  if  not, 
be  it  his  that  finds  it.  [Exit. 

Vio.  I  left  no  ring  with  her :  what  means  this  lady  ? 
Fortune  forbid,  my  outside  have  not  charm'd  heir  I 


that  I  go  with  you  ? 

Seb.  By  your  patience,  no :  my  stars  shine  dark- 
ly over   me :   the   malignancy  of  my  file  might, 
perhaps,  dis 
of  you  your 
it  were  a  ba( 
of  them  on  you 

»Jat.  Let  me  yet  know  of  you,  whither  )'ou  are 
bound. 

Seb.  No,  'sooth,  sir ;  my  determinate  voyage  is 
mere  extravagancy.  But  I  perceive  in  you  so  ex- 
cellent a  touch  of  modesty,  that  you  will  not  extort 
from  me  ■what  I  am  willing  to  keep  in  ;  therefore 
it  charges  me  in  manners  the  rather  to  express* 
myself.  You  must  know  of  me  then,  Antonio,  my 
name  is  Sebastian,  which  I  colled  Rodrigo ;  my 
fatlier  was  that  Sebastian  of  Messaline,  whom  I 
know,  you  hare  heard  of:  he  left  behind  him, 
myself,  and  a  sister,  both  born  in  an  hour.  If  the 
hearens  had  been  pleased,  'would  we  had  so 
ended!  but  you,  sir,  altered  that;  for,  some  hour 
before  you  took  me  from  the  breach  of  the  sea,  was 
mv  sister  drowned. 

'.9nt.  Alas,  the  da}  ! 

Seb.  A  lady,  sir,  though  it  was  said  she  much 
resembled  me,  was  yet  of  many  accounted  beauti- 
ful :  but,  though  I  could  not,  with  such  estimable 
wonder,  orerfar  believe  that,  yet  thus  far  I  will 
boldly  publish  her,  she  bore  a  mind  that  envy  could 


That,  sure,    methought,   her  eyes  had   lost  her 

tongue, 
For  she  did  speak  in  starts  distractedly. 


iJi 


McBsenger.      (2)  Proclamation  of  gentility. 
Count,        (4)  Own,  possess.      (5)  Reveal. 


Poor  lady,  she  were  better  love  a  dream. 

Disguise,  I  see,  thou  art  a  wickedness, 

Wherein  the  pregnant^  enemy  does  much. 

How  easy  is  it,  for  the  proper-fabe' 

In  women's  waxen  hearts  to  set  their  forms  • 

Alas !  our  frailty  is  the  cause,  not  we ; 

For,  such  as  we  are  made  of,  such  we  be. 

How  will  this  fadge  ?^  My  master  loves  her  dearly , 

And  T,  poor  monster,  fond  as  much  on  him ; 

And  she,  mistaken,  seems  to  dote  on  me  : 

What  will  become  of  this  !  As  I  am  man. 

My  state  is  desperate  for  my  master's  lore; 

As  I  am  woman,  now  alas  the  dav  ! 

What  thriftless  sighs  shall  poor  Olivia  breaUie? 

O  time,  thou  must  untangle  this,  not  I ; 

It  is  too  hard  a  knot  for  me  to  untie.  [ExH. 

SCEXE  in.—.1  room  in  Olivia's  kmtse.    Enter 
Sir  Toby  Belch,  and  Sir  Andrew  Ague-check. 

Sir  To.  Approach,  sir  Andrew  :  not  to  be  a-bed 
after  midnight,  is  to  be  up  betimes  ;  and  dilucutt 
surgere,  thou  know'st, 

<6)  Dexterous,  ready  fiend. 

(7)  Fair  deceiver.  (8)  SidU 


9^ 


TWELFTH  NIGHT ;  OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL* 


^ctlJ. 


Sir  ^nd.  Nay,  by  my  troth,  I  know  not 
know,  to  be  up  late,  is  to  be  up  late. 

Sir  To.  A  fabe  conclusion  ;  I  hate  it  as  an  un- 
filled can :  to  be  up  alter  midnight,  and  to  go  to 
bed  then,  is  early ;  so  that,  to  goto  bed  after  mid- 
night, is  to  go  to  bed  betimes.  Do  not  our  lives 
consist  of  the  four  elements  ? 


bail      Sir  And.  Most  certain:  let  our  catch  be,  Thou 
knave. 

Clo.  Hold  thy  peace,  thou  knave,  knight  ?  I  shall 
be  constrain'd  in't  to  call  thee  knave,  knight. 

Sir.Qnd.  'Tis  not  the  first  time  I  have  constrain'd 
one  to  call  me  knave.  Begin,  fool;  it  begins. 
Hold  Ihy  peace. 


Clo. 
Sir 


lo.  I  shall  never  begin,  if  I  hold  my  peace. 
irJlnd.  Good,  i'iaiUi !  Come,  begm. 

[2'hey  sing  a  catch. 


Enter  Maria. 


Sir.ind.  'Faith,  so  they  say;  but,  I  think,  it 
rather  consists  of  eating  and  drinking.  I 

Sir  To.  Thou  art  a  scholar;  let  us  therefore  cat! 
and  drink. — Maria,  1  say ! a  stoop  of  wine ! 

Enter  Clown. 

Sir  And.  Here  comes  the  fool,  i' faith. 

Clo.  How  now,  my  hearts?  Did  you  never  see 
♦he  picture  of  we  tinee?' 

Sir  To.  Welcome,  ass.   Now  let's  have  a  catch. 

Sir  And.  By  my  troth,  the  Ibol  has  an  excellent 
breast.*  I  had  rather  than  forty  shillinprs  I  had  such  iwe  be.    Am  notTl  consanguineous  ?  am  I  not  of  her 


Mar.  What  a  catterwaulin?  do  you  keep  here ! 
If  my  lady  have  not  called  up  her  steward,  Malvo- 
lio,  and  bid  him  turn  you  out  of  doors,  never  trust 
me. 

Sir  To.  My  lady's  a  Catalan,'^  we  are  politicians ; 
Malvolio's  a  Peg-a-Ramsey,'  and  Three  merry  men 


leg;  and  so  sweet  a  breath  to  sing,  as  the  fool  j  blood?  Tilly-valley  .•  lady!  There  dwelt  a' man  in 
IS.     In  sooth,  thou  wait  in  very  j^racious  foolinarj iJafcw/on, /arft/j/adi/.'  [Sin^ng. 

St  nicrht,  when  thou  sjtokest  of  Pitrro^rcmitns,  on     cto.   Beshrew  me,  the  knight's  in  admirable 


has 

last 

the  Vapians  passing  the  equinoctial  of  Queubus  ;  |  fooling. 

'twas  very  good,  i'Jaith.    I  sent  thee  sixpence  lorl     Sir  And.  Ay,  he  does  well  enough,  if  he  be  dis- 

thyleman.'  hadstit?  j  posed,  and  so  do  I  too;  he  does  it  with  a  better 

Clo.  I  did  impcticos  thy  eratillity  ;*  for  Malvo-igrace,J)ut  I  do  it  more  natural. 

lie's  nose  is  no  whipstock :  my  latlv  has  a  white  " 

hand,  and  the  myrmidons  are  no  boltle-alc  houses. 

Sir  And.  Excellent!  Why,  this  is  the  best  fool- 
ing, when  all's  done.     Now,  a  song. 

Sir  To.  Come  on;  there  is  sixpence  for  you: 
let's  have  a  son^. 

Sir  And.   There's  a  teslril  of  me  too :  if  one 
kniffht  give  a 

Clo.  Would  you  have  a  love-song,  cr  a  song  of 
good  life  ? 

.Sir  To.  A  love-son^,  a  lore-song. 

Sir  And.  Ay,  ay ;  i  care  not  for  good  life, 


SONG. 

Clo.  0  mistress  mine,  where  are  you  roaming  7 
0,  Slav  and  hear ;  your  true  lovers  coming, 

'That  can  sing  hoth  high  and  low  : 
Trip  no  further,  pretty  sweeting; 
Journeys  end  in  lovers^  meeting. 

Every  xcise man''s  son  dotkkncw. 
Sir  And.  Excellent  good,  i'faith. 
Sir  To.  Good,  good.  ^ 

Clo.   What  is  love  ?  His  not  hereafter  ;        \ 
Present  mirth  hath  present  laughter  ;  / 
What's  to  come,  is  still  unsure  :      \ 
In  delay  there  lies  no  plenty; 
Then  come  kiss  me  s\oeet-and-ttcenty. 
Youth's  a  stuff  will  not  endure.         ) 

Sir  And.  A  mellifluous  voice,  as  l~5ia  a  true 
knight. 

Sir  To.  A  contagious  breath. 

Sir  And.  Very  sweet  and  contagious,  i'faith. 

Sir  To.  To  hear  by  the  nose,  it  is  dulcet  in  con- 
tagion. But  shall  we  make  the  welkin  dance'  in- 
deed? Shall  we  rouse  the  niaht-owl  in  a  catch, 
that  will  draw  three  souls  out  of  one  weaver?  shall 
•we  do  that  ? 

Sir  And.  An  you  love  mc,  let's  do't:  I  am  dog 
at  a  catch. 

Clo.  By'r  lady,  sir,  and  some  dogs  will  catch 
well. 

i) )  Lotrgerheads  be.    (2)  Voice.    (3)  Mistress. 
4)  I  didimpetticoat  thy  gratuity. 
5)  Drink  till  the  sky  turns  round. 
6}  Romancer.    (7}  Nome  of  an  old  £on^. 


Sir  To.  0,  the  twelfth  day  of  December, — 

[Singing. 
Mar.  For  the  love  of  God,  peace. 

£nte)'Malvolio. 

Mai.  My  masters,  are  you  mad  ?  or  what  are 
you  ?  Have  you  no  wit,  manners,  nor  honesty,  but 
to  gabble  like  linkers  at  this  time  of  night  7  Do 
ye  make  an  ale-house  of  my  lady's  house,  that  ye 
squeak  out  your  coziers"  catches  without  any  miti- 
gation or  remorse  of  voice  ?  Is  there  no  respect  of 
place,  persons,  nor  time,  in  you  ? 

Sir  To.  ^Ve  did  keep  time,  sir,  in  our  catches. 
Sneckuij!'" 

Mai.  Sir  Toby,  I  must  be  round  with  you.  My 
lady  bade  me  tell  you,  that,  though  she  harbours 
you  as  her  kinsman,  she's  nothing  allied  to  your 
disorders.  If  you  can  separate  yourself  and  your 
misdemeanours,  you  are  welcome  to  the  house  ;  if 
not,  an  it  would  please  you  to  take  leave  of  her, 
she  is  very  willing  to  bid  you  farewell. 

Sir  To.  Farewell,  dear' heart,  since  I  must  nttds 
be  gone. 

Mar.  Nay,  good  sir  Toby. 

Clo.  His  eyts  do  show  his  days  are  almost  dom. 

Mai.  Is't  even  so  ? 

Sir  To.  But  I  wiU  never  die. 

Clo.  Sir  Toby,  there  yon  lie. 

Mai.  This  is  much  credit  to  you. 

Sir  To.  Shall  I  bid  him  go  ?  [Singing, 

Clo.   What  an  if  you  do  1 

Sir  To.  Shall  I  bid  him  go,  and  spare  not  7 

Clo.  O  no,  no,  no,  no,  you  dare  not. 

Sir  To.  Out  o'  time?  su-,  ye  lie. — Art  anv  more 
than  a  steward  ?  Dost  thou  think,  because  thou  art 
virtuous,  there  shall  be  no  more  cakes  and  ale? 

Clo.  Yes,  by  Saint  Anne ;  and  ginger  shall  be 
hot  i'  the  mouth  too. 

Sir  To.  Thou'rt  i'  the  right. — Go,  sir,  rub  your 
chain"  ivith  cnims: — a  stoop  of  wine,  Maria! 

Mai.  Mistress  Mary,  if  you  prized  my  lady's  fa- 
vour at  any  thing  more  than  contempt,  you  would 

(8)  Equivalent  to  fiUy  faUy,  shilly  shally. 

(9)  Cobblers.        (10)  Hang  yourself. 
(II)  Stewards  anciently  wore  a  chain. 


Sutne  IT. 


TWELFTH  NIGHT;  OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


79 


not  give  means  for  this  uncivil  rule;'  she  shall 
know  of  it,  by  this  hand.  [Exit. 

.Mar.  Go  shake  your  ears. 

Hir  And.  'Tivere  as  good  a  deed  as  to  drink 
when  a  man's  a  hungry,  to  challenge  him  to  the 
field ;  and  then  to  break  promise  %vilh  him,  and 
make  a  fool  of  him. 

Sir  To.  Do't,  knight;  I'll  r.Tite  thee  a  chal- 
lenge ;  or  I'll  deliver  thy  indignation  to  him  by 
word  of  mouth. 

Mar.  Sweet  sir  Toby,  be  patient  for  to-night ; 
since  the  youth  of  the  count's  was  to-day  with  mv 
lady,  she  )s  much  out  of  quiet.  For  monsieur  Maf- 
yoho,  let  me  alone  with  him  :  if  I  do  not  gull  him 
into  a  nay-word,*  and  make  him  a  common  recrea- 
tion, do  not  think  I  have  wit  enough  to  lie  straight 
in  my  bed  :  I  know  I  can  do  it. 

Sir  To.  Possess  us,'  possess  us ;  tell  us  some- 
thing of  him. 

Mar.  Marry,  sir,  sometimes  he  is  a  kind  of  Pu- 
ritan. , 

Sir  And.  0,  if  I  thought  that,  I'd  beat  him  like 
a  dog. 

Sir  To.  What,  for  being  a  Puritan  7  thy  exqui- 
site reason,  dear  knight? 

Sir  ,ind.  I  have  no  exquisite  reason  for't,  but  I 
have  reason  good  enough. 

Mar.  The  devil  a  Puritan  that  he  is,  or  any  thing 
constantly  but  a  time-pleaser ;  an  affectioned*  ass, 
that  cons  state  without  book,  and  utters  it  by  great 
swarths:'  the  best  persuaded  of  himself,  so  clram- 
lued,  as  he  thinks,  with  excellencies,  that  it  is  his 
ground  of  faith,  that  all  that  look  on  him,  love  him ; 
and  on  that  vice  in  him  will  my  revenge  find  nota- 
ble pause  to  work. 

,S(r  To.  \yhat  wilt  thou  do  ? 

Mar.  I  will  drop  in  his  way  some  obscure  epis' 
ties  of  love;  wherein,by  the  colour  of  his  beard,  the 
shape  of  his  leg,  the  manner  of  his  gait,  the  expres- 
sure  of  his  eye,  forehead,  and  complexion,  he  shall 
find  himself  most  feelingly  personated :  I  can  write 
very  like  my  ladr,  your  niece ;  on  a  forgotten  mat- 
ter we  can  hardiv  make  distinction  of  our  hands. 

Sir  To.  Excellent !  I  smell  a  device. 

Sir  And.  I  hav't  in  mv  nose  too. 

Sir  To.  He  shall  think,  by  the  letters  that  thou 
wilt  drop,  that  they  come  from  my  niece,  and  that 
she  is  in  love  with  him.  '  /■ 

Mar.  My  purpose  is,  indeed,  a  horse  of  thdt 
colour.  1 

Sir  And.  And  your  horse  now  would  make  \axk 
an  ass.  T . 

Mar.  Ass.  I  doubt  not. 

Sir  And.  O,  'twill  be  admirable. 

Mar.  Sport  royal,  I  warrant  you :  I  know,  mi 
physic  will  work  with  him.  I  will  plant  vou  two" 
and  let  the  fool  make  a  third,  where  he  shall  fin 
the  letter ;  observe  his  construction  of  it  For  thi 
night,  to  bed,  and  dream  on  the  event.    Farewell. 

[Exit. 

Sir  To.  Good  night,  Penthesilea.* 

Sir  And.  Before  me,  she's  a  good  wench. 

Sir  To.  She's  a  beasfle,  true-bred,  and  one  that 
adores  me  ;  AVhat  o'  that  ? 

Sir  And.  I  was  adored  once  too. 

iiir  To.  Let's  to  bed,  knight.— Thou  hadst  need 
■end  fur  more  money. 

Sir  And.  If  I  cannot  recover  your  niece,  I  am  a 
foul  way  out 

(1)  Method  of  life.  (2)  By- word.  (S)  Inform  u». 

U)  Aflected. 

(i)  T)t«  row  of  grui  led  hj  a  mower, 


Sir  To.  Send  for  monev,  knight ;  if  thoa  hast 
her  not  i' the  end,  call  me  Cut.' 

Sir  And.  If  I  do  not,  never  trust  me,  take  it  how 
you  will. 

Sir  To.  Come,  come ;  I'll  go  bum  some  sack, 
'tis  too  late  to  go  to  bed  now ;  come,  knight  •  come. 
knight.  [Exmnt. 

SCEXE  JV.—^i  room  in  tht  Duke's  palace.   En- 
ter  Duke,  Viola,  Curio,  and  others. 

Duke.  Give  me  some  music :  Now,  good  mor- 
ro^r,  friends : — 
Now,  good  Cesario,  but  that  piece  of  song. 
That  old  and  antique  song  we  heard  last  night; 
Methought.  it  did  relieve  my  passion  much  ; 
More  than  light  airs  and  refollecttd  terms. 
Of  these  most  brisk  and  giddy-paced  times : — 
Come,  but  one  verse. 

Cur.  He  is  not  here,  so  please  your  lordship, 
that  should  sing  it 

Duke.  AVho  was  it  ? 

Cur.  Feste,  the  jester,  my  lord  •  a  fool,  that  the 
lady  Olivia's  father  took  much  dehght  in:  he  ia 
about  the  house. 

Duke.  Seek  iiim  out,  and  plav  the  tune  the  while. 
\£xit  Curio. — Mitsic. 
Come  hither,  boy ;  If  ever  thou  shalt  love, 
in  tiie  sweet  pangs  of  it  remember  me : 
For,  such  as  I  am,  all  true  lovers  are  ; 
Unstaid  and  skittish  in  all  motions  else. 
Save,  in  the  constant  image  of  the  creature 
That  is  belov'd. — How  dost  thou  like  tliis  tune  7 

Vio.  It  gives  a  very  echo  to  the  seat 
Where  love  is  thron'd. 

Duke.  Thou  dost  speak  masterly  : 
My  life  upon't,  young  though  thou  art,  thine  eye 
Hath  stay'd  upon  some  favour*  tiiat  it  loves ; , 
Hath  it  riot,  boy  ? 

Vio.  A  little,  by  your  favour. 

Duke.  What  kind  of  woman  is't  ? 

Vio-  Of  your  complexion. 

Duke.  She  is  not  worth  thee  then.   What  years, 
i'faith? 

Vio.  About  your  years,  my  lord. 

Duke.  Too  old,  by  heaven ;  Let  still  the  womar. 
take 
An  elder  than  herself;  so  wears  she  to  him. 
So  sivays  she  level  in  her  husband's  heart ; 
For,  boy,  however  we  do  praise  ourselves. 
Our  fancies  are  more-giddy  and  unfirm, 
More  longing,  wavering,  sooner  lost  and  worn, 
Than  women's  are. 

Vio.  I  think  it  well,  mv  lord. 

-  Duke.  Then  let  thy  love  be  younger  than  thvself. 
Or  thy  afloction  cannot  hold  the  bent : 
For  women  are  as  roses  ;  whose  fair  flower. 
Being  once  display'd,  doth  fall  that  very  hour. 

Vio.  And  fo  tliey  are :  alas,  that  thev  are  so  ; 
To  die,  even  ivhen  they  to  perfection  grow ! 

Re-enter  Curio,  and  Clown. 
Duke.  0  fellow,  come,  the  song  we  lad  bsl 

night : — 
Mark  it,  Cesario  :  it  is  old  and  plain  : 
The  spinsters  and  the  knitters  in  the  sur    ' 
And  the  free  maids,  that  weave  their  tlaead  with 

bones,' 
Do  use  to  chaunt  it;  it  is  silly  sooth, '• 
.\nd  dallies  with  the  innocence  of  love. 
Like  the  old  age." 

(6)  Amazon.     (7)  Horse.     (S)  Countenaace. 
(9)  Lace  makers.        (10}  Simple  truth, 
'11)  Times  of  simplicity. 


^ 


TWELFTH-NIUHT ;  OR,  IVHAT  YOU  WILL. 


JUlIt. 


C*.  Are  you  ready,  sir? 
Duke.  Ay ;  pr'ylh'ee,  »iiig. 

SON(J. 


[Jtfujtc. 


Cio.  Comt  away,  come  aieay,  dtalh, 
Jlnd  in  sad  cypress  let  me  be  laid; 

Fly  away,  Jly  away,  brealli; 
J  am  slain  ly  a  fair  cruel  maid. 
My  slu-ffud  of  white,  stuck  all  wiUi  yexOf 

0,  prepare  it  ; 
Jtfy  part  of  death  no  one  so  trut 
Did  share  it. 
JiTot  afloiBtr,  7iol  afUrirer  sweet, 
On  my  black  cojjin  let  there  be  strown; 

J^ot  a  friend,  not  a  friend  greet 
JQy   poor  corpse,    where  my  oones  shall  be 

thrown  ; 
A  thousand  thousand  si^hs  to  save, 

Lay  me,  0,  where 
Sad  true  lover  ne'er  find  my  grate, 
To  weep  there. 

Dufcf.  There's  for  thy  pains. 

Clo.  No  pains,  sir ;  I  take  pleasure  in  singing,  sir. 

Duke.  I'll  pay  thy  pleasure  then. 

Clo.  Truly,  sir,  and  pleasure  will  be  paid,  one 
lime  or  another. 

Duke.  Give  me  now  leave  to  leave  thee. 

Clo.  Now,  the  melancholy  god  protect  thee ; 
and  the  tailor  make  thy  doublet  of  changeable  taf- 
feta, for  thy  mind  is  a  very  opal' — I  would  have 
men  of  such  constancy  put  to  sea,  that  their  busi- 
ness might  be  every  thinz,  and  their  intent  ever)' 
where;  for  that's  it,  that  always  makes  a  good 
Tovage  of  nothing. — Farewell.  [Exit  Clown. 

Duke.  Let  all  the  rest  give  place. 

[Exeunt  Curio  and  alte^idants. 
Once  more,  Cesario, 
Get  thee  to  yon'  same  sovereign  cruelty : 
Tell  her,  my  love,  more  noble  than  the  world, 
Prizes  not  quantity  of  dirty  lands  ; 
The  parts  that  fortune  hath  bestow'd  upon  her. 
Tell  her,  I  hold  as  giddily  as  fortune  ; 
But  'tis  that  miracle,  and  queen  of  gem"?. 
That  nature  prank?*  her  in,  attracts  my  soul. 

Via,  But,  if  she  cannot  love  you,  sir? 

Duke.  I  cannot  be  so  answer'd. 

Vio.  'Sooth,  but  you  must. 

Say,  that  some  lady,  as,  perhaps,  thnre  is. 
Hath  for  your  love  as  great  a  pang  of  heart 
As  you  have  for  Olivia  :  you  cannot  love  her : 
You  tell  her  so  ;  Must  she  not  then  be  answer'd? 

Duke.  There's  is  no  woman's  sides. 
Can  'bide  the  beating  of  so  strong  a  passion 
As  love  doth  crive  my  heart :  no  woman's  heart 
So  big,  to  hold  so  much  ;  they  lack  retention. 
Alas,  their  love  may  be  call'd  appe'ite, — 
No  motion  of  the  liver,  but  the  p:date, — 
That  suffer  surfeit,  cloyment,  .md  revolt ; 
But  mine  is  all  as  hun'jry  as  the  sea. 
And  can  digest  as  much :  make  no  compare 
Between  that  love  a  woman  can  bear  mc. 
And  that  I  owe  Olivia. 

Vio.  Ay,  but  I  know,— ^ 

Duke.  What  dost  thou  linow  ? 

Vio.  Too  well  ivhat  love  women  to  men  may 
owe : 
In  faith,  thny  arc  as  true  of  hf>art  as  we. 
My  father  had  a  daughter  lov'd  a  man, 
As  it  might  be,  perhaps,  were  1  woman, 
I  should  your  lordship. 


(1 )  A  precious  «tone  of  all  coloun 
(3)  Pcnial. 


if\  Dixks. ' 


Duke,  And  what's  h*r  history  ? 

Vio.  A  blank,  my  lord  :  She  never  told  her  love. 
But  let  concealment,  like  a  worm  i'  the  bud. 
Feed  on  her  damask  cheek  :  she  pin'd  in  Uiuught ; 
And,  with  a  green  and  yellow  melancholy, 
She  sat  like  patience  on  a  monument, 
Smiling  at  grief.    Was  not  this  love,  indeed? 
I  We  men  may  say  more,  swear  more:  but,  indeed, 
lOur  shows  are  more  than  will  ;  for  still  we  prove 
Much  in  our  vows,  but  little  in  our  love. 

Duke.  But  died  thy  sister  of  her  love,  my  boy  ? 

Vio.  I  am  all  the  daughters  of  my  father's  hpuse. 
And  all  the  brothers  too ; — and  yet  I  luiow  not:— 
Sir,  shall  I  to  this  lady? 

Duke.  Ay,  that's  the  theme** 

To  her  in  haste  ;  give  her  this  iewel :  say, 
My  love  can  give  no  place,  bide  no  denay.* 

[Exeunt. 

SCEXE  F.— Olivia's  Garden.    Enter  $tr  Tpty 
Belch,  .Sir  Andrew  Ague*chee1c,  and  Fabian. 

Sir  To.  Come  thy  ways,  signior  Fabian. 

Fab.  Nay,  I'll  come;  if  I  lose  a  scruple  of  this 
sport,  let  me  be  boiled  to  death  with  melancholy. 

Sir  To.  Would'st  thou  not  be  glad  to  have  the 
niggardly  rascally  sheep-biter  come  by  some  QOta- 
ble  shame  ? 

Fab.  I  would  exult,  man :  you  know,  he  brought 
me  out  of  favour  with  my  lady,  about  a  bear-bait* 
ing  here. 

Sir  To.  To  anrer  him,  we'll  have  the  bear  again ; 
and  we  will  fool  him  black  and  blue: — Shall  we 
not,  sir  Andrew  ? 

Sir  And.  An  we  do  not,  it  is  pity  of  our  lires. 

Enter  Maria. 

Sir  To.  Here  comes  the  little  villain  :-<-How 
now,  my  nettle  of  India. 

J|7ar. 'Get  ye  all  three  into  the  box-tree :  Mal- 
volio's  coming  down  this  walk  ;  he  has  been  yon- 
der i'  the  sun,  practising  behaviour  to  his  own 
shadow,  this  half  hour :  observe  him,  for  the  love 
of  mockery  ;  for,  I  know,  this  letter  will  make  a 
contemplative  idiot  of  him.  Close,  in  the  name  of 
jesting!  [The  men  hide  themselves.]  Lie  thou 
there  ;  [throws  down  a  letter]  for  here  comes  the 
trout  that  must  be  caught  with  tickling. 

[Exit  Maria. 
Enter  Malvolio. 

J\IaL  'Tis  but  fortune  ;  all  is  fortune.  Mari» 
once  told  me,  she  did  affect  me :  and  I  have  heard 
herself  come  thus  near,  that,  should  she  fancy,*  jt 
should  be  one  of  my  complexion.  Besides,  she  uses 
me  with  a  more  exalted  respect,  than  any  one  else 
that  follows  her.     What  should  I  think  on't? 

Sir  To.  Here's  an  over- weening  rogue  ! 

Fab.  0,  peace  !  Contemplation  makes  a  rare 
turkey-cock  of  him ;  how  he  jets'  under  his  ad- 
vanced plumes  ! 

Sir  And.  'Sli^ht.I  could  so  beat  the  rogue  :— 

Sir  To.  Peace,  1  say. 

J*fai.  To  be  count  Malvolio  !— 

Sir  To.  Ah,  rozue  ! 

Sir  And.  Pistorhim,  pistol  him. 

Sir  To.  Peace,  peace  ! 

J\I(U.  There  is  example  for't;  the  lady  of  the 
strachy  married  the  yeoman  of  the  wardrobe. 

Sir  Ami.  Fie  On  him,  Jezebel  ! 

Fab.  O,  peace  !  now  he's  deeply  in  ;  look  how 
imagination  blows*  him! 


(4)  Love.       (5)  Struts.       ($)  Puffs  him  up 


SetniV. 


TWELFTH-NIGHT ;  OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL 


Xal.  Having  been  three  months  married  to  her, 
sitting  in  my  state,' — 

Sir  To.  O,  for  a  stone-bow,  to  hit  him  in  the  eye ! 

Mai.  Calling  my  officers  about  me,  in  my  branch- 
ed veiret  gown  ;  having  come  from  a  day-bed,* 
where  I  left  Olivia  sleeping. 

iS'tr  To.  Fire  and  brimstone  ! 

yob.  0,  peace,  peace  ! 

JJ/o/.  And  then  to  hare  the  humour  of  state  : 
and  after  a  demure  travel  of  regard, — telling  them, 
I  know  my  place,  as  I  would  they  should  do  their's 
— to  ask  for  my  kinsman  Toby  : 

Sir  To.  Bolts  and  shackles  ! 

Fitb.  0,  peace,  peace,  peace !  now,  now. 

J\Ial.  Seren  of  my  people,  with  an  obedient  start, 
make  out  for  him  :  I  frown  the  while  ;  and,  per- 
chance, wind  up  my  watch,  or  play  witli  some  rich 
jewel.    Toby  approaches ;  court'sies  there  to  me  : 

Sir  To.  Shall  this  fellow  live  ? 

Fab.  Though  our  silence  be  drawn  from  us  with 
cars,  yet  peace. 

.Uiu.  I  extend  my  hand  to  him  thus,  quenching 
mv  familiar  smile  with  an  austere  regard  of  control : 

'■Sir  To.  And  does  not  Toby  take  you  a  blow  o' 
the  lips  then  .' 

J\Id.  Saying,  Cousin  Toby,  my  fortunes  having 
east  mt  on  your  niece,  give  me  this  prerogative  of 
speech : — 

Sir  To.  What,  what? 

Mai.  You  must  amend  your  drimkennets. 

Sir  To.  Out,  scab! 

Fab.  Nay,  patience,  or  we  break  the  sinews  of 
our  plot. 

Mai.  Besides,  t/mt  icaste  the  treasure  of  your 
time  with  a  foolish  Jmight ; 

Sir  Jind.  That's  me,  I  warrant  you. 

Mai.  One  sir  Andrew  : 

Sir  wind.  1  knew,  'twas  I ;  for  many  do  call  me 
fool. 

J\Id.  What  employment  hare  we  here  ? 

[Taking  up  the  Utter. 

Fab.  Now  is  the  woodcock  near  the  gin. 

Sir  To.  0,  peace !  arid  the  spirit  of  humours 
intimate  reading  aloud  to  him  ! 

AToZ.  By  mv  fife,  that  is  my  lady's  hand  :  these 
be  her  very  C's,  her  t/'s,  and  her  T's ;  and  thus 
mal:es  she.  her  great  P's.  It  is,  in  contempt  of 
que:(tion,  her  hand. 

Sir  And.  Her  Cs,  her  IPs,  and  her  T's :  Why 
that  ? 

M  al.  [reads]  To  the  unknorvn  beloved,  this,  and 
my  ^'fiod  wishes  :  her  very  phrases  !  By  your  leave, 
wax. — Soft! — and  the  impressure  her  lAicrece, 
with  which  she  uses  to  seal :  'tis  my  lady :  To 
who  SI  should  this  be  ? 

Fi  tb.  This  wins  him,  liver  and  all. 

M  ftl.  [reads]  Jove  knotos,  I  love : 
But  tc/jo  ? 
Lips  do  not  move, 
.\o  mail  must  know, 
yo '.  nan  must  Ibiotc.— What  follows ! — ^the  numbers 
alte  red  !— A*o  man  must  know  : — if  this  should  be 
thef  ),  Malvolio? 

S  trTo.  Marrj-,  hang  thee,  brock!* 

A  lal.  1  may  command,  where  I  adore  : 
But  silence,  like  a  Lucrece  knife. 
With  bloodless  stroke  my  heart  doth  gore  ; 
•M,  O,  A,  I,  doth  sway  my  life. 

J  •W.  A  fustian  riddle ! 

•  hrTo.  Excellent  wench, 'say  I. 

(1)  State-chair.       (2)  Couch.  ^  ^  ^,. 

(3)  Badger.       14)  Hawk.       (5)  Flies  at  it. 


I    Jtfa/.  M,  O,  A,  I,  doth  sway  my  /(/e.— Naj,  Wt 
first.,  let  me  see, — let  me  see, — lei  me  see. 

Fab.  What  a  dish  of  poison  has  she  dressed  him  ! 

Sir  To.  And  with  what  wing  the  slannjel* 
checks'  at  it ! 

Mai.  /  may  command  where  I  adore.  Why.  tfhe 
may  command  me ;  1  serve  her,  she  is  my  lady. 
Why,  thb  is  evident  to  any  formal  capacity.  There 
is  no  obstruction  in  tins  ; — And  the  end, — What 
should  that  alphabetical  position  portend  ?  if  1 
could  make  that  resemble  something  in  me, — 
SofUy !  Jtf,  0,  Ji,  I.— 

Sir  To.  0,  ay!  make  up  that :— he  is  now  at  a 
cold  scent. 

Fab.  Sowter*  will  cry  upon't,  for  all  this,  thpugh 
it  be  as  rank  as  a  fox. 

Mai.  JVf,— Malvolio ; — Jtf, — why,  that  begins jgof 
name. 

Fab.  Did  not  I  say,  he  would  work  it  out?  the 
cur  is  excellent  at  faults. 

Mai.  JV/,— But  then  there  is  no  consonancy  in 
the  sequel ;  that  suffers  under  probation :  A  should 
follow,  butO  does. 

Fab.  And  0  shall  end,  I  hope. 

Sir  To.  Ay,  or  Til  cudgel  him,  and  make  lam 
cry,  0. 

'J\lal.  And  then  /  comes  behind ; 

Fab.  Ay,  an  you  had  an  eye  behind  you,  you 
might  see  more  detraction  at  your  heels,  than  for- 
tunes before  you. 

Mai.  Jtf,  O,  A,  J; — This  simulation  is  not  a^ 
the  former : — and  yet,  to  crush  this  a  little,  it  would 
bow  to  me,  for  every  one  of  these  letters  are  in  my 
name.  Sou !  here  follows  prose. — If  this  fall  hUa 
thy  hand,  revolve.  In  my  stars  I  am  above  thee  ; 
but  be  not  afraid  of  greatness  :  Some  are  oom 
great,  some  achieve  greatness,  and  some  have  great- 
ness thrust  upon  them.  Thy  fates  open  their 
hands;  let  thy  blood  and  spirit  embrace  them. 
And,  to  inure  thysflf  to  what  thou  art  like  to  be, 
cast  thy  humble  slough,''  and  appear  fresh.  Be  op- 
posite with  a  kinsman,  surly  toUh  servants :  let  thy 
tongue  tang  arguments  of  state ;  put  thtiself  into 
the  trick  of  singidarity :  She  thus  admses  thee, 
tiial  sighs- for  ihee.  Remember  who  cortiniendtd 
thy  yellow  stockings ;  and  wished  to  see  thee  ever 
cross-gartered :  I  say  remen^er.  Go  to  ;  thou  art 
made  if  thou  desirest  to  be  so ;  if  not,  let  nu  see 
thee  a  steward  still,  the  fellow  of  servants,  and  not 
icorthy  to  touch  fortune^s  fingers.  Farewell.  Sbf 
that  would  alter  services  with  thee. 

The  fortunate-unhappy  ; 
Day  light  and  champain*  discovers  not  more  :  this 
is  open".  I  will  be  proud,  I  will  read  politic  auUiors, 
I  will  baffle  sir  Toby,  I  will  wash  off  gross  ac- 

?uaintance,  I  will  bepoint-de-vice,"  the  very  man. 
do  not  now  fool  myself,  to  let  imagination  iade 
me ;  for  every  reason  excites  to  this,  that  my  lady 
loves  me.  She  did  commend  my  yellow  stockings  of 
late,  she  did  praise  my  leg  being  cross-gartered  ;  and 
in  this  she  manifests  herself  to  my  love,  and,  with 
a  kind  of  injunction,  drives  me  to  these  habits  of 
her  liking.  I  thank  my  stars,  I  am  happy.  I  will 
be  stranse,  stout,  in  yellow  stockings,  and  cross- 
o-artered^  even  with  the  swiftness  of  putting  on. 
3ove,  and  my  stars  be  praised  !— Here  is  yet  a  post- 
script. Thou  canst  not  choose  hut  know  who  J  am. 
If  thou  enterlainest  my  love,  let  it  appear  in  thy 
smiling  ;  thy  smiles  beconu  thee  well :  therefor^  in 
my  presence  still  smile,  dear  my  sweet,  I  pr'ytlue. 


(6)  Name  of  a  hound. 
(8)  Open  country. 


i7)  Skin  of  a  snake, 
Jtmostexactaest, 

i4 


n 


TWELFTH-NIGHT;  OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


iaetJIL 


Vio.  I  warrant,  thou  art  a  merry  fellow,  and 
carest  for  nothing. 

Clo.  Not  so,  sir,  I  do  care  for  something:  but 
in  my  conscience,  sir,  I  do  not  care  for  you ;  if  that 
be  to  care  for  nothing,  sir,  I  would  it  would  make 
you  inrisible. 

Vio.  Art  not  thou  the  lady  Olivia's  fool  ? 

Clo.  No,  indeed,  sir;  the  lady  Olivia  haa  no 
folly:  she  will  keep  no  fool,  sir,  till  she  be  married ; 
and  fools  are  as  like  husbands^  as  pilchards  are  to 
herrings,  the  husband's  the  bigger  ;  I  am,  indeed, 
not  her  fool,  but  her  corrupter  of  words, 

Vio.  I  saw  thee  late  at  the  count  Orsino's. 

Clo.  Foolery,  sir,  does  walk  about  the  orb,  like 
the  sun  ;  it  shines  every  where.  I  would  be  sorry, 
sir,  but  the  fool  should  be  as  oft  ivith  your  master, 
as  with  my  mistress :  I  think,  I  saw  your  wisdom 
there. 

Vio.  Nay,  an  thou  pass  upon  me,  I'll  no  more 
with  thee.  '  Hold,  there's  expenses  for  thee. 

Clo.  Now  Jove,  in  his  next  commodity  of  hair, 
send  thee  a  beard ! 

Vio.  By  my  troth,  I'll  tell  tliec ;  I  am  almost 
sick  for  one ;  though  I  would  not  have  it  grow  on 
my  chin.    Is  thy  lady  within  ? 

Clo.  >Vould  not  a  pair  of  these  have  bred,  sir  ? 

Vio.  Yes,  bcin^  kept  together,  and  put  to  use. 

Clo.  I  would  play  lord  Pandarus*  otPhrygia,  sir, 
to  bring  a  Cressida  to  this  Troilus. 

Vio.  I  understand  you,  sir;  'tis  well  beg^'d. 

Clo.  The  matter,  1  hope,  is  not  great,  sir,  beg- 
ging but  a  beggar ;  Cressida  was  a  beggar.  Mj 
lady  is  within,  sir.  I  will  construe  to  them  whence 
you  come :  who  you  are,  and  what  you  would,  are 
out  of  my  welkin :  I  might  say,  element ;  but  the 
word  is  over-worn.  [Exit. 

Vio.  This  fellow's  wise  enough  to  play  the  fool , 
And,  to  do  tliat  well,  craves  a  kind  of  wit : 
He  must  observe  their  mood  on  whom  he  jests. 
The  quality  of  persons,  and  the  time ; 
And,  like  the  haggard,'  check  .it  every  feather 
That  comes  before  his  e^e.    This  is  a  practice. 
As  full  of  labour  as  a  wise  man's  art : 
For  folly,  that  he  wisely  shows,  is  fit ; 
But  wise  men,  folly-fallen,  quite  taint  their  wit. 

Enter   Sir  Toby  Belch  and  Sir  Andrew  Ague- 
cheek. 

Sir  To.  Save  3rou,  gentleman. 
Vio.  And  you,  sir. 

Sir  And.  Dicu  vous  garde,  monsieur, 
Vio.  Etvousaussi:  voire  serviteur. 
Sir  m^nd.  I  hope,  sir,  you  are ;  and  I  am  yours. 
Sir  To.  Will  you  encounter  the  house?    my 
niece  is  desirous  you  should  enter,  if  your  trade  be 
to  her. 
Vio.  I  am  bound  to  your  niece,  sir:  I  mean,  she 

.     .   is  the  list*  of  my  voyage. 

Vio.  Nay,  that's  certain  ;  they,  that  dally  nicely  i     Sir  To.  Taste  your  legs,  sir,  put  them  to  m(  ition. 
with  words,  may  quickly  make  them  wanton.         j     Vio.  My  legs  do  better  understand  me,  sir,  than 
Clo.  I  would  therefore,  my  sister  had  had  no. I  understand  what  you  mean  by  bidding  me  laste 
name,  sir.  ;my  legs. 

Vio.  Why,  man  ?  j     Sir  To.  I  mean,  to  go,  sir,  to  enter. 

Clo.  Why,  sir,  her  name's  a  word  j  and  to  dally      Vio.  I  will  answer  you  with  gait  and  cntra  Dee : 
with  that  word,  might  make  my  sister  wanton:!But  we  are  prevented. 
But,  indeed,  words  are  very  rascals,  since  bonds 


Jove,  I  thank  thee.— I  will  smile ;  I  will  do  every 
thing  that  thou  wilt  have  me.  [£xt^ 

J^6.  I  will  not  give  my  part  of  this  sport  for  a 
pension  of  thousands  to  be  paid  from  the  Sophy. 

Sir  To.  I  could  marry  this  wench  for  this  de- 
Tice. 

Sir  ,9nd.  So  could  I  too. 

Sir  To.  And  ask  no  other  dowry  with  her,  but 
such  another  jest. 

Enter  Maria. 

Sir  Jind.  Nor  I  neither. 

Fab.  Here  comes  my  noble  gull-catcher. 

Sir  To.  Wilt  thou  set  thy  foot  o'  my  neck? 

Sir  And.  Or  o'  mine  either  ? 

Sir  To.  Shall  I  play  my  freedom  at  traj'-trip,* 
and  become  thy  bond-slave  ? 

Sir  And.  I'laith,  or  I  either. 

Sir  To.  Why,  thou  hast  put  him  in  such  a  dream, 
that,  when  the  image  of  it  leaves  him,  he  must  run 
mad. 

Mar.  Nay,  but  say  true ;  does  it  work  upon  him  ? 

Sir  To.  Like  aqua-vitae  with  a  midwife. 

Mar.  If  you  will  then  see  the  fruits  of  the  sport, 
mark  his  first  approach  before  my  lady :  he  will 
come  to  her  in  yellow  stockings,  and  'tis  a  colour 
she  abhors ;  andf  cross-gartered,  a  fashion  she  de- 
tests ;  and  he  will  smile  upon  her,  which  will  noAv 
be  so  unsuitable  to  her  disposition,  being  addicted 
to  a  melancholy  as  she  is,  that  it  cannot  but  turn 
him  into  a  notable  contempt :  if  you  will  see  it, 
follow  me. 

Sir  To.  To  the  gates  of  Tartar,  thou  most  excel- 
lent devil  of  wit! 

Sir  And.  I'll  make  one  too.  [Exeuni. 


ACT  III. 

SCEXE  I. — Olivia's  Garden.    Enter  Viola,  and 
Clown  with  a  tabor. 

Vio.  Save  thee,  friend,  and  thy  music:  Dost 
thou  live  by  thy  tabor  ? 

Clo.  No,'  sir,  I  live  by  the  church. 

Vio.  Art  thou  a  chuichman  ? 

Clo.  No  such  matter,  sir ;  I  do  live  by  the 
church :  for  I  do  live  at  my  house,  and  my  house 
doth  stand  by  the  church. 

Vio.  So  thou  may'st  say,  the  king  lies*  by  a  beg- 
gar, if  a  beegar  dwell  near  him :  or,  the  church 
etands  by  thy  tabor,  if  thy  tabor  stand  by  the 
church. 

Clo.  You  have  said,  sir.— To  see  this  age !— A 
sentence  is  but  a  cheveriP  glove  to  a  good  wit ; 
How  quickly  the  wrong  side  may  be  turned  out- 
ward! 


disffraced  them. 

Vio.  Thy  reason,  man  ? 

Clo.  Troth,  sir,  I  can  yield  you  none  without 
words ;  and  words  are  grown  so  false,  I  am  loath 
♦o  prove  reason  ivith  them. 

(1)  A  boy's  diversion  three  and  tip, 

(2)  Dwells.  (8)  Kid. 


Enter  Olivia  and  Maria. 

Most  excellent  accomplished  lady,  the  heavens  rain 
odours  on  you  ! 

Sir  And.  That  youth's  a  rare  courtier  I    J  %ain 
odours !  well. 

U)  See  the  plav  of  Troilus  and  Cressida. 

{5)  A  hawk  not  well  trained.    (6)  £ound,  li  miU 


Been*  il. 


TWELFTH  NIGHT;  Oft,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


63 


I 


Vio.  My  matter  hath  no  Toicc,  lady,  but  to  your 
own  most  pregnant'  and  vouchsafed  ear. 

Sir  And.   Odours,  prtpiatU,  and  vouc/aafed : — 
I'll  eet  'em  all  three  read)'. 

Oli.  Let  the  garden  door  be  shut,  and  leave  me 
to  my  hearing. 

[Exeunt  Sir  Toby,  Sir  Andrew,  a»id  Maria. 
Give  me  your  hand,  sir. 

Vio.  My  duty,  madam,  and  most  humble  service. 

Oli.  What  is  your  name  ? 

Vio.  Cajsario  IS  your  servant's  name,  fair  princess. 

Oli.  My  servant,  sir  !  'Twas  never  merry  world, 
Since  lowly  feigning  was  cali'd  compliment : 
You  are  servant  to  the  count  Orsino,  youth. 

Vio.  And  he  is  yours,  and  his   must  needs  be 
yours ; 
Your  servant's  servant  is  your  servant,  madam. 

Oli.  For  him,  I  think  not  on  him :  for  his  thoughts. 
Would  they  were  blanks,  rather  than  fiU'd  w  ith  me  ! 

Vio.  Madam,  I  come  to  whet  your  gentle  thoughts 
On  his  behalf: — 

Oli.  0,  by  your  leave,  I  pray  you  ; 

I  bade  you  never  speak  agaiji  of  him  : 
But,  would  you  undertake  another  suit, 
I  had  rather  hear  you  to  solicit  that, 
Than  music  from  the  spheres. 

Vio.  Dear  lady, 

0/J.  Give  me  leave,  I  beseech  you :  I  did  send, 
After  the  last  enchantment  you  did  here, 
A  rin?  in  chase  of  you  ;  so  did  I  abuse 
Myself,  my  servant,  and,  I  fear  me,  you : 
Under  your  hard  construction  must  I  sit. 
To  force  that  on  you,  in  a  shameful  cunning. 
Which  vou  knew  none  of  yours :  What  might  you 

"think? 
Hare  you  not  set  mine  honour  at  the  stake. 
And  baited  it  with  all  the  unmuzzled  thoughts 
That  tyrannous  heart  can  think  ?  To  one  of  your 

receiving- 
Enough  is  shown  ;  a  c>'prus,  not  a  bosom. 
Hides  my  poor  heart :  So  let  mc  hear  you  speak. 

fw.  I  pity  you. 

Oli.  That's  a  dearee  to  love. 

Vio.  No,  not  a  'rise  ;'  for  'ti«  a  vulgar  proof, 
That  very  ofl  wc  pity  enemies, 

Oli.  Why,  then,  metliinks,  'tis  time  to  smile 
again  : 

0  world,  how  apt  the  poor  are  to  be  proud  ! 
If  one  should  be  a  prer,  how  much  the  better 
To  fall  before  the  Uon",  than  the  wolf? 

[Clock  strikes. 
The  clock  upbraids  mc  with  the  waste  of  time. — 
Be  notafraia,  good  youth,  I  will  not  have  you  : 
And  yet,  when  wit  and  youth  is  come  to  harvest. 
Your  wife  is  like  to  reap  a  proper  man : 
There  lies  your  way,  due  west. 

Vio.  Then  westward-hoe : 

Grace,  and  good  disposition  'tend  your  ladyship ! 
You'll  nothing,  madam,  to  my  lord  by  me? 

Oli.  Stay: 

1  pr'^  thee,  tell  me,  what  thou  think'st  of  me. 

Vto.  That  you  do  think,  you  are  not  what  you 
are. 
'    OH.  If  I  think  so,  I  think  the  same  of  you. 

Vio.  Then  think  you  right :  I  am  not  w'hat  I  am. 

Oli.  I  wouldj  you  were  as  I  would  have  you  be ! 

Vio.  Would  It  be  better,  madam,  than  I  am, 
I  wish  it  mipht ;  for  now  I  am  your  fool. 

Oli.  O,  what  a  deal  of  scorn  looks  beautiful 
In  the  contempt  and  anger  of  his  lip  ! 

(11  Ready.    (2)  Ready  apprehension.    (3)  Step. 
(4)  In  spite  of. 


A  murd'rous  guilt  shows  not  itself  more  soon 
Than  love  that  would  seem  hid :  love's  night  is  nooa. 
Cesario,  by  the  roses  of  the  spring, 
By  maidhood,  honour,  truth,  and  every  thing'i 
I  love  thee  so,  that,  maugre*  all  thv  pride. 
Nor  wit,  nor  reason,  can  my  passion  hide. 
Do  not  extort  thy  reasons  from  this  clause, 
For,  that  I  woo,  thou  therefore  hast  no  cause ; 
But,  rather,  reason  thus  with  reason  fetter: 
Love  sought  is  good,  but  given  unsought,  is  better. 

Vio.  By  innocence  I  swear,  and  by  my  youth, 
I  have  one  heart,  one  bosom,  and  one  truth, 
And  that  no  woman  has  ■  nor  never  none 
Shall  mistress  be  of  it,  save  I  alone. 
And  so  adieu,  good  madam  ;  never  more 
Will  I  mv  master's  tears  to  you  deplore. 

Oli.  Vet  come  again :  for  thou,  perhaps,  may'st 
move 
That  heart,  w  hich  now  abhors,  to  like  his  love. 

[Exeunt. 

SCEXE  II.— .i  Room  in  Olivia's  house.  Enter 
Sir  Toby  Belch,  Sir  Andrew  Ague-cheek,  and 
Fabian. 

Sir  And.  No,  faith,  I'll  not  stay  &  jot  longer. 

Sir  To.  Thy  reason,  dear  venom,  give  thy  rea- 
son. 

Fab.  You  must  need  yield  your  reason,  sir  An- 
drew. 

Sir  And.  Marry,  I  saw  your  niece  do  more  fa- 
vours to  the  count's  serving-man,  than  ever  she 
bestowed  upon  me  ;  I  saw't  i'  the  orchard. 

Sir  To.  Did  she  sec  thee  the  while,  old  boy  ? 
tell  me  that. 

Sir  And.  As  plain  as  I  see  you  now. 

Fab.  Tliis  was  a  great  argument  of  love  in  her 
toward  you. 

Sir  And.  |Slight !  will  you  make  an  ass  o'  me  7 

Fab.  I  will  prove  it  legitimate,  sir,  upon  the 
oaths  of  judgment  and  reason. 

Sir  To.  And  they  have  been  grand  jury-men, 
since  before  Noah  was  a  sailor. 

Fab.  She  did  show  favour  to  the  youth  in  yonr 
sight,  only  to  exasperate  you,  to  awake  your  dor- 
mouse valour,  to  put  fire  m  your  heart,  and  brim- 
stone in  your  liver :  You  should  then  have  accosted 
her ;  ani  with  some  excellent  jest,  fire-new  from 
the  mint,  you  should  have  banged  the  youth  into 
dumbness.  This  was  looked  for  at  your  hand,  and 
this  was  baulked :  the  double  gilt  of  this  oppor- 
tunity you  let  time  wash  off,  and  you  are  now  sailed 
into  the  north  of  my  lady's  opinion ;  where  you  will 
hang  like  an  icicle  on  a  Dutchman's  beard,  unless 
you  do  redeem  it  by  some  laudable  attempt,  either 
of  valour,  or  policy. 

Sir  And.  And't  be  any  wav,  it  must  be  with 
valour ;  for  policv  I  hate  :  t  had  as  lief  be  a 
Brownist,*  as  a  politician. 

Sir  To.  Why  then,  build  me  thy  fortunes  upon 
the  basis  of  valour.  Ciiallenge  me  the  count's 
youth  to  fight  with  him  ;  hurt  him  in  eleven  places  r 
my  niece  shall  take  note  of  it :  and  assure  thyself, 
there  is  no  love-broker  in  the  world  can  more  pre- 
vail in  man's  commendation  with  woman,  than  re- 
port of  valour. 

Fab.  There  is  no  way  but  this,  sir  Andrew. 

Sir  And.  Will  either  of  you  bear  me  a  chal- 
lence  to  him  ? 

Sir  To.  Go,  write  it  in  a  martial  hand ;  be 
curst*  and  brief;  it  is  no  matter  how  witty,  so  it  be 

(5)  Separatists  in  queen  Elizabeth's  reign. 
(6)Crabbo4,  . 


94 


TWELFTH-NIGHT ;  OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


Jet  m. 


eloquent,  and  full  of  iuTention :  taunt  him  with 
the  license  of  ink :  if  thou  t/tott'st  him  some  thrice, 
it  shall  not  be  amiss  ;  and  as  many  lies  as  will  lie 
in  thy  sheet  of  paper,  although  rhe  sheet  were  big 
enough  for  the  bed  ol  Ware'  in  England,  set  'em 
down  ;  go,  about  it.  Let  there  be  gall  enough  in 
thy  ink;  though  thou  write  with  a  goose-pen,  no 
matter :  About  it. 

Sir  And.  Where  shall  I  find  you  ? 

air  To.  We'll  call  thee  at  the  cubiculo:'  Go. 

[Exit  Sir  Andrew. 

Fab.  This  is  a  dear  manikin  to  you,  sir  Tojjy.  _ 

Sir  To.  I  have  been  dear  to  him,  lad;   somCjAlbeit  the  quality  of  the  time,  and  quarrel, 
two  thousand  strong  or  so.  |  Might  well  have  given  us  bloody  argument. 

Fab.  We  shall  have  a  rare  letter  from  him  :  but  j  It  might  have  since  been  answer'd  in  repaying 
you'll  not  deliver  it.  j  What  we  took  from  them  ;  whicli,  for  traffic  sake, 

Sir  To.  Never  trust  me  then  ;  and  bv  all  means  Most  of  our  city  did  :  only  myself  stood  out : 
stir  on  the  youth  to  an  answer.    I  ihinfe,  oxen  and  For  which,  if  I  be  lapsed'  m  this  place, 
wainropes^  cannot  hale  them  together.    For  An-  I  shall  pay  dear. 

drew,  if  be  were  opened,  and  you  find  so  much      Seb.  Do  not  then  walk  too  open, 

blood  in  hi*  liver  as  will  clog  the  foot  of  a  flea,  I'll     Jlnt,  It  doth  not  fit  me.    Hold,  sir,  here's  taj 
eatjhe  rest  of  the  anatomy.  ,  purse ; 

■  "s  in  the  south  suburbs,  at  the  Elephant, 


Seb.  I  am  not  weary,  and  'tis  long  to  night ; 
I  pray  vou,  let  us  satisfy  our  eves 
With  the  memorials,  and  the  things  of  fame, 
That  do  renown  this  city. 

Ant.  'Would,  you'd  pardon  me ; 

I  do  not  without  danger  walk  these  streets : 
Once,  in  a  sea-fight,  'gainst  the  count  his  galleys, 
I  did  some  service ;  of  such  note,  indeed. 
That,  were  I  ta'en  here,  it  would  scarce  be  an- 
swer'd. 

Seb.  Belike,  you  slew  great  number  of  his  people. 

int.  The  ofience  is  notof  such  a  bloody  nature ; 


Fab.  And  his  opposite,  the  youth,  bears  in  his 
risage  no  great  presage  of  cruelty. 

Enter  Maria. 

Sir  To,  Look,  where  the  youngest  wren  of  nine 
comes. 

Mar.  If  you  desire  the  spleen,  and  will  laugh 
yourselves  into  stitches,  follow  me  :  yon'  gall  Mal- 
volio  is  turned  heathen,  a  very  renegado ;  for  there 
is  no  Christian,  that  means  to  be  saved  by  believing 
rightly,  can  ever  believe  such  impossible  passages 
of  grossness.    He's  in  yellow  stockings. 

Sir  To.  And  cross-gartered? 

.Mar.  Most  villanously ;  like  a  pedant  that  keeps 
a  school  i' the  church. — I  have  dogged  him,  like  his 
murderer :  he  does  obey  every  point  of  the  letter 
that  I  dropped  to  betray  him.  lie  does  smile  his 
face  into  more  lines,  than  are  in  tlie  new  map,  with 
the  augmentation  of  the  Indies ;  you  have  not  seen 
such  a  thing  as  'tis ;  I  can  hardly  forbear  hurling. 
thins's  at  him.  I  know,  my  lady  will  strike  him ;  if 
the  3o,  he'll  smile,  and  take't  for  a  great  favour. 

Sir  To.  Come,  bring  us,  bring  us  where  he  is. 

[Exeunt. 

SCEXE  III.—Jl  street.    Enter  Antonio  and  Se- 
bastian. 

Seb.  1  would  not,  by  my  will,  have  troubled  you ; 
But^  since  you  make  your  pleasure  of  your  pains, 
I  will  no  further  cliide  yeu. 

Ant.  I  could  not  stay  behind  you  ;  my  desire. 
More  sharp  than  filed  steel,  did  spur  me  forth ; 
And  not  all  love  to  see  you  (though  so  much. 
As  might  have  drawn  one  to  a  longer  voyage,) 
But  jealousy  what  might  befall  your  travel, 
Being  skilless  in  these  parts  ;  which  to  a  stranger, 
Unguided,  and  unfriended,  oilen  prove 
Rough  and  unhospitable :  my  willing  lore 
The  rather  by  these  arguments  of  fear, 
Set  forth  in  your  pursuit. 

Seb.  My  kind  Antonio, 

I  can  no  other  answer  make,  but,  thanks. 
And  thanks,  and  ever  thanks :  Often  good  turns 
Are  shuflBea  off  with  such  uncurrent  pay  : 
But,  were  my  worth,*  as  is  my  conscience,  firm, 
You  should  find  better  dealing.    What's  to  do  ? 
Shall  we  go  see  the  reliques  of  this  town? 

int.  To-morrow,  sir;  best,  first,  go  see  your 
lodging. 

(1)  In  Hertfordshire,  which  held  forty  persoaii 
\i)  Chamber.  (3)  Wagon  ropes. 


Is  best  to  lodge :  I  will  bespeak  bur  diet. 

Whiles  you  beguile  the  time,  and  feed  your  know* 

ledge,  ' 

With  viewing  of  the  town ;  there  shall  you  have  me. 

Seb.  Why  I  your  purse  ? 

Ant.  Haply,  your  eye  shall  light  upon  some  toy 
You  have  desire  to  purchase ;  and  your  store, 
I  think,  is  not  for  idle  markets,  sir. 

Seb.  I'll  be  your  purse-bearer,  and  leave  you  for 
An  hour. 

Ant.       To  the  Elephant.— 

Seb.  I  do  remember. 

[Exeunt, 


SCEJVjE  IV 


-Olivia's  Garden, 
and  Maria. 


Enter  OliTia 


OH.  I  have  sent  after  him :  He  says,  he'll  come ; 
How  shall  I  feast  him  ?  what  bestow  on  him  ? 
For  youth  is  bought  more  oft,  than  begg'd,  or  bor- 

row'd. 
I  speak  too  loud. 

Wnere  is  Malvolio  ? — he  is  sad,  and  civil,* 
And  suits  well  for  a  servant  with  my  fortunes ; 
Where  is  Malvolio  ? 

J\!lar.  He's  coming,  madam ; 

But  in  strange  manner.    He  is  sure  possess'd. 

di.  Why,  what's  the  matter  ?  does  he  rave? 

.jyor.  No,  madam, 

He  does  nothing  but  smile :  your  ladyship 
Were  best  have  guard  about  you,  if  he  come ; 
For,  sure,  the  man  is  tainted' in  his  wits. 

OH.  Go  call  him  hither. — I'm  as  mad  as  he. 
If  sad  and  merry  madness  equal  be. — 

Enter  Malvolio. 

How  now,  Malvolio  ? 

Mai.  Sweet  lady,  ho,  ho  !  [SmUea  fantastically, 

on.  Smil'st  thou?  "•  •'  » 

I  sent  for  thee  upon  a  sad'  occasion. 

Mai.  Sad,  lady?  I  could  be  sad:  this  does  make 
some  obstruction  in  the  blood,  this  cross-gartering : 
but  what  of  that,  if  it  pleases  the  eye  of  one,  it  is 
with  me  as  the  very  true  sonnet  is :  Please  one  and 
please  all. 

OH.  Why,  how  dost  thou,  man  ?  what  is  the  mat- 
ter with  thee  ? 

Mai.  Not  black  in  my  mind,  though  yellow  io 

M)  Wealth.        (5)  Caught 

(6)  Grare  an4  demure.      (7)GraTe, 


Scent  IV. 


TWELFTH-NIGHT;  OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL, 


85 


my  legs :  It  did  eoine  to  his  hands,  and  commandsl    Md.  Go  off:  I  discard  you ;  let  me  enjoy  my 

shall  be  executed.    I  think,  we  do  know  the  sweet  private  ;  go  off. 

Roman  hand.  |    Jdar.  Lo,  how  hollow  the  fiend  speaks  within 

on.  Wilt  thou  go  to  bed,  Malvolio  ?  him!    did   I   not  tell  you? — Sir  Toby,  my  lady 

J\Ial.  To  bed?  ay,  sweet-heart;  and  I'll  come!prays  you  to  have  a  care  ofhim. 


to  tliee. 

OH.  God  comfort  thee !  Why  dost  thou  smile  so, 
and  kiss  thy  hand  so  oft  ? 

Mar.  How  do  you,  Malvolio  ? 

JMnl.  At  your  request?  Yes;  nightingales  an- 
swer daws. 

.Mar.  Why  appear  you  with  this  ridiculous  bold- 
ness before  my  lady  ? 

Mai.  Be  not  afraid  of  greatnesi  :—''Tvras  well 
writ. 

Oli.  What  meanest  thou  by  that,  Maholio  ? 

Mai.  Some  are  bom  great,— 

Oli.  Ha? 

Mai.  Some  achieve  greatness, — 

Oli.  What  say'st  thou  ? 

Mai.  .i)id  some  have  ^eatness  thrust  upon  them. 

Oli.  Hearen  restore  tnee ! 

Mai.  Remember  tcho  commended  thy  yellow 
ilocldngs  ; — 

Oli.  Thy  vellow  stockingrs  ? 

Mai.  ..iudtcished  to  see  thee  cross-gartered, 

Oli.  Cross-gartered? 

Mai.  Go  to :  thou  art  made,  if  thou  desirest  lo 
be  so; — 

Oli.  Am  I  made  ? 

Mai.  If  not,  let  me  see  thee  a  servant  still. 

Oli.  Why,  this  is  Tery  midsummer  madness.' 

Enter  Servant. 

Ser.  Madam,  the  young  gentleman  of  the  count 
Orsino's  is  returned ;  I  could  hardly  entreat  him 
back;  he  attends  your  ladyship's  pleasure. 

Oli.  I'll  come  to  him.  [Eiit  Servant.]  Good 
Maria,  let  this  fellov,-  be  looked  to.  Where's  my 
cousin  Toby  ?  Let  some  of  mj'  people  have  a  spe- 
cial care  of  him ;  I  would  not  have  him  miscarry 
for  the  half  of  my  dowry.      [Exit  Olivia  nnd  Mar. 

Mai.  Oh,  ho !  do  you  come  near  me  now  ?  no 
worse  man  than  sir  Toby  to  look  to  me  ?  This  con- 
curs directly  ■»vith  the  letter :  she  sends  him  on  pur- 
pose, that  1  may  appear  stubborn  to  him  ;  for  she 
incites  me  to  that  in  the  letter.  Cast  the  humble 
slouch,  says  she:  be  opposite  with  a  kinsman,  surly 
Tith  servants, — let  thy  tongue  tang  Kith  arguments 


Mai.  Ah,  ha !  does  she  so  ? 

Sir  To.  Go  to,  so  to ;  peace,  peace,  we  must  deal 
gently  with  him  ;  let  me  alone.  How  do  you,  Mal- 
volio? how  is't  with  you?  What,  man  !  defy  the 
devil :  consider,  he's  an  enemy  to  mankind. 

Mai.  Do  you  know  what  you  say  ? 

Mar.  La  you,  an  you  speak  ill  of  the  devil,  how 
he  takes  it  at  heart !  Pray  God,  he  be  not  be- 
witched ! 

Fab.  Carry  his  water  to  the  wise  woman. 

Mar.  Marrv,  and  it  shall  be  done  to-morrow 
morning,  if  I  live.  My  lady  would  not  lose  him 
for  more  than  I'll  say. 

Mai.  How  now,  mistress  ? 

Mar.  O  lord ! 

Sir  To.  Pr'jrthee,  hold  thy  peace  ;  this  is  not  the 
way :  Do  you  not  see,  you  move  him  ?  let  me  alone 
with  him. 

Fab.  No  way  but  gentleness ;  gently,  gently : 
the  fiend  is  rough,  and  will  not  be  roughlv  used. 

Sir  To.  Why,  how  now,  my  bawcock?*.  how 
dost  thou,  chuck  ? 

Mai.  Sir? 

Sir  To.  Ay,  Biddy,  come  with  me.  What,  man ! 
'tis  not  for  gravity  to  plav  at  cherry-pit»  with  Sa- 
tan :  Hang  him,  foul  collier  !* 

Mar.  Get  liim  to  say  his  prayers ;  good  sir  Toby, 
get  him  to  pray. 

Mai.  My  prayers,  minx  ? 

Mar.  No,  I  warrant  you,  he  will  not  hear  of 
godliness. 

Mai.  Go,  hang  yourselves  nil !  you  a«e  idle, 
shallow  things :  I  am  not  of  your  element :  you 
sjjall  know  more  hereafter.  [Exit. 

Sir  To.  Is't  possible ! 

Fab.  If  this  were  played  upon  a  stage  now,  I 
could  condemn  it  as  an  improbable  fiction. 

Sir  To.  His  very  genius  nath  taken  the  infection 
of  the  device,  man. 

Mar.  Nay,  pursue  him  now ;  lest  tlie  device 
take  air,  and  taint. 

Fab.  Why,  we  shall  make  him  mad,  indeed. 

Mar.  The  house  will  be  the  quieter. 

Sir  To.  Come,  we'll  have  him  in  a  dark  room. 


of  state, — put  thyself  into  the  trick  of  singularity ; — [and  bound.  My  niece  is  already  in  the  belief  that 
and,  consequently, 'sets  down  the  manner  how ;  as,, he  is  mad ;  we  may  carry  it  thus  for  our  pleasure, 
a  sad  face,  a  reverend  carriage,  a  slow  tongue,  inland  his  penance,  till  our' very  pastime,  tired  out  of 
the  habit  of  some  sir  wf  note,  and  so  forth.  I  have  j  breath,  prompt  us  to  have  mercy  on  him  :  at  which 
limed  her;*  but  it  is  Jove's  doin?,  and  Jove  make '  time,  we  will  bring  the  device  to  the  bar,  and 
me  thankful !  And,  when  she  went  away  now,  Le/ i  cro^^•n  thee  for  a  finder  of  madmen.  But  sec,  but  sec. 
this  fellow  be  looked  to :  Fellow!*  not' Malvolio,!  "  ,      c-    i    j         *  u    t 

nor  after  my  degree,  but  fellow.    Wliy,  every  thing  j  '^""'"  ***■  Andrew  Ague-cheelr, 

adheres  together  ;  that  no  dram  of  "a  scruple,  no !     Fab.  More  matter  for  a  May  morning, 
scruple  of  a  scruple,  no  obstacle,  no  incredulous  or]     Sir^ind.  Here's  the  challenge,  read  it;  I  war- 
unsafe  circumstance, — ^WTiat  canbe  said  ?  Nothinir, ' rant,  there's  vinegar  and  pepper  in't. 
that  can  be,  can  come  between  me  and  the  full  i     Fab.  Is't  so  saucy  ? 


prospect  of  my  hopes.    Well,  Jove,  not  I,  is  the 
doer  of  this,  and  he  is  to  be  thanked. 

Re-enter  Maria,  with  Sir  Toby  Belch,  and  Fabian. 

Sir  To.  ^Thich  way  is  he,  in  the  name  of  sanctity  ? 
If  all  the  devils  in  hell  be  drawn  in  little,  and  Le- 
gion himself  possessed  him,  yet  I'll  speak  to  him. 

Fab.  Here  he  is,  here  he  is : — How  is't  with  you, 
sir  ?  how  is't  with  you,  man  ? 

ni  Hot  weather  madness. 

(2)  Caught  her  as  a  bird  with  birdlime. 

(S)  Companion. 


Sir  Jlnd.  Ay,  is  it,  I  warrant  him :  do  but  read. 

Sir  To.  Give  me.  [reads.]  Youtli,  whatsoever 
thou  art,  thou  art  init  a  scurvy  fellow. 

Fab,  Good,  and  valiant. 

Sir  To.  Wonder  not,  nor  admire  not  in  thy  mini, 
why  I  do  call  thee  so,  for  I  will  show  thee  no  reason 
for't. 

Fab.  A  good  note  :  that  keeps  you  from  the  blow 
of  the  law. 


4)  Jolly  cock,  lean  and  coq. 

5)  A] 


U).        , 

(5)  A  play  among  boys. 

(6)  Colliers  were  account<'d  great  cheats, 


TWELFTH  NIQHT ;  OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


SB 


Sir  To.  Thou  eomest  to  the  lady  Olivia,  and  in 
my  sight  she  uses  thee  kindly :  but  thou  liest  in  thy 
throat,  that  is  not  the  matter  I  chaUenee  thee  for. 

Fab.  Very  brief,  and  exceeding  good  sense-less. 

Sir  To.  Ixoill  way-lat^  thee  going  home  ;  where 
if  it  be  thy  chance  to  hill  me, 

Fab.  Good, 
.Sir  To.  Thou  killtst  me  like  a  rogue  and  a  villain 

Fab.  Still  you  keep  o'  the  windy  side  of  the  law ; 
Good. 

Sir  To.  Fare  thee  well;  ^nd  God  have  merry 
upon  one  of  ottr  souls  !  He  may  have  mercy  upon 
mine  ;  but  my  hope  is  better,  and  so  look  to  thy- 
self. Thy  friend,  as  tlwu  usest  him,  aiid  thy 
sworn  enemy.  Jlndrexo  ^igue-cheek. 

Sir  To.  If  this  letter  moves  him  not,  liis  legs 
cannot :  I'll  giv't  him. 

Mar.  You  may  have  very  fit  occasion  for't ;  he 
IS  now  in  some  commerce  with  my  lady,  and  will 
by  and  by  depart. 

Sir  To.  Go,  sir  Andrew ;  scout  me  for  him  at 
the  comer  of  the  orchard,  like  a  bum-bailift":  so 
soon  as  ever  thou  seest  him,  draw ;  and  as  thou 
drawest,  swear  horrible  |  for  it  comes  to  pass  oft, 
that  a  terrible  oatli,  with  a  swaggering  accent 
sharply  twanged  off,  gives  manhood  more  appro- 
bation than  ever  proof  itself  would  have  earned 
him.    Away.^ 

Sir  ^nd.  Nay,  let  me  alone  for  swearing.    [Ex. 

Sir  To.  Now  will  not  I  deliver  his  letter  :  for  the 
behaviour  of  tiie  young  gentleman  gives  him  out 
to  be  of  good  capacity  and  breeding ;  his  employ- 
ment between  his  lord  and  my  niece  confirms  no 
less ;  tlierefore  this  letter,  being  so  excellently  ig- 
norant, will  breed  no  terror  in  the  youth,  he  will 
find  it  coisies  from  a  clodpole.  But,  sir,  I  will  de- 
liver his  challenge  by  word  of  mouth ;  set  upon 
Ague-cheek  a  notable  report  of  valour;  and  drive 
the  gentleman  (as,  I  know,  his  youth  will  aptly  re- 
ceive it,)  into  a  most  hideous  opinion  of  his  rage, 
skill,  fury,  and  impetuosity.  This  will  so  fright 
them  both,  that  they  will  liill  one  another  by  the 
look,  like  cockatrices. 

Enter  Olivia  and  Viola. 
Fab.  Here  he  comes  with  your  niece :    give 
them  way,  till  he  take  leave,  and  presently  after  him. 
Sir  To.  I  will  meditate  the  while  upon  some 
horrid  message  for  a  challenge. 

[Exeunt  Sir  Toby,  Fabian,  and  Maria, 
Oil.  I  have  said  too  much  unto  a  heart  of  stone, 
And  laid  mine  honour  too  unchary'  out : 
There's  something  in  me,  that  reproves  my  fault ; 
But  such  a  headstrong  potent  fault  it  is. 
That  it  but  mocks  reproof. 
Vio.  With  the  same  'haviour  that  your  passion 
bears. 
Go  on  my  master's  griefs. 
Oli.  Here,  wear  this  jewel  for  me,  'tis  my  pic- 
ture ; 
Refuse  it  not,  it  hath  no  tongue  to  vex  you : 
And,  I  beseech  you,  come  again  to-morrow. 
What  shall  you  ask  of  mc,  that  I'll  deny ; 
That  honour,  sav'd,  may  upon  asking  give  ? 
Vio.  Nothing  but  this,  your  true  love  for  my 

master. 
Oli.  How  with  mine  honour  may  I  give  him  that 
Which  I  have  given  to  you  ? 

yio.  I  will  acquit  you. 

OH.  Well,  come  again  to-morrow :  Fare  thee 
well; 

il^  Uncautiously.     (2)  Rapier.      (3)  RHady. 
4)  Sort.       (6)  Decision.       (6)  Adversary. 


Jlct  III. 


A  fiend,  like  thee,  might  bear  my  soul  to  hell.  [£x. 
Re-enter  Sir  Toby  Belch,  and  Fabian. 

Sir  To.  Gentleman,  God  save  Ihee. 

Vio.  And  you,  sir. 

Sir  To.  That  defence  thou  hast,  betake  thee 
to't:  of  what  nature  the  wrongs  are  thou  hast 
done  him,  I  know  not ;  but  thy  intercepter,  full  of 
despight,  bloody  as  the  hunter,  attends  thee  at  the 
orchard  end :  dismount  thy  tuck,*  be  yare'  in  thy 
preparation,  for  thy  assailant  is  quick,  skilful,  and 
deadly. 

Vio.  You  mistake,  sir ;  I  am  sure,  no  man  hath 
any  quarrel  to  me  ;  my  remembrance  is  very  free 
and  clear  from  any  image  of  oficncedoneto  any  man. 

Sir  To.  You'll  find  it  otherwise,  I  assure  you : 
therefore,  if  you  hold  your  life  at  any  price,  betake 
you  to  your  guafd  ;  (or  your  opposite  hath  in  him 
what  youth,  strength,  skill,  and  wrath,  can  furni^ll 
man  withal. 

Vio.  I  pray  you,  sir,  what  is  he  ? 

Sir  To.  He  is  knight,  dubbed  with  unbacked 
rapier,  and  on  carpet  consideration ;  but  he  is  a 
devil  in  private  brawl :  souls  and  bodies  hath  he 
divorced  three ;  and  his  incensement  at  this  mo- 
ment is  so  implacable,  that  satisfaction  can  be  none 
but  by  pangs  of  death  and  sepulchre  :  hob,  nob,  is 
his  word ;  give't,  or  take't. 

Vio.  I  will  return  again  into  the  house,  and  de- 
sire some  conduct  of  the  lady.  1  am  no  fighter.  I 
have  heard  of  some  kind  of  men,  that  put  quarrels 
purposely  on  others,  to  taste  their  valour :  belike, 
this  is  a  man  of  that  quirk.* 

Sir  To.  Sir,  no ;  his  indignation  derives  itself 
out  of  a  very  competent  injury  ;  ttierefore,  get  you 
on,  and  give  him  his  desire.  Back  you  shall  not  to 
the  house,  unless  you  undertake  that  with  me, 
which  with  as  much  safety  you  might  answer  him : 
therefore,  on,  or  strip  your  sword  stark  naked; 
for  meddle  you  must,  that's  certain,  or  forswear  to 
wear  iron  about  you. 

Vio.  This  is  as  uncivil,  as  strange.  I  beseech 
you,  do  me  tliis  courteous  oihce,  as  to  know  of  the 
knight  what  my  oUence  to  him  is ;  it  b  something 
of  my  negligence,  notliing  of  my  purpose. 

Sir  To.  t  will  do  so.  Sii^nior  Fabian,  stav  vou 
by  this  gentleman  till  my  return.    [Exit  Sir  Toby. 

Vio.  Pray  you,  sir,  do  you  know  of  this  matter  7 

Fab.  I  know,  the  knight  is  incensed  against  you, 
even  to  a  mortal  arbitrament  ;*  but  nothing  of  the 
circumstance  nwre. 

Vio.  I  beseech  you,  what  manner  of  man  is  he  7 

Fab.  Nothing  of  that  wonderful  promise,  to  read 
him  by  his  form,  as  you  are  like  to  find  him  in  the 
proof  of  his  valour.  He  is,  indeed,  sir,  the  most 
skilful,  bloody,  and  fatal  opposite*  that  you  could 
possibly  have  found  in  any  part  of  Illyria:  will  you 
walk  towards  him  ?  I  win  make  your  peace  with 
him,  if  I  can. 

yio.  I  shall  be  much  bound  to  you  for't :  I  am 
one,  that  would  rather  go  with  sir  priest,  than  sir 
knight :  I  care  not  who  knows  so  much  of  my 
mettle.  [Exeunt, 

Re-enter  Sir  Toby,  with  Sir  Andrew. 

Sir  To.  Why,  man,  he's  a  very  devil ;  I  have 
not  seen  such  a  virago.  I  had  a  pass  with  him, 
rapier,  scabbard,  and  all,  and  he  gives  mc  the 
stuck-in,'  with  such  a  mortal  motion,  that  it  is  in- 
evitable ;  and  on  the  answer,  he  pays  you*  as  surely 

(7)  Stoccata,  an  Italian  term  in  fencing. 

(8)  Does  for  you. 


Seme  IT. 


•nVELFTH  NIGHT  j  OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


87 


as  your  feet  hit  the  ground  they  step  on :  they  say, 
he  nas  been  fencer  to  the  Sophy. 

Sir  And.  Pox  on't,  I'll  not  meddle  with  him. 

Sir  To.  Ay,  but  he  will  not  now  be  pacified: 
Fabian  can  scarce  hold  him  yonder. 

Sir  And.  Plague  on't^  an  1  thought  he  had  been 
Taliant,  and  so  cunning  m  fence,  I'd  have  seen  him 
damned  ere  I'd  have  challenged  him.  Let  him  let 
the  matter  slip,  and  I'll  give  him  my  horse,  grey 
Capilet. 

Sir  To.  I'll  make  the  motion  :  stand  here,  make 
a  good  show  on't ;  this  shall  end  without  the  per- 
dition of  souls :  marry,  I'll  ride  your  horse  as  well 
as  I  ride  you.  {Aside. 

Re-enter  Fabian  and  Viola. 

I  have  his  horse  [to  Fab.]  to  take  up  the  quarrel ; 
I  have  persuaded  him,  the  youth's  a  devil. 

Fab.  He  is  as  horribly  conceited'  of  him;  and 
•ants,  and  looks  pale,  as  if  a  bear  were  at  his 
necls. 

Sir  To.  There's  no  remedy,  sir;  he  will  fight 
with  you  for  his  oath  sake  :  marry,  he  hath  better 
bethought  him  of  his  quarrel,  and  he  finds  that  now 
scarce  to  be  worth  talking  of:  therefore  dra^v,  for 
the  supportance  of  his  vow ;  he  protests,  he  will  not 
hurt  you. 

Vib.  Pray  God  defend  me !  A  little  thing 
would  make  me  tell  them  how  much  I  lack  of  a 
man.      ^  [Aside. 

Fab.  Give  ground,  if  you  see  him  furious. 

Sir  To.  Come,  sir  Andrew,  there's  no  remedy  ; 
the  gentleman  will,  for  his  honour's  sake,  have  one 
bout  with  you  :  he  cannot  bv  the  duello-  avoid  it  : 
but  he  has  promised  me,  as  lie  is  a  gentleman  ana 
a  soldier,  he  will  not  hurt  you.     Come  on  :  tot. 

Sir  And.  Pray  God,  he  keep  his  oath !    [Draws. 

Enter  Antonio. 

Vio.  I  do  assure  you,  'tis  against  my  will. 

[Draics. 
Ant.  Put  up  your  sword ; — If  this  young  gen- 
tleman 
Have  done  offence,  1  take  the  fault  on  me ; 
If  vou  offend  him,  I  for  him  defy  you.     [Dratoing. 
^ir  To.  You,  sir  ?  why,  what  are  you  ? 
Ant.    One,  sir,  that  for  his  love  dares  yet  do 
more. 
Than  you  have  heard  him  brag  to  you  he  will. 

Sir  To.  Nay,  if  you  be  an  undertaker,  1  am  for 
you.  [Draws. 

Enter  two  Officers. 

Fab.  O  good  sir  Toby,  hold ;  here  come  the 
officers. 

Sir  To.  I'll  be  with  you  anon.        [To  Antonio. 

Vio.  Pray,  sir,  put  up  your  sword,  if  vou  please. 
[To  S'ir  Andrew. 

Sir  And.  Marry,  will  I,  sir? — and,  for  that  I 
promised  you,  I'll  be  as  good  as  my  word:  He 
will  bear  you  easily,  and  reins  well. 

1  Off.  This  is  the  man  ;  do  thy  office. 

2  Off.  Antonio,  I  arrest  thee  at  the  suit 
Of  count  Orsino, 

Ant.  You  do  mistake  me,  sir. 

1  Off.  No,  sir,  no  jot;  I  know  your  favour  well, 
Though  now  you  have  no  sea-cap' on  vour  head. — 
Take  him  away  ;  he  knows,  I  know  him  well. 

Ant.  I  must  obey. — This  comes  with  seekingyou; 
-  But  there's  no  remedy  ;  I  shall  answer  it. 


il )  Horrid  conception. 
S)  Omamented. 


(2)  Lawg  of  duel 


AMiat  will  you  do  ?  Now  my  necessity 
Makes  me  to  ask  vou  for  my  purse  :   It  grieves  ma 
Much  more,  for  %>'hat  I  cannot  do  for  vou. 
Than  what  befalls  myself.    You  stani  amaz'd ; 
But  be  of  comfort. 

2  Off.  Come,  sir,  awaj-. 

Ant.  I  must  entreat  of  you  some  of  that  money. 

Vio.  What  money,  sir  ? 
For  the  fair  kindness  you  have  show'd  me  here. 
And,  part,  being  prompted  by  your  present  trouble. 
Out  of  my  lean  and  low  abil.ty 
I'll  lend  you  something :  my  having  is  not  much ; 
I'll  make  division  of  my  present  with  you : 
Hold,  there  is  half  my  coffer. 

Ant.  Will  you  deny  me  now  t 

Is't  possible,  that  my  deserts  to  you 
Can  lack  persuasion?  Do  not  tempt  my  misery, 
Lest  that  it  make  me  so  unsound  a  man, 
As  to  upbraid  you  with  those  Idndnesses 
That  I  have  done  for  you. 

Vio.  I  know  of  none  ; 

Nor  know  I  you  by  voice,  or  any  feature : 
I  hate  ingratitude  more  in  a  man, 
Than  lying,  vainness,  babbluig,  drunkenness, 
Or  anv  taint  of  vice,  whose  strong  corruption 
Inhabits  our  frail  blood. 

Ant.  0  heavens  themselves ! 

2  Off.  Come,  sir,  I  prav  you,  go. 

Ant.  Let  me  speak  a  little.     This  youth  that 
you  see  here, 
I  snatch'd  one  half  out  of  the  jaws  of  death ; 

Reliev'd  him  with  such  sanctity  of  love, 

And  to  his  image,  whicli,  methought,  did  promise 
Most  venerable  worth,  did  I  devotion. 

1  Off.  What's  that  to  us?  The  time  goe»  by; 
away. 

Ant.  But,  "O,  how  vile  an  idol  proves  this  god !— . 
Thou  hast,  Sebastian,  done  gooa  feature  shame. — 
In  nature  there's  no  blemish,  but  the  mind ; 
None  can  be  call'd  defonu'd,  but  the  unkind : 
Virtue  is  beauty ;  but  the  beauteous-evil 
Are  eniptv  trunks,  o'erflourish'd'  by  the  deril. 

1  Off^.  The  man  grows  mad ;  away  with  him. 
Come,  come,  sir. 

Ant.  Lead  me  on.   [Exe.  Officers,  with  Antonio. 

Vio.  Methinks,  his  words  do  from  such  passion 
fly. 
That  he  believes  himself;  so  do  not  I. 
Prove  true,  imagination,  0  prove  true, 
That  I,  dear  brother,  be  now  ta'en  for  you  ! 

Sir  To.  Come  hither,  knight;  come  hither.  Fa 
bian ;  we'll  whisper  o'er  a  couplet  or  t»vo  of  most 
sage.  saws. 

Vio.  He  nam'd  Sebastian  ;  I  my  brother  know 
Yet  living  in  my  glass  ;*  even  such  and  so, 
In  favour  was  my  brother ;  and  he  went 
Still  in  this  fashion,  colour,  ornament, 
I" or  him  I  imitate :  O,  if  it  prove. 
Tempests  are  kind,  and  salt  waves  fresh  in  love ! 

[Exit. 

Sir  To.  A  very  dishonest  paltry  boy,  and  more 
a  coward  than  a  hare :  his  dishonesty  appears,  in 
leaving  his  friend  here  in  necessity,  and  denying 
him  ;  and  for  his  cowardship.  ask  Fabian. 

Fab.  A  coward,  a  most  devout  coward,  reli- 
gious in  it. 

Sir  And.  'Slid,  I'll  after  him  again,  and  beat  him. 

Sir  To.  Do,  cuff  him  soundly,  but  never  draw 
thy  sword.  * 

Sir  And.  An  I  do  not, —  [Exit, 

Fab.  Come,  let's  see  the  event. 

(4)  In  the  reflection  of  my  own  figure. 


TWELFTH-NIGHT  ;  OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL: 


JletUL 


Sir  To,  I  dare  lay  any  money,  'twill  be  noUiing 
ytIL  [ExcMit. 

ACT  IV. 

SCJELYE  J.— The  street  before  Olivia's  house. 
Enter  Sebastian  and  Clown. 

Clo.  Will  you  make  me  believe,  that  I  am  not 
■ent  for  you  ? 

Seb.  Go  to,  go  to,  thou  art  a  foolish  fellow ; 
Let  mc  be  clear  of  thee. 

Clo.  Well  held  out,  i'faith !  No,  I  do  not  know 
you ;  nor  I  am  not  sent  to  you  by  my  lady,  to  bid 
vou  come  speak  with  her ;  nor  your  name  is  not 
master  Cesario  ;  nor  this  is  not  my  nose  neither. — 
Nothing,  that  is  so,  is^so. 

Seb.  i  pr'ytliee,  vent'  thy  folly  somewhere  else ; 
thou  know'st  not  me. 

Clo.  Vent  my  folly !  he  has  heard  that  word  of 
some  great  man,  and  now  applies  it  to  a  fool. 
Vent  my  folly !  I  am  afraid  this  great  lubber,  the 
world,  will  prove  a  cockney. — I  pr'ythee  now,  un- 
gird  thy  strangeness,  and  tell  me  what  I  shall  vent 
to  my  lady ;  shall  I  vent  to  her,  tliat  thou  art 
coming  ? 

Seb.  I  pr'ythee,  foolish  Greek,  depart  from  me ; 
There's  money  for  thee ;  if  you  tarry  l6nger, 
I  shall  give  worse  payment. 

Clo.  By  my  troth,  thou  hast  an  open  hand : — 
These  wise  men,  that  give  fools  money,  get  them- 
selves a  good  report  after  fourteen  years'  purchase. 

Enter  Sir  Andrew,  Sir  Toby,  and  Fabian. 

Sir  Jlnd.  Now,  sir,  have  I  met  you  again  ?  there's 
for  you.  [Striking  Sebastian. 

Seb.  Why,  there's  for  thee,  and  there,  and  there : 
arc  all  the  people  mad  ?         [Beating  Sir  Andrew. 

Sir  To.  Hold,  sir,  or  I'll  throw  your  dagger  o'er 
the  house. 

Clo.  T^BS  will  I  tell  my  lady  straight :  I  would 
not  be  in  Some  of  your  coats  for  two-pence. 

[Exit  Clo^vn. 

Sir  To.  Come  on,  sir;  hold.  [Holding  Seb. 

Sir  jf  lid.  Navj  let  him  alone,  I'll  go  another  way 
to  work  with  him ;  I'll  have  an  action  of  battery 
against  him,  if  there  be  any  law  in  lUyria:  though 
I  struck  him  first,  yet  it's  no  matter  for  that. 

Seb.  Let  eo  thy  hand. 

Sir  To.  Come,  sir,  I  will  not  let  you  go.  Come, 
Wy  young  soldier,  put  up  your  iron :  you  are  well 
fleshed ;  come  on. 

Seb.  I  will  be  free  from  thee.    What  would'st 
thou  now  ? 
If  thou  dar'st  tempt  me  further,  draw  thy  sword. 

[Draws. 

Sir  To.  What,  what?  Nay,  tlien  I  must  have 
an  ounce  or  two  of  this  malapert  blood  from  you. 

[Draws. 
Enter  Olivia. 

Oli.  Hold,  Toby ;  on  thv  life,  I  charge  thee,  hold, 

Sir  To.  Madam  ? 

Oli.  Will  it  be  ever  thus  ?  Ungracious  wretch, 
fit  for  the  mountains,  and  the  barbarous  caves. 
Where  manners  ne'er  were  preach'd  !  out  of  my 
sight ! 

Be  not  offended,  dear  Cesario : 

Rudcsbv,*  be  gone  1 — I  prVlhee,  gentle  friend, 

[Eiennt  Sir  Toby,  Sir  Andrew,  aittf  Fabian 
Let  thy  fair  wisdom,  not  thy  passion,  sway 

(1)  Let  out    (2)  Rude  fellow.    (S)  Violence 
(4)  Made  up.  (5)  Ui  beUde.  . 


In  this  uncivil  and  uniust  extent* 

Against  thy  peace.    Go  with  me  to  my  honle ; 

And  hear  ihere  how  many  fruitless  pranks 

Tliis  ruffian  hatli  botch'd  up,*  that  thou  thereby 

May'st  smile  at  this :  thou  shalt  not  choose,  but  go; 

Do  not  deny :  beshrew'  his  soul  for  me. 

He  started  one  poor  heart  of  mine  in  thee. 

Seb.  Whatreush  is  in  this  ?  how  runs  the  stream? 
Or  I  am  mad,  or  else  this  is  a  dream  : — 
Let  fancy  still  my  sense  in  Lethe  steep ; 
If  it  be  thus  to  dream,  still  let  me  sleep ! 

Oli.  Nay,  come,  I  pr'ythee :  'would,  thou'dst  be 
rul'd  by  me ! 

Seb.  Madam,  I  will. 

Oli.  0,  say  so,  and  so  be !  [Ext. 

SCEJ^E  11.-^  room  in  Olivia's  house.    Enter 
Maria  and  Clown. 

Mar.  Nay,  I  pr'ythee,  put  on  this  gown,  aa/ 
this  beard ;  make  him  believe  thou  art  sir  TOpJ ' 
the  curate ;  do  it  quickly :  I'll  call  sir  Toby  th^ 
whilst.  [Exit  Maria. 

Clo.  Well,  I'll  put  it  on,  and  I  will  dissemble* 
myself  in't ;  and  I  would  I  were  the  first  that  ever 
dissembled  in  such  a  gown.  I  am  not  fat  enough 
to  become  the  function  well ;  nor  lean  enough  to 
be  tliought  a  good  student;  but  to  be  said,  an 
honest  man,  and  a  good  housekeeper,  goes  as 
fairly,  as  to  say,  a  careful  man,  and  a  great  scho> 
lar.    The  competitors'  enter. 

Enter  Sir  Toby  Belch  and  Maria. 

Sir  To.  Jove  bless  thee,  master  parson. 

Clo.  Bonos  dies,  sir  Toby :  for  as  the  old  hermit 
of  Prague,  that  never  saw  pen  and  ink^  very  wit» 
tily  said  to  a  niece  of  kingGorboduc,  Tnat,  that  is, 
is  :  so  I,  being  master  parson,  am  master  parson  ^ 
for  what  is  that,  but  that  ?  and  is,  but  is  ? 

Sir  To.  To  him,  sir  Topas. 

Clo.  What,  hoa,  I  say, — Peace  in  this  prison  ! 

Sir  To.  The  knave  counterfeits  well ;  a  good 
knave. 

Mai.  [in  an  inner  chamber.]  AVho  calls  there  ? 

Clo.  Sir  Topas,  the  curate,  who  comes  to  visit 
Malvolio  the  lunatic. 

McU.  Sir  Topas,  sir  Topas,  good  sir  Topas,  go 
to  my  lady. 

Clo.  Out,  hyperbolical  fiend!  how  vexcst  thou 
this  man  ?  talkest  thou  nothing  but  of  ladies  ? 

Sir  To.  Well  said,  master  parson. 

Mai.  Sir  Topas,  never  was  man  thus  wronged  !— 
good  sir  Topas,  do  not  think  I  am  mad ;  they  hiTC 
laid  me  here  in  hideous  darkness. 

Clo.  Fie,  thou  dishonest  Sathan  !  I  call  thee  by 
the  most  modest  terms :  for  I  am  one  of  those  gen- 
tle ones,  that  will  use  the  devil  himself  with  cour- 
tesy :  say'st  thou,  that  house  is  dark  ? 

Mai.  As  hell,  sir  Topas. 

Clo.  Why,  it  hath  bay-windows,*  transparent  at 
barricadoes,  and  the  clear  stones  towards  the  soutH- 
norlh  are  as  lustrous  as  ebony ;  and  yet  complainesi 
thou  of  obstruction  ? 

Mai.  I  am  not  mad,  sir  Topas ;  I  say  to  you,  thiii 
house  is  dark. 

Clu,  Madman,  thou  errest :  I  say,  there  is  no 
darkness,  but  ignorance :  in  which  thou  art  more 
puzzled,  than  the  Egyptians  in  their  fog. 

Mat.  I  say,  this  house  is  as  dark  as  ignorance, 
though  ignorance  were  as  dark  as  hell ;  and  I  say 
there  ^vas  never  man  thus  abused :  I  am  no  more 

(6^  Disguise.  (7)  Confederates. 

(8)  Bow-windows. 


ta&tin. 


TWELFTH.NIGHT ;  OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


m 


mad  than  you  are ;  make  the  trial  of  it  in  any  con- 1    Mat.  Believe  me,  I  am  not ;  I  tell  thee  trne. 
•tint  question.'  I     Cio.  Nay,  I'll  ne'er  believe  a  madman,  till  I  see 

do.  What  is  the  opinion  of  Pythagoras,  concern-  his  brains.  I  will  fetch  you  li^ht,  and  paper,  and  ink. 
in^  wild-fowl  ?  i    Mai.  Fool,  I'll  requite  it  in  the  highest  degree . 

Jdal.  That  the  soul  of  our  grandam  might  haply  I  pr'ythee,  be  gone. 


inhabit  a  bird.  '    Clo. 

Clo.  What  thinkest  thou  of  his  opinion  ? 

Mai.  I  think  nobly  of  the  soul,  and  no  way  ap- 
prove his  opinion. 

Clo.  Fare  thee  well :  remain  thou  still  in  dark- 
ness :  thou  shall  hold  the  opinion  of  Pythagoras, 
ere  I  will  allow  of  thy  wits ;  and  fear  to  kill  a 
woodcock,  lest  thou  dispossess  the  soul  of  thy 
grandam.    Fare  thee  well. 

Mai.  Sir  Topas,  sir  Topas, — 

Sir  To.  My  most  exquisite  sir  Topas ! 

Clo.  Nay,  I  am  for  all  waters.* 

Mar.  Thou  might'st  have  done  this  without  thy 
beard  and  gown  :  he  sees  thee  not.  '  1  „„„,,,,  ,,,     ^,.  .  .  ,        ^  .     «  ,     .. 

Sir  To.  To  him  in  thine  own  voice,  and  bring  ^CE^E  lll.-OXvia's  garden.  Enter  Sebasban. 
me  word  how  thou  findest  him :  I  would  we  were|     s^b.  This  is  the  air ;  that  is  the  glorious  sun  ; 


I  am  gone,  sir, 

Jind  anon,  sir, 
ru  he  with  you  again. 

In  a  trice  ; 

Like  to  the  old  vice,* 
Your  need  to  sustain  ; 

Who  with  dagger  of  lath. 
In  his  rage  and  his  toratn. 

Cries,  ah,  ha !  to  the  devil , 
Like  a  mad  lad, 
Pare  thy  nails,  dad, 

Jidieu,  goodman  drivel. 


[Exit. 


With  any  safety  this  sport  to  the  up.^iot.    Conie  by ;  j  could  not  find  him  at  the  Elephant . 

"ri^  ^°  ™y  p  /.'••• //^if^ •       ^°^        ^^'"■' ' "i'ct  there  he  was  ;  and  there  I  found  this  credit,' 


Clo.  -f^eVi  Robin,  joUy  Robin, 

Tell  me  how  thy  lady  does.        [Singing. 

Mai.  Fool,- 

Clo.  My  lady  is  unkind,  perdu. 

Mai.  Fool,- 

Clo.  .ilas,  why  is  she  so  ? 

Mai.  Fool,  I  say ; — 

Clo.  She  loves  another — ^Who  calls,  ha  ? 

Mai.  Good  fool,  as  ever  thou  wilt  deserve  well 
at  my  hand,  help  me  to  a  candle,  and  pen,  and  ink, 
and  paper ;  as  I  am  a  gentleman,  I  will  live  to  be 
thankful  to  thee  for't. 

Clo.  Master  Malvolio ! 

Mai.  Ay,  good  fool. 

C!o.  Alas,  sir,  how  fell  you  beside  your  five  wits?* 

Mai.  Fool,  there  was  never  man  so  notoriously 
abused :  I  am  as  well  in  my  wits,  fool,  as  thou  art. 

Clo.  But  as  well  ?  then  you  are  mad,  indeed,  if 
you  be  no  better  in  your  ivits  than  a  fool. 

Mill.  They  have  nere  propertied  me:*  keep  me 
in  darkness,  send  ministers  to  me,  asses,  and  do  all 
ther  can  to  face  me  out  of  ray  wits. 

Clo.  Advise  you  what  you  say ;  the  minister  is 
here. — Malvolio,  Malvolio,  thy  wits  the  he-avens 


That  he  did  range  the  town  to  seek  me  out. 

His  counsel  now  might  do  me  golden  service : 

For  though  my  soul  disputes  well  with  my  sense, 

That  this  may  be  some  error,  but  no  madness, 

Yet  doth  this  accident  and  flood  of  fortune, 

So  far  exceed  all  instance,  all  discourse,* 

That  I  am  ready  to  distrust  mine  eyes, 

And  wrangle  with  my  reason,  that  persuades  me 

To  any  other  trust'  but  that  I  am  mad. 

Or  else  the  lady's  mad ;  yet,  if  'twere  so, 

She  could  not  sway  her  house,  command  her  fid 

lowers,'" 
Take,  and  give  back,  affairs,  and  their  despatch. 
With  such  a  smooth,  discreet,  and  stable  bearing. 
As,  I  perceive,  she  does :  there's  something  in't. 
That  is  deceivable.    But  here  comes  VSe  lady. 

Enter  Olivia  and  a  Priest. 

Oli.  Blame  not  this  haste  of  mine :  if  you  mean 
well. 
Now  go  with  me,  and  with  this  holy  man. 
Into  the  chantry"  by:  there,  before  him. 
And  underneath  that  consecrated  roof, 


restore !  endsavour  thyself  to  sleep,  and  leave  thy 'Plight  me  the  full  assurance  of  your  faith ; 


Tain  bibble  babble. 

Mai.  Sir  Topas, 

Clo.  Maintain  no  words  with  him,  good  fellow. — 
Who,  I,  sir  ?  not  I,  sir.  God  b'wi'you,  good  sir 
Topas. — Marry,  amen. — I  will,  sir,  I  will. 

Mai.  Fool,  fool,  fool,  I  say, — 

Clo.  Alas,  sir,  be  patient.  What  say  you,  sir  ? 
I  am  shenl'  for  speaking  to  you. 

Mai.  Good  fool,  help  me  to  some  light,  and  some 
paper ;  I  tell  thee,  I  am  as  well  in  my  wits,  as  any 
man  in  Illyria. 

Clo.  Well  a-day, — that  you  were,  sir ! 

Mai.  By  this  hand,  I  am  :  good  fool,  some  ink,  .  __    ^^ 

l)ap2r,  and  light,  and  convey  what  I  will  set  down!  -^^  ^     *  • 

t'MS'ftn!'H^':?"^"°^^'''"°'"'^'''"'"''"SCE.YE   I.-The  street   before  01ivia».   kcust. 


That  my  most  jealous  and  too  doubtful  soul 
May  live  at  peace :  he  shall  conceal  it. 
Whiles'^'  you  are  willing  it  shall  come  to  note ; 
What  time  we  will  our  celebration  keep 
According  to  my  birth. — What  do  you  say  ? 

Seb.  I'll  follow  this  good  man,  and  go  with  you  ; 
And,  having  sworn  truth,  ever  will  be  true. 

Oli.  Then  lead  the  way,  good  father;— —And 
heavens  so  shine. 
That  they  may  fairly  note  this  act  of  mine !  [Exe. 


the  bearing  of  letter  did. 

Clo.  I  will  help  you  to't.    But  tell  me  true,  are 
you  not  mad,  indeed  ?  or  do  you  but  counterfeit  ? 


(11  Regular  conversation. 

52)  Any  other  gem  as  a  topaz. 
4)  Taken  possession  of. 
&)  Scolded,  reprimanded. 
M 


(3)  Senses. 


Enter  Clown  and  Fabian. 
Fab.  Now,  as  thou  lovest  me,  let  me  sec  his  letter. 

(6)  A  buffoon  character  in  the  old  plays,  and 
father  of  the  modern  harlequin. 

(7)  Account.        (8)  Reason.        (9)  Belief. 
(101  Servants.    (11)  Little  chapel.     (12)  Until. 


TWELFTH-NIGHT ;  OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


Jlctr. 


Clo.  Good  master  Fabian,  grant  me  another  re 
quest. 

Fab.  Any  thinir. 

Clo.  Do  not  desire  to  see  this  letter. 

Fab.  That  is,  to  give  a  dog^,  and,  in  recompense, 
desire  my  dog  again. 

Enter  Duke,  ^'iola,  and  attendants. 

Duke.  Belong-  you  to  flic  lady  Olivia,  friends? 

Co.  Ay,  air  ;  ive  are  some  o^  her  trappings. 

Dnke.  1  know  Ihce  Avell ;  How  dost  thou,  my 
good  fellow  ? 

Co.  Truly,  sir,  ihe  better  for  my  foes,  and  the 
wo  se  for  n-y  friend?. 

Duke.  Just  the  contrary;  the  better  for  thy 
friends.  * 

Cm.  No,  sir,  the  worse. 

Dnke.  How  can  that  be  ?  ' 

Clo.  Marry,  sir,  they  praise  me,  and  make  an  ass 
of  me  ;  now  my  foes  tell  me  plainly  I  am  an  ass :  so 
^  1^  that  by  my  foes,  sir,  T  profit  in  the  knowledjre  of 
^  myself;  and  by  my  friends  I  am  abused:  so  that, 
conclusions  to  be  "as  kisses,  if  vour  four  negatives 
make  your  two  aflirmatives,  why,  then  the  worse 
for  my  friend?,  and  the  better  for  my  foes. 

Dnke.  Why,  this  is  excellent. 
^  Clo.  By  my  troth,  sir,  no ;  though  it  please  you 

to  be  one  of  my  friends. 

Duke.  Thou  shalt  not  be  the  worse  for  mc; 
there's  pold. 

Clo.  But  thit  it  would  be  double-dealing,  sir,  I 
would  you  could  make  it  another. 

Duke.  O,  you  give  me  ill  counsel. 

Clo.  Put  your  ^mcc  in  yo!!r  pocket,  sir,  for  this 
once,  and  let  voi;r  flesh  anil  blood  obey  it. 

Duke.  Well,  I  will  be  so  much  a  sinner  to  be  a 
double-dealer ;  there's  ano»hcr. 

Clo.  Prima,  sec-mdo,  terlic,  is  a  good  nlay ;  and 
the  old  sayinij  is,  the  third  pays  for  all :  tlio  triplex, 
sir,  is  a  good  trippinir  measure :  or  the  bells  of  St. 
Bennet,  sir,  may  putVou  in  mind  ;  One,  two,  three. 
'  Duke.  You  can  fool  no  more  money  out  of  me 

at  this  throw :  if  von  will  let  your  lady  know,  I  am 
here  to  speak  with  her,  and  bring  her  along  with 
you,  it  may  awake  my  bounty  further. 

Clo.  Marry,  si-,  liillaby  to  your  bounty,  till  I 

come  aeain.    I  go,  sir ;  but  I  would  not  have  you 

to  think,  that  my  desire  of  having  is  the  sin  of  co- 

vetousness :  buti  as  you  sav,  sir,~  let  vour  bounty 

f   take  a  nap,  I  will  awake  it  anon.        [Exit  Clown. 

Enter  Antonio  and  OrTicers. 

Via.  Here  comes  the  man,  sir,  that  did  rescue  me. 

Duke.  That  face  of  his  I  do  remember  well ; 
Vet,  when  I  saw  it  last,  it  was  besmpar'd 
As  black  as  Vulcan,  in  the  smoke  of  war : 
A  bawbling  vessel  was  he  cantain  of. 
For  shallow  draiiijht,  and  bulk,  iinprizable  : 
With  which  siich  scathful'  erapple  did  he  make 
With  the  most  noble  bottom  of  our  fleet, 
'  That  very  envy,  and  the  tonj;ue  of  loss, 
Cry'd  fame  and  honouron  him. — AVhat's  the  matter? 

1  Off.  Orsino,  this  is  that  Antonio, 
That  took  the  Phoenbc,  and  her  fraught,'  from 

Candy ; 
And  this  is  hej  that  did  the  Tiser  board. 
When  your  young  nephew  Titus  lost  his  leg: : 
Here  in  the  streets,  desperate  of  shame,  and  state, 
In  private  brabble  did  we  apprehend  him. 

Via.  He  did  me  kindness,  sir ;  drew  on  my  side ; 
But,  in  conclusion,  put  strange  speech  upon  me, 


I  know  not  what  'twas,  but  distraction. 

Dnke.  Notable  pirate !  thou  salt-water  thief!   i 
What  foolish  boldness  brought  thee  to  their  mercies, 
Whom  thou,  in  terms  so  bloody,  and  so  dear, 
Hast  made  thine  enemies  ? 

Jltit.  Orsino,  noble  sir. 

Be  pleas'd  that  I  shake  off  these  names  you  give  me, 
Antonio  never  yet  was  thief,  or  pirate, 
Though,  I  confess,  on  has*  and  ground  enough, 
Orsino's  enemy.    A  witchcraft  drew  me  hither : 
That  most  ungVateful  boy  there,  by  your  side. 
From  the  rude  sea's  enrajr'd  and  foamy  mouih 
Did  I  redeem  ;  a  wreck  past  hope  he  was  : 
His  life  I  gave  him,  and  did  thereto  add 
My  love,  without  retention,  or  restraint, 
All  his  in  dedication :  for  his  sake, 
Did  I  expose  myself,  pure  for  his  love. 
Into  the  danger  of  ihis  adverse  town  ; 
Drew  to  defend  him,  when  he  was  beset ; 
Where  being  apprehended,  his  false  cunning 
(Not  meaning  to  partake  with  me  in  danger,) 
Taught  him  to  face  mc  out  of  his  acquaintance, 
And  grew  a  twentv-ycari-rcmoved  thing. 
While  one  would  wink ;    denied  me  mine  own 

purse. 
Which  I  had  recommended  to  his  use 
Not  half  an  hour  before. 

Vio.  How  can  this  be  ? 

Duke.  When  came  he  to  this  town  ? 

^nt.  To-day,  my  lord ;  and  for  three  months 
before 
(No  interim,  not  a  minute's  vacancy,) 
Both  day  and  night  did  ive  keep  cornpany. 

Enter  Olivia  and  attendants. 

Duke.  Here  comes  the  countess ;  now  heaven 

walks  on  earth. 

But  for  thee,  fellow,  fellow,  thy  words  are  madness : 
Three  months  this  youth  iiatH  tended  upon  me  ; 
But  more  of  that  anon. Take  him  aside. 

OH.  What  would  my  lord,  but  that  he  may  not 
have, 
AVherein  Olivia  may  seem  serviceable  ? — 
Cesario,  you  do  not  keep  promise  with  me. 

Vio.  Madam? 

Dtike.  Gracious  Olivia, 

OIL  What  do  you  say,  Cesario? Good  my 

lord, 

Vio.  My  lord  would  speak,  my  duty  hushes  me. 

OH.  If  it  be  aught  to  the  old  tune,  my  lord, 
It  is  as  fat'  and  fulsome  to  mine  ear, 
.\s  howling  after  music. 

Dttke.  Still  so  cruel  ? 

OH.  Still  so  constant,  lord. 

Dnke.  AVhat !  to  perverseness  ?  you  uncivil  lady. 
To  whose  iiigratc  and  unauspicious  altars 
My  soul  the  faithfull'st  offerings  hath  breath'd  out. 
That  e'er  devotion  fender'd  !    What  shall  I  do  ? 

OH.  Even  what  it  please  my  lord,  that  shall  be- 
come hirii. 

DuJie.  W'hy  should  I  not,  had  I  the  heart  to  do  i% 
Like  to  the  Egyptian  thief,  at  point  of  deatn. 
Kill  what  I  love  ;  a  savage  jealousy, 
That  sometime  savours  nobly? — But  hear  me  this.' 
Since  you  to  non-regardance  cast  my  faith. 
And  that  I  partly  know  the  instrument 
That  screws  me  from  my  true  place  in  your  favour, 
Live  vou,  the  marble-breasted  tyrant,  still ; 
But  this  your  minion,  whom,  I  know,  you  love, 
And  whom,  by  heaven,  I  swear,  I  tender  dearly, 
Him  will  I  tear  out  of  that  cruel  eye, 


p)  Miacbievous. 


^2)  Freight 


(3)  Dull,  gross. 


Beuul. 


TWELFTH  NIGHT ;  OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


91 


Where  he  sits  crowned  in  his  master's  spite.— 
Come  boy,  witii  me ;  my  thoughts  arc  lipe  in  mis- 
chief: 
I'll  sacrifice  the  Iamb  that  I  do  love, 
To  spite  a  raven's  heart  within  a  dove.        [Going. 

Vio.  And  I,  most  jocund,  apt,  and  willingly, 
To  do  you  rest,  a  thousand  deatiis  ivouUl  die. 

[Following., 

Oli.  Where  goes  Cesario  ?  i 

Vio.  After  him  I  love,     | 

More  than  I  love  these  eyes,  more  than  my  life,      | 
More,  by  all  mores,  than  e'er  I  shall  love  wife  :       i 
If  I  do  feign,  you  witnesses  above. 
Punish  my  life,  for  taintinir  of  my  love ! 

Oli.  Ah,  me,  detested  !  how  am  I  besjuil'd  ! 

Vio.  \Vho  does  beguile  you  ?  who  does  do  you 
wroncf  ? 

Oli,  Hast  thou  forgot  thyself?  Is  it  so  Ions? — 
Call  forth  the  holy  father.         [Exit  an  Jtlendant. 

Duke.  Come  awav. 

[to  Viola. 

Oli.  Whither,  mv  lord  7 — Cesario,  husband,  stay. 

Duke.  Husband? 

Oli.  Ay,  husband ;  Can  he  that  deny  ? 

Duke.  Her  husband,  sirrah  ? 

Vio.  No,  mv  lord,  not  I. 

Oli.  Alas,  it  is  the  baseness  of  th^'tear, 
That  makes  thee  strangle  thv  propriety :  • 
Fear  not,  Cesario,  take  thy  fortunes  up ; 
Be  that  thou  know'st  thou' art,  and  then  thou  art 
As  great  as  that  thou  fear'st. — O,  welcome,  father ! 

Re-enter  Attendant  and  Priest. 
Father,  I  charge  thee,  bv  thv  reverence. 
Here  to  unfold' (thougii  lately  we  intended 
To  keep  in  darkness,  what  occasion  now 
Reveals  before  'lis  ripe,)  what  thou  dost  know, 
Hath  newly  past  between  this  vouth  ani  me. 

Priest.  A  contract  of  eternal  bond  of  love, 
Confirmed  by  mutual  joinder  of  your  hands, 
Attested  by  the  holy  close  of  lips', 
Stren^en'd  by  interchaneement  of  your  rings ; 
And  all  the  ceremony  of  this  comj)&c't 
Seal'd  in  my  function,  by  my  testimony : 
Since  when,  my  watch  hath  told  me,'  toward  my 

prave, 
I  hare  travelled  but  two  hours. 

Duke.  0,  thou  dissembling  cub!  what  wilt  thou  be. 
When  time  hath  sew'd  a  grizzle  on  thy  case?* 
Or  will  not  else  thy  craft  so  quickly  grow, 
That  thine  own  trip  shall  be  thine  overthrow  ? 
Farewell,  and  take  her  ;  but  direct  thy  feet. 
Where  thou  and  I  henceforth  may  never  meet. 

Vio.  My  lord,  I  do  protest, — 

Oli.  O,  do  not  swear : 

Hold  little  faith,  though  thou  hast  too  much  fear. 

Enter  Sir  Andrew  Ag^ue-cheek,  with  his  head 
broke. 

Sir  And.  For  the  love  of  God,  a  surgeon ;  send 
ene  presently  to  sir  Toby. 

Oli.  What's  the  matter  ? 

Sir  And.  He  has  broke  my  head  across,  and  has 
given  sir  Toby  a  bloody  coxcomb  too :  far  the  love 
of  God,  your  help :  I  had  rather  than  forty  pound, 
I  were  at  home. 

OIL  Who  has  done  this,  sir  Andrew? 

Sir  And.  The  count's  gentleman,  one  Cesario: 
we  took  him  for  a  coward,  but  he's  the  very  devil 
Bicardinate. 

Duke.  My  gentleman,  Cesario  7 


il)  Disown  thy  property, 
i)  Otberways. 


(2)  Skin. 
(4)'  Serious  dancers. 


i  Sir  And.  Od's  lifelings,  here  he  is : — You  broke 
my  head  for  nothincr;  and  that  that  I  did,  I  was 
set  on  to  do't  by  sir  Toby. 

I     Vio.  Why  do  you  speaK  to  me  ?  I  never  hurt  you: 
I  You  drew  your  sword  upon  me,  without  cause ; 
But  I  bespake  you  fair,  and  hurt  you  not. 

Sir  And.  If 'a  bloody  coxcomb  be  a  hurt,  you 
have  hurt  me ;  I  think,  you  set  nothing  by  a  bloody 
coxcomb. 

Enter  Sir  Toby  Belch,  drunk,  led  by  the  Clown. 

Here  comes  sir  Toby  halting,  you  shall  hear  njore : 
but  if  he  had  not  been  in  drink,  he  would  have 
tickled  you  othergates'  than  he  dia. 

Duke.  How  now,  gentleman?  how  is't  with  you  ? 

Sir  To.  Tiiat's  all  one ;  he  has  hurt  me,  and 
there's  the  end  on't. — Sol,  did'st  see  Dick  surgeon, 
sot? 

Clo.  O  he's  drunk,  sir  Toby,  an  hour  agone ; 
his  eyes  were  set  at  eight  i'  the  morning. 

Sir  To.  Then  he's  a  rogue.  After  a  passy-mea« 
sure,  or  a  pavin,*  I  hate  a  drunken  rogue. 

Oli.  Av.ay  with  him :  who  hath  made  this  haroc 
with  them  ? 

Sir  And.  I'll  help  you,  sir  Toby,  because  we'll 
be  dressed  together. 

S'V  To.  Will  you  help,  an  ass-head,  and  a  cox« 
comb,  and  a  knave  ?  a  ihin-faced  knave,  a  gull  ? 

Oli.  Get  him  to  bed,  and  let  his  hurt  be  look'd  to. 
[Exeunt  Clown,  Sir  Toby,  and  Sir  Andrew. 

Eiiter  Sebastian. 

Seb.  1  am  sorr}-,  inadam,  I  Lave  hurt  your  kias* 
man ; 
But,  had  it  been  the  brother  of  hiy  blood, 
I  must  have  done  no  less,  with  wit,  and  safety. 
You  tlirow  a  stranjre  regard  upon  me,  and 
By  that  Ido  perceive  it  hath  oiTended  you ; 
Pardon  me,  sweet  one,  even  for  the  vows 
We  made  each  other  but  so  late  ago.  • 

Duke.  One  face,  one  voice,  one  habit,  and  two 
persons  ? 
A  natural  perspective,  that  is,  and  is  not. 

Seb.  Antonio,  O  my  dear  Antonio  ! 
How  have  the  hours  rack'd  and  tortur'd  me, 
Since  I  have  lost  thee. 

Ant.  Sebastian  are  you  ? 

Seb.  'Fear'st  thou  that,  Antonio  ? 

Ant.  How  have  you  made  division  of  yourself? 
An  apple,  cleft  in  two,  is  not  more  twin 
Than  these  two  creatures.    Which  is  Sebastian  ? 

Oli.  Most  wonderful ! 

Seb.  Do  I  stand  there  ?  I  never  had  a  brother : 
Nor  can  there  be  that  deity  in  my  nature, 
Of  here  and  every  where.     I  had  a  sister. 
Whom  the  blind  waves  and  surges  have  devour'd : — 
Of  charity,'  what  kin  are  you  to  me  ?      [To  Viola. 
What  countryman?  what  name?  what  parentage? 

Vio.  OfMessaline:  Sebastian  was  my  father ; 
Such  a  Sebastian  was  my  brother  too. 
So  went  he  suited  to  his  "watery  tomb  : 
If  spirits  can  assume  both  form  and  suit. 
You  come  to  fright  us. 

Seb.  A  spirit  I  am  indeed ; 

But  am  in  that  dimension  possly  clad. 
Which  from  the  womb  I  did  participate. 
Were  you  a  woman,  as  the  rest  goes  even, 
I  should  mv  tears  let  fall  upon  your  cheek. 
And  say — Thrice  welcome,  drowned  Viola ! 

Vio.  My  father  had  a  mole  upon  his  brow. 

Seb.  And  so  had  mine. 

(6)  Out  of  ch&ritj  tell  me. 


TWELFTH  NIGHT ;  OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


Jietr, 


Ft«.  And  died  that  day  when  Viola  from  her  birth 
Had  number'd  thirteen  years. 

Seb.  O,  that  record  is  lively  in  my  soul ! 
He  finished,  indeed,  his  mortal  act, 
That  day  that  made  my  sister  thirteen  years. 

Vio.  If  nothing  lets'  to  make  us  happy  both, 
But  this  my  masculine  usurp'd  attire. 
Do  not  embrace  me,  till  each  circumstance 
Of  place,  time,  fortune,  do  cohere,  and  jump, 
That  I  am  Viola :  which  to  confirm, 
I'll  brin^  you  to  a  captain  in  this  town, 
Where  he  my  maiden  weeds ;  by  whose  gentle  help, 
I  was  preserved,  to  serve  this  noble  count : 
All  the  occurrence  of  my  fortune  since 
Hath  been  between  this  lady,  and  this  lord. 

Seb.  So  comes  it,  lady,  you  have  been  mistook : 

[To  Olivia. 
But  nature  to  her  bias  drew  in  that. 
You  would  have  been  contracted  to  a  maid ; 
Nor  are  vou  therein,  by  my  life,  deceiv'd ; 
You  are  betroth'd  both  to  a  maid  and  man. 

Duke.  Be  not  amaz'd  ;  right  noble  is  his  blood. — 
If  this  be  so,  as  yet  the  glass  seems  true, 
I  shall  have  share  in  this  most  happy  wreck  : 
Boy,  thou  hast  said  to  me  a  thousand  timet, 

[To  Viola. 
Thou  never  should'st  love  woman  like  to  me. 

Vio.  And  all  those  sayings  ivill  I  over-swear ; 
And  all  those  swearings' keep  as  true  in  soul. 
As  doth  that  orbed  continent  the  fire 
That  severs  day  from  night. 

Duke.  '  Give  me  thy  hand  ; 

And  let  me  see  thee  in  thy  woman's  weeds. 

Vio.  The  captain,  that  did  bring  me  first  on  shore, 
Hath  my  maid's  garments  :  he,  upon  some  action, 
Is  now  m  durance :  at  Malvolio's  suit, 
A  gentleman,  and  follower  of  my  lady's. 

on.   He  shall  enlarge  him:— Fetch  Malvolio 
hither : — 
And  yet,  alas,  now  I  remember  me, 
They  say,  poor  gentleman,  he's  much  distract. 

Re-enter  Clown,  with  a  letter. 

A  most  extracting  frenzy  of  mine  own 
From  my  remembrance  clearly  banish'd  his. 
How  does  he,  sirrah  ? 

Clo.  Truly,  madam,  he  holds  Belzcbub  at  the 
stave's  end,  as  well  as  a  man  in  his  case  may  do  : 
he  has  here  writ  a  letter  to  you;  I  shoulcfhave 
given  it  to  you  to-dav  morning ;  but  as  a  madman's 
epistles  are  no  gospels,  so  it  sldlls  not  much,  when 
they  are  delivered. 

Oh.  Open  it,  and  read  it. 

Clo.  Look  then  to  be  well  edified,  when  the  fool 
delivers  the  madman: — By  the  Lord,inadam, — 

(Hi.  How  now !  art  thou  mad  ? 

Clo.  No,  madam,  I  do  but  read  madness :  an 
your  ladyship  will  have  it  as  it  ought  to  be,  you 
must  allow  cox." 

OH.  Pr'ythee,  read  i'  thy  right  v/its. 

Clo.  So  I  do,  madonna ;  but  to  read  his  right 
wits,  is  to  read  thus :  therefore  perpend,'  my  prm- 
cess,  and  give  ear. 

Oft.  Read  it  y oil,  sirrah.  [To  Fabian. 

Fab.  [reads.  I  By  the  Lord,  madam,  you  lorong 
me,  and  the  world  shall  know  it :  thouf^i  you  have 
pU  me  into  darkness,  and  given  your  drunken 
cousin  rule  over  me,  yet  have  I  the  benefit  of  my 
senses  as  well  as  your  ladyship.  I  have  your  own 
letter  thM  induced  me  to  the  semblance  I  put  on ; 

(1)  Hinders,        (2)  Voice.        (S)  Attend. 
(4)  Frame  and  constitution.     (5)  Inferior. 


with  the  which  I  doubt  not  hut  to  da  myself  much 
right,  or  you  much  shame.  Think  of  me  as  you 
please.  I  leave  my  duty  a  little  unthought  of,  and 
speak  out  of  my  injury. 

The  madly-used  Malvolio. 

OH.  Did  he  write  this  ? 

Clo.  Ay,  madam. 

Duke.  This  savours  not  much  of  distraction. 

OH.  See  him  deliver'd,  Fabian ;  brinor  him  hither. 

[Exit  Fabian. 

My  lord,  so  please  you,  these  things  further  thought 

on. 
To  think  me  as  well  a  sister  as  a  wife. 
One  day  shall  crown  the  alliance  on't,  so  please  you, 
Here  at  my  house,  and  at  my  proper  cost. 

pake.  Madam,  I  am  most  apt  to  embrace  your 
offer. — 
Your  master  quits  you  ;  [To  Viola.]  and,  for  your  > 
service  done  him,  ^ 

So  much  agartnst  the  mettle*  of  your  sex, 
So  far  beneath  your  soft  and  tender  breeding, 
And  since  you  call'd  me  master  for  so  long, 
Here  is  my  hand ;  you  shall  from  this  time  be 
Your  master's  mistress. 

on.  A  sister  ?— you  are  »he. 

Re-enter  Fabian,  with  Malvolio. 

Duke.  Is  this  the  madman  ? 

OH.  Ay,  my  lord,  this  same : 

How  now,  Malvolio  ? 

J\Ial.  Madam,  you  have  done  me  wrong, 

Notorious  wrong. 

OH.  Have  I,  Malvolio  ?  no. 

J\Ial.  Lady,  you  have.    Pray  you,  peruse  that 
letter : 
You  must  not  now  deny  it  is  vour  hand. 
Write  from  it,  if  you  can,  in  hand,  or  phrase ; 
Or  say,  'tis  not  your  seal,  nor  your  invention  : 
You  can  say  none  of  this  :  Well,  grant  it  then, 
,\nd  tell  me,  in  the  modesty  of  honour, 
Why  you  have  given  mc  such  clear  lights  of  favour ; 
Bade  me  come  smiling,  and  cross-garter'd  to  you. 
To  put  on  yellow  stockings,  and  to  frown 
Upon  sir  Toby,  and  the  lighter'  people : 
And,  acting  this  in  an  obedient  hope, 
Why  have  you  sufter'd  me  to  be  imprison'd, 
Kept  in  a  dark  house,  visited  by  the  priest, 
And  made  the  most  notorious  geck,^  and  gull, 
That  e'er  invention  play'd  on  ?  tell  me  why. 

OH.  Alas,  Malvolio,  this  is  not  my  writmg, 
Though,  I  confess,  much  like  the  character: 
But,  out  of  question,  'tis  Maria's  hand. 
And  now  I  do  bethink  me,  it  was  she 
First  told  me,  thou  wast  mad;  then  cam'st  in  smiling. 
And  in  such  forms  which  here  were  presuppos'd 
Upon  thee  in  the  letter.    Pr'ythee  be  content : 
This  practice  hath  most  shrewdly  pass'd  upon  thee ; 
But,  when  we  know  the  grounds  and  authors  of  it. 
Thou  shalt  be  both  the  plaintiff  and  the  judge 
Of  thine  own  cause. 

Fab.  Good  madam,  hear  me  speak ; 

And  let  no  quarrel,  nor  no  brawl  to  come, 
Taint  the  condition  of  this  present  hour. 
Which  I  have  wonder'd  at.     In  hope  it  shalt  not. 
Most  freely  I  confess,  mvself,  and  Toby, 
Set  this  device  against  Malvolio  here. 
Upon  some  stubborn  and  uncourteous  parts 
We  had  conceiv'd  against  him :  Maria  writ 
The  letter,  at  sir  Toby's  great  importance ;' 
In  recompence  whereof,  he  hath  married  her. 
How  with  a  sportful  malice  it  was  foUow'd, 


(6)  Fool. 


(7)  Importimacy. 


Scene  1. 


TWELFTH  NIGHT ;  OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


93 


May  rather  pluck  on  laughter  than  revenge ; 
If  that  the  injuries  be  justly  weigh'd, 
That  have  on  both  sides  past. 

OIL  Alas,  poor  fool !  how  have  they  bafBed'  thee ! 

Clo.  Why,  some  are  bom  great,  some  achieve 
rreatness,  and  some  have  greatness  thrown  upon 
them.  I  was  one,  sir,  in  this  interlude  ;  one  sir  fo- 
pas,  sir ;  but  that's  0,11  one  : — By  the  Lord,  fool,  I 
am  not  mad; — But  do  you  remember?  JUf<c?a»i, 
why  laugh  you  at  such  a  barren  rascal  ?  an  you 
smile  7iot,  he's  gagg'd  :  And  thus  the  whirligig  of 
time  brings  in  his  revenges. 

J\Jal.  I'll  be  revenged  on  the  whole  pack  of  you, 

[Exit. 

OH.  He  hath  been  most  notoriously  abus'd. 

Duke.  Pursue  him,  and  entreat  liim  to  peace: — 
He  hath  not  told  us  of  the  captain  yet ; 
When  that  is  known,  and  golden  time  convents,* 
A  solemn  combination  shall  be  made 
Of  our  dear  souls — Meantime,  sweet  sister, 
We  will  not  part  from  hence. — Cesario,  come ; — 
For  so  you  shall  be,  while  yea  are  a  man ; 
Butj  when  in  other  habits  you  are  seen, 
Orsmo'a  mistress,  and  his  fancy's  queen.  [Exeunt. 

SONG. 

Clo.  When  that  I  was  and  a  little  tiny  boy. 
With  hey,  ho,  the  wind  and  the  rain, 
Ji  foolish  thing  loas  but  a  toy. 
For  the  rain  it  raineth  every  day. 

(1)  Cheated.        (2)  Shall  serve. 


But  when  1  came  to  man's  estate. 
With  hey,  ho,  the  icind  and  the  rain, 

'Gainst  knave  and  thief  men  shut  their  gate, 
For  the  rain  it  raineth  every  day. 

But  when  I  came,  alas  !  to  wive. 
With  hey,  ho,  the  wind  and  the  rain, 

By  swaggering  could  I  never  thrive. 
For  the  rain  it  raineth  every  day. 

But  when  I  came  \into  niu  bed, 

With  hey,  ho,  the  wind  and  the  rain, 

With  toss-pots  slill  had  drunken  head, 
For  the  rain  U  raineth  every  day. 

A  great  ivhile  ago  the  world  begun. 
With  hey,  ho,  the  wind  and  the  rain, 

But  that's  all  one,  our  play  is  done. 
And  we'll  strive  to  please  you  every  day. 

[EtU. 

This  play  b  in  the  tiraver  part  elegant  and  easy, 
and  in  some  of  the  lighter  scenes  exquisitely  humo- 
rous. Ague-cheek  u  drawn  with  great  propriety, 
but  his  character  is,  in  a  |;reat  measure,  tiiat  of 
natural  fatuity,  and  is  therelore  not  the  proper  prey 
of  a  satirist.  The  soliloquy  of  Malvolio  is  truly 
comic ;  he  is  betrayed  to  ridicule  merely  by  hu 
pride.  The  marriage  of  Olivia,  and  the  succeed- 
ing perplexity,  though  well  enough  contrived  to 
divert  on  the  stage,  wants  credibility,  and  faiU  to 
produce  the  proper  instruction  required  in  the  if% 
ma,  as  it  exhibits  no  just  picture  of  life. 

JOHNSON. 


(.94    ) 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 

Vincentio,  dukt  of  Vienna.  I  Cloicn,  servant  to  Mrs.  Over-dont. 

Angelo,  lord  deputy  in  the  dvke^s  absence.  JAbhorson,  an  executioner. 

Escalus,  an  ancient  lord,  joined  with,  Angela  in  Barnardine,  a  dissolute  prisoner, 
the  deputation. 


Claudio,  a  youn^  gentleman. 

Lucio,  a  fantastic. 

Two  other  like  gentlemen. 

Varrius,  a  gentleman,  servant  to  the  duke. 

Provost. 

Pe^r' I '-/"-'• 
»4  Justice. 

Elbow,  a  simple  eorslable. 
Froth,  a  foolish  gentleman. 


Isabella,  sister  to  Claudio. 
Mariana,  betrothed  to  Angela. 
j  Juliet,  beloved  by  Claudio, 
Francisca,  a  nun. 
Mistress  Over-done,  o  bawd. 

Lords,  gentlemen,  ptards,  officers,  and  ether  «!• 
tendants. 

Scene,  Vienna. 


ACT  1. 

SCEJ^E  I. — An  apartinent  in  the  Duke's  palace. 
Enter  Duke,  Escalus,  Lords,  and  attendants. 


E 


Duke. 


SCALUS,— 

Escal.  My  lord. 

Duke.  Of  jfovernmcnt  the  properties  to  unfold, 
Would  seem  in  me  to  affect  speech  and  discourse  ; 
Since  I  am  put  to  know  that  your  own  science, 
Exceeds,  in  that,  the  lists'  ol  all  advice 
My  strength  can  give  you :  then  no  more  remains 
But  that  to  your  sufficiency,  as  your  worth  is  able. 
And  let  them  work.     The  nature  of  our  people, 
Our  city's  institutions,  and  the  terms 
For  common  justice,  you  are  as  pregnant*  in, 
As  art  and  practice  hath  enriched  any 
That  we  remember :  there  is  our  commission. 
From  which  we  would  not  have  you  warp. — Call 

hither, 
I  say,  bid  come  before  us  Angelo. — 

[Exit  an  altendant. 
What  fi^re  of  us  think  you  he  will  bear  ? 
For  you  must  know,  we  nave  with  special  soul 
Elected  him  our  absence  to  supply ; 
Lent  him  our  terror,  drest  him  with  our  love ; 
And  given  his  deputation  all  the  org-ans 
Of  our  o^vn  power :  what  think  you  of  it? 

Escal.  If  any  in  Vienna  be  of  worth 
To  underaro  such  ample  grace  and  honour, 
It  is  lord  Angelo. 

Enter  Angelo. 

Duke.  Look,  where  he  comes. 

Ang.  Always  obedient  to  your  grace's  will, 
I  come  to  know  your  pleasure. 

Duke.  Angelo, 

There  is  a  kind  of  character  in  thy  life. 
That,  to  the  observer,  doth  thy  history 
Fully  unfold :  thyself  and  thy  belonginiis' 
Are  not  thine  own  so  proper,*  as  to  waste 

.     0)  Bounds.    (2)  Full  of.     (3)  Endowments. 
m  So  much  thy  own  property. 


Thyself  upon  thy  virtues,  them  on  thee. 

Heaven  doth  with  us,  as  we  with  torches  do ; 

Not  light  them  for  themselves  :  for  if  our  virtue* 

Did  not  go  forth  of  us,  'twere  all  alike 

As  if  Tt^e  had  them  not.  Spirits  are  not  finely  touch'd. 

But  to  fine  issues  :'•  nor  nature  never  lends 

The  smallest  scruple  of  her  excellencCj 

But,  like  a  thrifty  goddess,  she  determines 

Herself  the  glory  of  a  creditor, 

Both  thanks  and  use.*    But  I  do  bend  mj  speech 

To  one  that  can  my  part  in  him  advertise  ; 

Hold  therefore,  Angelo ; 

In  our  remove,  be  thou  at  full  ourself ; 

Mortality  and  mercy  in  Vienna 

Live  in  thy  tongue  and  heart :  Old  Escalus, 

Though  first  in  (question,  is  thy  secondary  • 

Take  thy  commission. 

Ang.  Now,  good  my  lord. 

Let  there  be  some  more  test  made  of  my  metal. 
Before  so  noble  and  so  great  a  figure 
Be  stamp'd  upon  ii. 

Duke.  No  more  evasion : 

We  have  with  a  leaven'd  and  prepared  choice 
Proceeded  to  you  ;  therefore  take  your  honours. 
Our  haste  from  hence  is  of  so  quick  condition. 
That  it  prefers  itself,  and  leaves  unauestion'd 
Matters  of  needful  value.     We  shall  write  to  you. 
As  time  and  our  concerninars  shall  imp6rtunc. 
How  it  goes  with  us ;  and  do  look  to  know 
What  doth  befall  you  here.     So,  fare  you  well : 
To  the  hopeful  execution  do  I  leave  you 
Of  your  commissions. 

Ang.  Yet,  give  leave,  my  lord. 

That  wc  may  brim  you  somcthin?  on  the  way. 

Duke.  My  haste  may  not  admit  it ; 
Nor  need  you,  on  mine  honour,  have  lo  do 
AVith  any  scruple :  your  scope'  is  as  mine  own ; 
iSo  to  enforce,  or  qualify  (he  laws, 
As  to  your  soul  sf-nis  good.    Give  me  your  hand ; 
I'll  privilyaway :  I  love  the  people. 
But  do  not  like' to  stage  me  to  their  eyes : 
Though  it  do  well,  I  do  not  relish  well      * 
Their  loud  applause,  and  aves^  vehement ; 


(5J  For  high  purposes. 
(7)  Extent  of  po we;-. 


(GJ  Interest. 
(8)  Hailiiigs, 


?^-^ 


.h'l  II  ff 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 
Act  IV. — Scene  2. 


^<n?* 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 
Act   v.— Scene  2, 


!#•'*: 


iieAi  II. 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


dji 


Nor  do  I  think  the  man  of  safe  discretion. 
That  does  affect  it.    Once  more,  fare  you  well. 

•Ang.  The  heavens  give  safety  to  your  purposes ! 

Escal.  Lead  forth,  and  bring  you  back  in  nappi- 
ness. 

Duke.  I  thank  you :  fare  you  well.  [Exit. 

Escal.  I  shall  desire  you,  sir,  to  give  me  leave 
To  have  free  speech  with  vou ;  and  it  concerns  me 
To  look  into  the  bottom  of  my  place : 
A  power  I  have ;  but  of  what  strength  and  nature 
I  am  not  yet  instructed. 

.ing-.  'Tis  so  with  me: — Let  us  withdraw  to- 
gether, ^ 
And  we  may  soon  our  satisfaction  bare 
Touching  that  point. 

Eacal.  I'll  wait  upon  your  honour. 

[Exeunt. 

SCEXE  H.—,i  street.     Enter  Lucio  and  tvco 
Gentlemen. 

Lucio.  If  the  duke,  with  the  other  dukes,  come 
not  to  composition  with  the  king  of  Hungary,  why, 
then  all  the  dukes  fall  upon  the  king. 

1  Gent.  Heaven  grant  us  iU  peace,  but  not  the 
king  of  Hungary's ! 

2  Gent.  Amen. 


Liicio.  Thou  conjcludest  like  the  sanctimonious i (.js^  inp,.Q,]^i5g_]^ggpiQ, 

pirate,  that  went  to  sea  with  the  ten  command-      -    "     

taents,  but  scraped  one  out  of  the  table. 

i  Gent.  Thou  shalt  not  steal  ? 

Lucio.  Av,  that  he  razed. 

1  Gent.  "\Vhv,  'twas  a  commandment  to  com- 
mand the  captain  and  all  the  rest  from  their  func- 
tions ;  they  put  forth  to  steal :  there's  not  a  soldier 
of  us  all,  that,  in  the  thanksgiving  before  meat, 
doth  relish  the  petition  well  that  prays  for  peace. 

i  Gent.  I  never  heard  any  solaier  dislike  it. 
Lucio.   I  believe  thee  j  for,  I  think,  thou  never 
wast  where  grace  was  said. 

2  Gent.  No  ?  a  dozen  times  at  least 
1   Gent.  AVhat  ?  in  metre  ? 
Lxicio.  In  any  proportion,'  or  in  any  language. 
1   Gent.  I  think',  or  in  anv  religion. 
Lucio.   Ay !  why  not  ?  Graceis  grace,  despite 

of  all  controversy  :  as  for  example ;  thou  thyself 
art  a  wicked  villain,  despite  of  all  grace. 

1  Gent.  Well,  there  went  but  a  pair  of  sheers 
between  us.' 

Lucio.  I  grant ;  as  there  may  between  the  lists 
and  the  velvet :  thou  art  the  list. 

1  Gent.  And  thou  the  velvet:  thou  art  good 
velvet ;  thou  art  a  three-pil'd  piece,  I  warrant  thee: 
I  hid  as  lief  be  a  list  of  an  English  kersey,  as  be 
pil'd,  as  thou  art  pil'd,  for  a  French  velvet.'  Do 
I  sneak  feelingly  now  ? 

Lucio.  I  think  thou  dost ;  and,  indeed,  with 
most  painful  feelin?  of  ihy  speech :  I  will,  out  of 
thine  own  confession,  learn  to  bearin  thy  health ; 
but,  whilst  I  live,  forget  to  drink  after  thee. 

1  Gent.  I  think  I  have  done  myself  wrong ; 
have  I  not  ? 

.  2  Gent.  Yes,  that  thou  hast ;  whether  thou  art 
tainted,  or  free. 

Lucio.  Behold,  behold,  where  madam  Mitiga 


Lucio.  A  French  crown*  more. 

1  Gent.  Thou  art  always  figuring  diseases  is 
me:  but  thou  art  full  of  error  ;   I  am  sound. 

Lucio.  Nay,  not  as  one  would  say,  healthy , 
but  so  sound,  as  things  that  are  hollow  :  thy  bonea 
are  hollow ;  impiety  has  made  a  feast  of  thee. 

Enter  Bawd. 

1  Gent.  How  now  ?  Which  of  your  hips  has  the 
most  profound  sciatica  ? 

Bawd.  Well,  well ;  there's  one  vonder  arrested, 
and  carried  to  prison,  was  worth  five  thousand  of 
you  all. 

I  Gent.  Who's  that,  1  pray  thee  ? 

Bawd.  Marry,sir,that'sClaudio,signior  Claudio. 

1   Gent.  Claudio  to  prison!  'tis  not  so. 

Bawd.  Nay,  but  I  know,  'tis  so :  I  saw  him  ar- 
rested ;  saw'  liim  carried  away  j  and,  which  is 
more,  within  these  three  dajs  his  head's  to  bo 
chopped  off. 

Lxicio.  But,  after  all  this  fooling,  I  would  not 
have  it  so  :  art  thou  sure  of  this  ? 

Bawd.  I  am  too  sure  of  it :  and  it  b  for  getting 
madam  Julietta  with  child. 

Lucio.  Believe  me,  this  may  be:  he  promised 
to  meet  me  two  hours  since ;  and  he  was  ever  pre- 


2  Gent.  Besides  you  know,  it  draws  something 
near  to  the  speech  we  had  to  such  a  purpose. 

1  Gent.  But  most  of  all,  agreeing  with  the  pro- 
clamation. 

Lvcio.  Away;  let's  go  leam  the  truth  of  it. 

[Exeunt  Lucio  and  Gentlemen. 

Bawd.  Thus,  what  with  the  war,  what  with  the 
sweat;'  what  with  the  gallows,  and  what  with 
poverty,  I  am  custom-shninL  How  now  ?  what's 
the  news  with  you  ? 

Enter  CIot^ti. 

Clo.  Yonder  man  is  carried  to  prison. 

Bawd.  Well ;  wliat  has  he  done  ? 

Clo.  A  woman. 

Bawd.  But  what's  his  offence  ? 

Clo.  Groping  for  trouts  in  a  peculiar  urer. 

Bawd.  What,  is  there  a  maid  with  child  by  him  7 

Clo.  No ;  but  there's  a  woman  with  maid  By  hiror 
you  have  not  heard  of  Ihe  proclamation,  have  you  ? 

Bawd.  What  proclamation,  man  7 

Clo.  All  houses  in  the  suburbs  of  Vienna  must 
be  pluck'd  down. 

Bawd.  And  what  shall  become  of  those  in  the 
city  ? 

Clo.  They  shall  stand  for  seed  :  they  had  ^one 
down  too,  but  that  a  wise  burgher  put  in  lor  thrm. 

Bawd.  But  shaK  all  our  houses  of  resort  in  the 
suburbs  be  pull'd  down  ? 

Clo.  To  Ihs  ground,  mistress. 

Bawd.  Why,  here's  a  change,  indeed,  in  the 
commonwealth  !  What  shail  become  of  me  ? 

C!o.  Come ;  fear  not  vou  :  pood  counsellors  lark 
no  clients:  though  i'dic^iansre  your  place,  you  nerd 
not  change  your  trade ;  I'll  be  your  tapster  siill. 
"oiirap'e ;  there  will  be  pity  taken  on  you :  you  thai 


tion  comes  !     I  have  purchased  as  many  diseases i have  vvorn  your  eyes  almost  out  in  the  service,  you 
under  hnr  roof,  as  come  to —  i  u  ill  be  considered. 

2  Gent.  To  what,  I  pray  ?  .     Baxcd.  What's  to  do  here,  Thomas  Tapster 'let's 

1  Gent.  Judse.  ,  withdraw. 

2  Gtnt.  To  three  thousand  dollars  a  year.  j     Clo.  Here  comes  signior  Claudio,  led  by  the  pro- 
1  Gent.  Ay,  and  more.                       '  'vost  to  prison:  and  there's  madam  Juliet.      [Exe, 


11)  Measure.    (2)  A  cut  of  the  same  cloth.  1 

S)  A  jest  ou  the  loss  of  hair  by  the  French  disease. ! 


i4)  Corona  Veneris. 
6)*hc  sweating  sickness. 


Measuee  for  measure. 


SCEJ<rE  III.— The  same.— JEnter  Provost,'  Claa- 
dio,  Juliet,  and  Officers ;  Lucio,  and  two  Gen- 
tlemen. 

Qlaud.  Fellow,  why  dost  thou  show  me  thus  to 
the  world? 
Bear  me  to  prison,  where  I  am  committed. 

Prov.  I  do  it  not  in  evil  disposition, 
But  from  lord  Angelo  by  special  charge. 

Claud.  Thus  can  the  demi-god,  Authority, 
Make  us  pay  down  for  our  olftnce  by  weight. — 
The  words  of  heaven ; — on  whom  it  will,  it  ivill ; 
On  whom  it  will  not,  so  ;  yet  still  'tis  just. 

Lucio.  Why,  how  now,  Claudio  ?  whence  comes 
this  restraint  / 

Claud.  From  too  much  liberty,  my  Lucio,  liberty: 
As  surfeit  is  the  father  of  much  fast. 
So  every  scope  by  the  immoderate  use 
Turns  to  restraint :  our  natures  do  pursue 

iLike  rats  that  ravin*  down  their  proper  bane,) 
L  thirsty  evil ;  and  when  we  drink,  we  die. 
Lucio.  If  I  could  speak  so  wisely  under  an  arrest, 
I  would  send  for  certain  of  my  creditors :  and  yet, 
tp  say  the  truth,  I  had  as  lief  have  the  foppery  of 
freedom,  as  the  morality  of  imprisonment. — What's 
thy  ofl'ence,  Claudio  ? 

Elaud.  What,  but  to  speak  of  would  offend  again. 
ucio.  What  is  it  ?  murder  ? 

Claud.  No. 

Lu^.  Lechery? 

Claud.  Call  it  so. 

Prov.  Away,  sir :  you  must  go. 

Claud.  One  word,  good  friend :— Lucio,  a  word 
with  you.  [Takes  Inni  aside. 

Lucio.  A  hundred,  if  they'll  do  you  any  good. — 
li  lechery  so  look'd  after  ? 

Clwd.  Thus  stands  it  with  me : — Upon  a  true 
contract, 
I  got  possession  of  Julietta's  bed ; 
You  know  the  lady ;  she  is  fast  mv  wife, 
Save  that  we  do  the  denunciation  lack 
Of  outward  order :  this  we  came  not  to. 
Only  for  propagation  of  a  dower 
Remaining  in  the  coffer  of  her  friends ; 
From  whom  we  thought  it  meet  to  hide  our  love. 
Till  time  had  made  them  for  us.    But  it  chances. 
The  stealth  of  our  most  mutual  entertainment. 
With  character  too  gross,  is  writ  on  Juliet. 

Lucio.  With  child,  perhaps  ? 

Claud.  Unhappily,  even  so. 
And  the  new  deputy  now  for  the  duke, — 
Whether  it  be  the  fault  and  glimpse  of  newness ; 
Or  whether  that  the  body  public  be 
A  horse  whereon  the  governor  doth  ride, 
Who,  newly  in  the  seat,  that  it  may  know 
He  can  command,  lets  it  straight  feel  the  spur: 
Whether  the  tyranny  be  in  his  place. 
Or  in  his  eminence  that  fills  it  up, 
I  stagger  in : — But  this  new  governor 
Awakes  me  all  the  enrolled  penalties. 
Which  have,  like  unscour'd  armour,  hung  by  the 

wall 
So  long,  that  nineteen  zodiacs'  have  gone  round. 
And  none  of  them  been  worn ;  and,  for  a  name. 
Now  puts  the  drowsy  and  neglected  act 
Freshly  on  me : — 'tis  surely  for  a  name. 

Luno.  I  warrant  it  is :  and  thy  head  stands  so 
tickle*  on  thy  shoulders,  that  a  milk-maid,  if  she 
be  in  love,  may  sigh  it  off.  Send  after  the  duke, 
and  appeal  to  him. 

(1)  Gaoler.  (2)  Voraciouslv  devour. 

is)  Yearly  circles.  (4)  T'ickJifh. 

(6)  Enter  oo  her  probation,    (6)  Prompt, 


JktU 


Claud.  I  have  done  so,  but  he's  not  to  be  found* 
I  pr'ythee,  Lucio,  do  me  this  kind  service : 
This  day  my  sister  should  the  cloister  enter, 
And  there  receive  her  approbation  :* 
Acquaint  her  with  the  danger  of  my  state ; 
Implore  her,  in  my  voice,  that  she  make  friend* 
To  the  strict  deputy ;  bid  herself  assay  him ; 
I  have  great  hope  in  that :  for  in  her  youth. 
There  is  a  prone*  and  speechless  dialect. 
Such  as  moves  men ;  besides,  she  hath  prosperottl 

art 
When  she  will  play  with  reason  and  discourse. 

Lucio.  I  pray  she  may :  as  well  for  the  encourage- 
ment of  the  like,  which  else  would  stand  under 
grievous  imposition ;  as  for  the  enjoying  of  thy  life, 
who  I  would  be  sorry  should  be  thus  foolishly  lost 
at  a  game  of  tick-tacK.    I'll  to  her. 

Claud.  I  thank  you,  good  friend  Lucio. 

Lucio,  Within  two  hours, 

Claud.  Come,  officer,  away.  [Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E   ir.-^  monastery.     Enter  Duk9  mil 
Friar  Thomas. 

Duke.  No ;  holy  father ;  throw  away  that  thought; 
Believe  not  that  the  dribbling  dart  of  love 
Can  pierce  a  c6mplete  bosom :'  why  I  desire  thee 
To  give  me  secret  harbour,  hath  a  purpose 
More  grave  and  wrinkled  than  the  aims  and  end» 
Of  burning  youth. 

Fri.  May  your  grace  speak  of  it  ? 

Duke.  My  holy  sir,  none  better  knows  than  you 
How  I  have  ever  lov'd  the  life  remov'd  ;• 
And  held  in  idle  price  to  haunt  assemblies, 
Where  youth,  and  cost,  and  witless  bravery  keeps.* 
I  have  delivered  to  lord  An^elo 
(A  man  of  stricture,'"  and  firm  abstinence,) 
My  absolute  power  and  place  here  in  Vienna, 
And  he  supposes  me  travell'd  to  Poland ; 
For  so  I  have  strew'd  it  in  the  common  ear, 
And  so  it  is  receiv'd :  now.  pious  sir, 
You  will  demand  of  me,  wny  I  do  this  ? 

Fri.  Gladly,  my  lord. 

Duke.  We  nave  strict  statutes,  and  most  biting 
laws 
(The  needful  bits  and  curbs  for  headstrong  steeds,) 
Which  for  these  fourteen  years  we  have  let  sleep ; 
Even  like  an  over-grown  lion  in  a  cave. 
That  goes  not  out  to  prey :  now,  as  fond  fathers 
Having  bound  up  the  threat'ning  twigs  of  birch. 
Only  to  stick  it  in  their  children's  sight, 
For  terror,  not  to  use  ;  in  time  the  rod 
Becomes  moremock'd,  than  fear'd  :  so  ourdecrcw. 
Dead  to  infliction,  to  themselves  are  dead : 
And  liberty  plucks  justice  by  the  nose : 
The  baby  beats  the  nurse,  and  quite  athwart 
Goes  all  decorum. 

FH.  It  rested  in  your  grace 

To  unloose  this  tied-up  justice,  when  you  pleas'd: 
And  it  in  you  more  dreadful  would  have  seem'd, 
Than  in  lord  Angclo. 

^.^«'*^«-  I  do  fear,  too  dreadful : 

Sith"  'twas  my  fault  to  give  the  people  scope, 
'Twould  be  my  tyranny  to  strike,  and  gall  them 
For  what  I  bid  them  do :  for  we  bid  this  be  done. 
When  evil  deeds  have  their  permissive  past. 
And  not  the  punishment.    Therefore,  indeed,  my 
father,  ' 

I  have  on  Angelo  impos'd  the  office ; 
Who  may,  in  the  ambush  of  my  name,  strike  home. 
And  yet  my  nature  never  in  the  sight, 

7^  Completely  armed.        (8)  Retired. 
9 )  Showy  dress  reside*.      (10)  StrictoeM. 
U)  Since, 


f(Mf  r. 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURB. 


To  do  it  slander :  and  to  behold  his  sway, 

I  will.  M  'twere  a  brother  of  your  order. 

Visit  DOth  prince  and  people :  therefore,  I  pr'ythee, 

Supply  me  with  the  habit,  and  instruct  me 

How  1  may  formally  in  person  bear  me 

I^ike  a  true  friar.    More  reasons  for  this  action, 

At  our  more  leisure  shall  I  render  you  ; 

Only,  this  one :— Lord  Angelo  is  precise  ; 

Stands  at  a  guard'  with  envy:  scarce  confesses 

That  his  blood  flows,  or  that  nis  appetite 

Is  mora  to  bread  than  stone :  hence  shall  we  see. 

If  power  change  purpose,  what  our  seemers  be. 

[Exeunt. 

SCBJ^S    V.—^  ntmnery.     Enter  Isabella  and 
FrancisQa. 

f*a6.  And  hare  vou  nuns  no  further  privileges  ? 

Tran.  Are  not  thes6  large  enough  ? 

Isah.  Yes,  truly :  I  speak  not  as  desiring  more ; 
But  rather  wishing  a  more  strict  restraint 
Upon  the  sisterhood,  the  votarists  of  saint  Clare. 

Lucio.  Ho !  peace  be  in  this  place !       [  Withm. 

Isab.  Who's  that  which  calls  ? 

Fran.  It  is  a  man's  voice :  gentle  Isabella, 
Turn  you  the  key,  and  know  his  business  of  him ; 
You  may,  I  may  not ;  vou  are  yet  unsworn  : 
When  you  have  vow'd,  you  must  not  speak  with 

men. 
But  in  the  presence  of  the  prioress  : 
Then,  if  you  speak,  you  must  not  show  your  face  ; 
Or,  ir  vou  show  your  face,  you  must  not  speak, 
He  calls  again ;  I  pray  you  answer  him. 

[Exit  Francisca. 

/»a*.  Peae9  and  prosperity !  Who  is't  that  calls  ? 

Enttr  Lucio. 

Lucio.  Hail,  virgin,  if  you  be ;  ^%  those  clieek- 
roses 
Proclaim  you  are  no  less  !  can  you  so  stead  me, 
As  bring  ihe  to  the  sight  of  Isabella, 
A  novice  of  this  place,  and  the  fair  sister 
To  her  unhappy  brother  Claudio  ? 

hob.  Why  her  unhappy  brother  ?  let  me  ask ; 
The  rather,  for  I  now  must  make  you  know 
I  am  that  Isabella,  and  his  sister. 

Lucio.   Gentle  and  fair,   your  brother  kindly 
greets  you : 
Not  to  be  weary  with  you,  he's  in  prison. 

Jsab.  Wo  me !    For  what  ? 

ImcIo.  For  that,  which,  if  myself  might  be  his 

He  should  recefve  his  punishment  in  thanks : 
He  hath  got  his  friend  with  child. 

Isab.  Sir,  make  me  not  your  story.* 

Lucio.  It  is  true. 

I  would  not — though  'tis  my  familiar  sin 
With  maids  to  seem  the  lapwing,  and  to  jest. 
Tongue  far  from  heart, — play  with  all  virarins  so : 
I  hold  you  as  a  thing  ensky'd,  and  sainted  ; 
By  your  renouncement,  an  immortal  spirit ; 
Ana  to  be  talk'd  with  in  sincerity, 
As  with  a  saint. 

Isab.  You  do  blaspheme  the  good,  in  mocldng 
me. 

Lvcio.  Do  not  believe  it.    Fewness  and  truth,' 
'tis  thus : 
Your  brother  and  his  lover  have  embrac'd : 
As  those  that  feed  grow  full ;  as  blossoming  time. 
That  from  the  seedness  the  bare  fallow  brmgs 

M^  On  his  defence.     (2)  Do  not  make  a  jest  of  me. 
(5)  In  few  and  true  words,    (4)  Breeding  plenty. 
WTiHiDg.    (6)  Extent. 


To  teeming  foison  ;*  even  so  her  plenteoua  wt^ 
Expresseth  his  full  tilth*  and  husbandry. 

hab.  Some  one  with  child  by  him  7-~My  eeuaia 
Juliet  ? 

Lucio.  Is  she  your  cousin  ? 
Isab.  Adoptedly:  as  school-maids  ahangtthttt 
names. 
By  vain  though  apt  aifection. 

Lucio.  She  it  w. 

Isab.  0,  let  him  marry  her ! 

Lucio.  This  is  the  fiotat. 

The  duke  is  very  strangely  gene  from  hence  ; 
Bore  many  gentlemen,  myself  being  one. 
In  hand,  and  hope  of  action :  but  we  do  learn 
Bv  those  that  know  the  very  nerves  of  state, 
His  givings  out  were  of  an  infinite  distance 
From  his  true-meant  design.    Upon  his  plaec, 
And  with  full  line''  of  his  authority. 
Governs  lord  Angelo ;  a  man,  whose  blood 
Is  very  snow-broth ;  one  who  never  feels 
The  wanton  stings  and  motions  of  the  sense ; 
But  doth  rebate  and  blunt  his  natural  edge 
With  profits  of  the  mind,  study  and  fast. 
He  (to  give  fear  to  use  and  liberty, 
Which  have,  for  long,  run  by  the  hideous  Uw, 
As  mice  by  lions,)  hath  pick'd  out  an  actj 
Under  whose  heavy  sense  your  brother's  life 
Falls  into  forfeit ;  he  arrests  him  on  it ; 
And  follows  close  the  rigour  of  the  statute, 
To  make  him  an  example  :  all  hope  is  gone, 
Unless  you  have  the  grace'  by  your  fair  praytf 
To  soften  Angelo :  and  that's  my  pith 
Of  business  'twixt  you  and  your  poor  brother. 

Isab.  Doth  he  so  seek  his  life  ? 

Lucio.  Has  censur'd*  kdm 

Already ;  and,  as  I  hear,  the  provost  hath 
:  A  warrant  for  his  execution. 

Isab.  Alas !  what  poor  ability's  in  me 
To  do  him  good  ? 

Lucio.  Assay  the  power  you  haTC. 

Isab.  My  power !  Alas !  I  doubt, —  { 

Lucio.  Our  doubts  are  traitonf^   1 

And  make  us  lose  the  good  we  oft  might  win,  ■    J 
By  fearing  to  attempt :  go  to  lord  Angelo,      --"^ 
And  let  him  learn  to  know,  when  maidens  sue, 
Men  give  like  gods ;  but  when  they  weep  and  ko(l4l» 
All  their  petitions  are  as  freely  theirs 
As  they  themselves  would  owe*  them. 

Isab.  I'll  see  what  I  can  do. 

Lucio.  But  speedilf. 

Isab.  I  will  about  it  straight ; 
No  longer  staying  but  to  give  the  mother'* 
Notice  of  my  affair.    I  humbly  thank  you  : 
Commend  me  to  my  brother :  soon  at  night 
I'll  send  him  certain  word  of  my  success. 

Lucio.  I  take  my  leave  of  you. 

Isab.  Good  sir.  adien. 

[Estnint. 


ACT  II. 

SCEJ^E  I.—A  hall  in  Angelo's  house.  Enttr 
Angelo,  Escalus,  a  Justice,  Provost,  Officers,  and 
attendants. 

..Ing.  We  must  not  make  a  scare-crow  of  Uia  hrar 
Setting  it  up  to  fear"  the  birds  of  prey, 
And  let  it  keep  one  shape,  till  custom  make  it 
Their  perch,  and  not  their  terror. 


(7)  Power  of  gaining  favour. 
(9)U»ve»       


(10)  AbbcM. 


(8)  Sentenetd, 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE, 


SttW 


Eseal.  Ay,  but  yet 

Let  us  be  keen,  and  rather  cut  a  little, 
Than  fall,  and  bruise  to  death :  alas !  this  eentleman, 
Whom  I  would  save,  had  a  most  noble  lather. 
Let  but  your  honour  know' 
([V\T»om  I  believe  to  be  most  strait  in  rirtue,) 
That,  in  the  working  of  vour  own  affectionsj 
Had  time  coher'd'  with  place,  or  place  mth  wishing, 
Or  that  the  resolute  acting  of  your  blood 
Could  have  attain'd  the  effect  of  your  own  purpose. 
Whether  you  had  not  sometime  in  your  life 
Err'd  in  this  point  which  now  you  censure  him. 
And  puU'd  the  law  upon  you. 

>9ng,  'Tis  one  thing  to  be  tempted,  Escalus, 
Another  thing  to  fall.    I  not  deny, 
The  jury,  passing  on  the  prisoner's  life^ 
May,  in  the  sworn  twelve,  have  a  fhief  or  two 
Guiltier  than  him  they  try :  what's  open  made  to 

justice^ 
That  justice  seizes.    'What  know  the  laws. 
That  thieves  do  pass'  on  thieves  ?  'Tis  very  preg- 
nant,* 
The  jewel  that  we  find,  we  stoop  and  take  it. 
Because  we  see  it ;  but  what  we  do  not  see. 
We  tread  upon,  and  never  think  of  it. 
You  may  not  so  extenuate  his  offence. 
For*  I  have  had  such  faults ;  but  rather  tell  me. 
When  I,  that  censure'  him,  do  so  offend, 
Let  mine  own  judgment  pattern  out  my  death. 
And  nothing  come  in  partial.    Sir,  he  must  die. 

Escal.  Be  it  as  your  wisdom  will. 

-'iiig.  Where  is  the  provost  ? 

Proc.  Here,  if  it  like  your  honour. 

^ng-.  See  that  Claudio 

Be  executed  by  nine  to-morrow  morning : 
Bring  him  his  confessor,  let  him  be  prepar'd ; 
For  that's  the  utmost  of  his  pilgrimage.   [Ex.  Prov. 

Escal.   Well,  heaven  forgive  him ;  and  forgive 

us  all ! 

Some  rise  by  sin,  and  some  by  virtue  fall  : 

Some|run  from  brakes'  of  vice,  and  answer  none ; 

And  some  condemned  for  a  fault  alone. 

Enter  Elbow,  Froth,  Clown,  Officers,  &c. 

Elb.  Come,  bring  them  away :  if  these  be  good 
people  in  a  common  weal,'  that  do  nothing  but  use 
their  abuses  in  common  houses,  I  know  no  law ; 
t>ring  them  away. 

'^ng.  How  now,  sir  I  what's  your  name?  and 
what's  the  matter? 

Elb.  If  it  please  your  honour,  I  am  the  poor 
duke's  constable,  and  mv  name  is  Elbow ;  I  do 
lean  upon  justice,  sir,  and  do  bring  in  here  before 
your  good  honour  two  notorious  benefactors. 

^n?.  Benefactors  ?  Well ;  what  benefactors  are 
they  7  are  they  nqf  makfactors  ? 

£lb.  If  it  please  your  honour,  I  know  not  well 
what  they  are :  but  precise  villains  they  are,  that  I 
am  sure  of;  and  void  of  all  profanation  in  the 
world,  that  good  Christians  ought  to  have. 

EscaM  This  comes  off  well ; '  here's  a  wifse  officer. 

^ng.  Go  to  :  what  qualify  are  they  of?  Elbow 
ii  your  name  ?  Why  dost  thou  not  speak.  Elbow  ? 

Clo.  He  cannot,  sir ;  he's  out  at  elbow. 

»9ng.  What  are  you,  sir  ? 

Elb.  He,  sir?  a  tapster,  sir;  parcel  "-bawd;  one 
that  serves  a  bad  woman  ;  whose  house,  sir,  was, 
as  they  say,  pluck'd  down  in  the  suburbs ;  and  now 
she  professes"  a  hot-house,  which,  I  think,  is  a 
vary  ill  house  too. 

(1)  Examine.    (5)  Suited.    (S)  Pass  judgment 
(4)  Plam.        (5)  Because.        (6)  Sentence. 
(7)  Thickest,  U)oro)-  paths  of  vice.    (S)  Wsaltb. 


Escal.  How  know  you  that? 

Elb.  My  wife,  sir,  whom  I  detest'*  before  hea- 
ven and  your  honour, — 

Escal.  How!  thy  wife? 

Elb.  Ay,  sir;  whom,  I  thank  heaven,  Is  an 
honest  woman, — 

Escal.  Dost  thou  detest  her  therefore  ? 

Elb.  I  say,  sir.  I  will  detest  myself  also,  as  well 
as  she^  that  this  liouse,  if  it  be  not  a  bawd's  house, 
it  is  pity  of  her  life,  for  it  is  a  naughty  house. 

Escal.  How  dost  thou  know  that,  constable  ? 

Elb.  Marry,  sir,  by  my  wife  ;  who,  if  she  had 
been  a  woman  candinallv  given,  might  have  been 
accused  in  fornication,  adultery,  and  all  uncleanli- 
ness  there. 

Escal.  By  the  woman's  means  ? 

Elb.  Ay,  sir^  by  mistress  Over-donc's  means: 
but  as  she  spit  m  Kis  lace,  so  she  defied  him. 

Clo.  Sir,  if  it  please  your  honour,  this  is  not  so. 

Elb.  Prove  it  before  these  varlets  here,  thou 
honourable  man,  prove  it. 

Escal.  Do  you  hear  how  he  misplaces  ? 

[To  Angelo. 

Clo.  Sir,  she  came  in  great  with  child ;  and  long- 
ing (saving  your  honour's  reverence)  for  stew'd 
prunes :  sir,  we  had  "but  two  in  the  house,  which  at 
that  verv  distant  time  stood,  as  it  were,  in  a  fruit- 
dish,  a  dish  of  some  three-pence :  your  honours  have 
seen  such  dishes ;  they  are  not  China  dishes,  but 
ven*  good  dishes. 

Escal.  Go  to,  go  to :  no  matter  for  the  dish,  sir. 

Clo.  No,  indeed,  sir,  not  of  a  pin;  you  are  there- 
fore in  the  right :  but,  to  the  point :  as  I  say,  this 
mistress  Elbow,  being,  as  I  say,  with  child,  and  be- 
insr  great  belly'd,  and  longing,  as  I  said,  for  prunes  ; 
and  having  but  two  in  the  dish,  as  I  said,  master 
Froth  here,  this  verj-  man,  having  eaten  the  rest  as 
I  said,  e.nd,  as  I  say,  paying  for  them  very  honestiv  ; 
— for,  as  you  know,  master  Froth,  I  could  not  give 
you  three-pence  again. 

Froth.  No,  indeed. 

Clo.  Very  well :  you  being  then,  if  you  be  re- 
member'd,  cracking  the  stones  of  the  foresaid 
prunes. 

Froth.  Ay,  so  I  did.  indeed. 

Clo.  Why,  very  well:  I  telling  you  then,  if  you 
be  remember'd,  that  such  a  one,  and  such  a  one, 
were  past  cure  of  the  thing  you  wot  of,  unless  they 
kept  very  good  diet,  as  I  told  you. 

Froth.  All  this  is  true. 

Clo.  Why,  very  well  then. 

Escal.  Come,  you  are  a  tedious  fqol :  to  the  pur 
pose. — ^What  was  done  to  Elbow's  wife,  that  h« 
hath  cause  to  complain  of?  Come  me  to  what  was 
done  to  her. 

Clo.  Sir,  your  honour  cannot  come  to  that  yet 

Escal.  No,  sir,  nor  I  mean  it  not 

Clo.  Sir,  but  you  shall  come  to  it,  bv  your  ho- 
nour's leave :  and  I  beseech  you,  look  into  master 
Froth  here,  sir  j  a  man  of  fourscore  pound  a  year; 
whose  father  died  at  Hallowmas : — Was't  not  at 
Hallowmas,  master  Froth  ? 

Froth.  AU-h'^llond'*  eve. 

€lo.   Why,  very  well  j  I  hope  here  be  truths : 
he,  sirj  sitting,  as  I  say,  jn  a  lower"*  chair,  sir ; 
'twas  m  the, Bunch  of  Grapes,  where,  indeed, 
have  a  delight  to  sit :  have  you  not  ? 

Froth.  I  have  so ;  because  it  is  an  open  room, 
and  good  for  winter. 


you 


(9)  Well  told.  (10)  Partly.  (Ill  Keeps  a  baenio, 
'121  For  protest      (13)  Eve  of  AH  SainU  day. 
14)  Easy, 


Sitntl. 


MEASURE  FOn  MEASUllE. 


etc.   Why,  Ttry  well  then )— I  hope  here  be]     Clo.  Mistress  Over-done. 

truths.  '    Escal.  Hath  she  had  any  more  than  One  husband  ? 

>9ng.  This  mil  last  out  a  night  in  Russia,  '     Clo.  Nine,  sir  ;  Over-done  by  tlic  last. 

When  ni^'hts  are  longest  there :  I'll  take  my  leave,!     Escal.  Nine! — Come  hither  to  me,  master  Froth. 
And  leave  you  to  the  hearing  of  the  cause  ;  j Master  Froth,  I  would  not  have  you  acquainted 

Hoping  you'll  find  good  eaiise  to  whip  them  all.    jwith  tapsters  ;  they  will  draw  you,  master  Froth, 

Eiceu.    I  think  no  less:  good  morrow  to  yourand  you  will  hang  them:   get  you  gone,  and  let 
lordship.  [iCitt  Angelo.jme  hear  no  more  of  you. 

Now,  sir,  come  on:  what  was  done  to  Elbow's!    Froth.    I  thank  your  worship:  for  mine  own 
wife,  once  more?  P^'^  ^  never  come  into  any  room  in  a  taphouse, 

clo.   Once,  sir?  there  was  nothing  done  to  her  but  I  am  drawn  in. 
once.  Escal.  Well;  no  more  of  it,  master  Froth:  far»- 

Elb.   I  beseech  you,  sir,  oak  him  what  thia  man 'well.     [£rti  Froth.]— Come  you  hither  to  me, 
did  to  my  wife  ?    '  I  master  tapster ;  what's  your  name,  master  tapster  / 

Clo.  I  beseech  your  honour,  ask  me.  I     Clo.  Pompey. 

Escal.  Well,  sir:  whatdid  this  gentleman  to  her?!     Escal.  What  else? 


do.  I  beseech  you,  sir,  look  in  this  eenlleman's 
face  : — Good  master  Froth,  look  upon  his  honour  ; 
'tis  for  a  good  purpose :  doth  your  honour  mark 
his  face  7 

Escal.  Ay,  sir,  verv  well. 

Clo.  Na\'  I  beseech  you,  mark  it  well. 

Escal.  Well,  I  do  so. 

Clo.  Doth  your  honour  see  any  harm  in  his  face  ? 

Escal.  Why,  no. 

Clo.   I'll  be  supposM'  upon  a  book,  his  face  is 


Clo.  Bum,  sir. 

Escal.  'Troth,  and  your  bum  is  the  preateat 
thinp  about  you ;  so  that,  in  the  beastliest  sense,  you 
are  Pompey  the  great.  Pompey,  you  are  partly  a 
ba%vd,  Pompey,  howsoever  you  colour  it  in  being  a 
tapster.  Are  vou  not?  come,  tell  me  true;  it  shall 
be  the  better  for  you. 

Clo.  Truly,  sir,  I  am  a  poor  fellow,  that  would 
live. 

Escal.  How  would  you  live,  Pompey  7  by  being 


the  worst  thing  about  him  :  good  then  ;  if  his  faceja  bawd  ?  What  do  you  think  of  the  trade,  Pom- 
be  the  worst  thing  about  him,  how  could  master  pey?  is  it  a  lawful  trade? 
Froth  do  ihe  constable's  wife  any  harm?  I  would]     Clo.  If  the  law  would  allow  it,  sir. 
know  that  of  vour  honour.  "  Escal.   But  the  law  will  not  allow  it,  Pompey; 

Escal.   He^s  in  the  right:  constable,  what  saymor  it  shall  not  be  allowed  in  Vienna. 
Tou  to  it  ?  I     Clo.  Does  your  worship  mean  to  geld  and  ipay 

Elb,    First,  an  it  like  you,  the  house  is  a  re- 'all  the  vouth  m  the  city? 
spectrd  house  ;   next,  this  is  a  respected  fellow ;  I     Escal.  No,  Pompey. 
and  his  mistress  is  a  respected  woman.  |     Clo.  Truly,  sir,  in  my  poor  opinion,  they  will 

Clo.  By  this  hand,  sir,  his  wife  is  a  more  ito't  then :  it  your  worship  will  take  order*  for  the 
respected  person  than  any  of  us  all.  drabs  and  the  knaves,  you  need  not  to  fear  the 

Elb.    Varlet,  Uiou  liest;  thou  licst,  wicked  var-  bawds, 
let :  the  time  is  yet  to  come,  that  she  was  ever  re-      Escal.  There  are  pretty  orders  beginning,  I  caa 
spected  with  man,  woman,  or  child.  tell  you :  it  is  but  heading  and  hangiag. 

Clo.  Sir,  she  was  resi)€cted  with  him  before  he  Clo.  If  you  head  and  hang  all  that  offend  that 
married  with  her.  way  but  for  ten  year  together,  you'll  be  fflad  to 

Escal.  Which  is  the  wiser  here  ?  justice,  or  ini-  give  out  a  commission  for  more  heads.  If  this  law 
quitv?^   Is  this  true?  jnold  in  Vienna  ten  year,  I'll  rent  the  fairest  house 

Elb.  0  thou  caitiff!  0  thou  varlet !  O  thou  wick- 1  in  it,  after  three-pence  a  bay:  if  you  live  to  see 
ed  Hannibal !'  I  respected  with  her,  before  I  was  i this  come  to  pass,  say  PompeV  told  you  so. 
married  to  her  ?  If  ever  1  was  respected  with  her,  j  Escal.  Thank  you,  gooa  Pompey :  and.  in  re- 
or  she  with  me,  let  not  your  worship  think  me  thefquifal  of  your  prophecy,  hark  you, — I  advise  you, 
poor  duke's  officer : — Prove  this,  thou  wicked  Han-  i let  me  not  find  you  before  me  again  upon  any  com- 
nibal,  or  I'll  have  mine  action  of  battery  on  thee,    [plaint  whatsoever,  no,  not  for  dwelling  where  you 

Escal.  If  he  took  you  a  box  o'  the  ear,  youldo:  if  I  do,  Pompey,  I  shall  beat  you  to  your  tent, 
misrht  have  your  action  of  slander  too.  land  prove  a  shrewd  Cassar  to  you  j  in  plain  deal- 

Elb.  Marry,  I  thank  your  good  worship  for  it:|ing,  Pomney,  I  shall  have  you  whipt:  so  for  this 
■what  is't  your  worship's  pleasure  I  should  do  with  time  Pompey,  fare  you  well, 
this  wicked  caitiff?  Clo.  I  thank  your  worship  for  your  good  coun- 

Eseal.  Truly,  officer,  because  he  hath  some  of-  scl ;  but  I  shall  follow  it,  as  the  flesh  and  fortune 
fenee*  in  him,  that  thou  wouldst  discover  if  thouphall  better  determine. 

couldst,  let  him  continue  in  his  courses,  till  thouiWhip  me  !  No,  no;  let  carman  whip  his  jade: 
know'st  what  they  are.  The  valiant  heart's  not  whipt  out  of  his  trade.    [Ex. 

Elb.  Marrj-,  I  thank  your  worship  for  it : — thoul  Escal.  Come  hither  to  me,  master  Elbow ;  come 
»eest,  thou  wicked  varlet  now,  what's  come  uponlhither,  master  Constable.  How  long  have  you 
thee  ;  thou  art  to  continue  now,  thou  varlet;  tnoujbeen  in  this  place  of  constable  ? 


art  to  continue. 
Escal.  Where  were  you  born,  friend?  [To Froth. 
froth.  Here,  in  Vienna,  sir. 
Escal.  Are  you  of  fourscore  pounds  a  year  ? 
Froth.  Yes,  and't  please  you,  sir. 
Escal.  So. — What  trade  are  you  of,  sir  7 

[To  <^«  Clown. 
Clo.  A  tapster :  a  poor  widow's  tapster. 
Eieal.  Your  mistress's  name  ? 

(I)  Dcpewd,  •worn.     (2)  Conitable  or  Clown, 


Elh.  Seven  years  and  a  half,  sir. 

Escal.  I  thought,  by  your  readiness  in  the  office, 
you  had  continued  in  it  some  time :  You  say,  seven 
years  together  ? 

Elb.  And  a  half,  sir. 

Escal.  Alas !  it  hath  been  great  pains  to  you  ! 
They  do  you  wrong  to  put  vou  so  oft  upon't :  Are 
there  not  men  in  your  ward^  sufficient  to  serve  it  7 

Elb.  Faith,  sir,  few  of  any  wit  in  such  matter* : 


(3)  For  cwuiibftU 


(4)  MeMtfrM. 


m 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


.Mit. 


M  tbcj  are  chos«n,  thej  are  glad  to  choose  me  for 
them ;  I  do  it  for  some  piece  of  money,  aad  go 
tivough  with  all. 

ifcal.    Look  you,  bring  me  in  the  names  of 
tome  «ix  or  seven,  the  most  suflicient  of  your  parish. 

fllb.  To  your  worship's  house,  sir? 

Escal.    To  my  house:   Fare  you  well.     [Exit 
Jllbow.]  What's  o'clock,  think  you  ? 

Jutt.  Eleven,  sir. 

£$cal.  I  pray  you  home  to  dinner  with  mc. 

JhsL  I  humbly  thank  you. 

Eical.  It  grieves  me  for  the  death  of  Claudio  ; 
9^t  there's  no  remedy. 

Just,  Lord  Angelo  is  severe. 

Escal.  It  is  but  needful  : 

Mercy  is  not  itself,  that  oft  looks  so  : 

Jardon  is  still  the  nurse  of  second  wo : 
Mt  yet,— Poor  Claudio !— There's  no  remedy. 
Cpme,  sir.  [Extunt. 

^CJEJfE  II. — Another  room  in  the  same.    Enter 
Provost  and  a  Servant. 

Strv.  He's  hearing  of  a  cause ;  he  will  come 
straight. 
Vtt  tell  him  of  you. 

Prev.  Pray  you,  do.    [Exit  Servant,]  I'll  fenow 
Hia  pleasure;  mav  be,  he  will  relent;  Alas, 
|Ie  hath  but  as  ofTendt^d  in  a  dream ! 
AU  sects,  all  ages,  smack  of  this  vice  :  and  he 
To  die  for  it ! 

Enter  Angclo. 

>9ng.  Now,  what's  the  matter,  provost? 

Prov.  Is  it  your  will  Claudio  shall  die  to«morrow? 

^ng.  Pid  I  not  tell  thee,  jea  ?  hadst  t})ou  not 
order? 
Why  dost  thou  ask  again  ? 

Prev.  L«!St  I  might  be  too  rash : 

Under  your  good  correction,  I  have  seen. 
When,  after  execution,  judgement  hath 
Repented  o'er  his  doom. 

^ng.  Go  to ;  let  that  be  mine ; 

Do  you  your  office,  or  ?ive  up  your  place, 
Ana  you  shall  well  be  spar'd. 

Prov.  I  crave  your  honour's  pardon. — 

What  shall  be  done,  sir,  with  the  groaning  Juliet? 
She's  very  near  her  hour. 

•^ng.  Dispose  of  her 

To  some  more  fitter  place ;  and  tbat  with  speed. 

Re-enter  Servant 

Strv.  Here  is  the  sister  of  the  man  condemn'd, 
Desires  access  to  you. 

^ng.  Hath  he  a  sister  ? 

Prov.  Ay,  my  good  lord ;  a  very  virtuous  maid. 
And  to  be  shortly  of  a  sisterhood, 
If  not  already. 

,ing.        VVell,  let  her  be  admitted.     [Ex.  Serv. 
See  you  the  fornicatress  be  remov'd  ; 
Let  her  have  needful,  but  not  lavish,  means ; 
There  shall  be  order  for  it 

Enter  Lucio  and  Isabella. 

Proe.  Save  your  honour !       f  Offering;-  to  retire. 

wing.  Stay  a  little  while. — [7'o  isab.]    You  are 
welcome :  What's  your  will? 

Isab,  I  am  a  woful  suitor  to  your  honour, 
Flease  but  your  honour  hear  me. 

,^ng.  Well ;  what's  your  suit  ? 

J?o|.  There  is  a  vice,  that  most  I  do  abhor. 
And  most  desire  should  meet  the  blpw  of  justice ; 
for  which  I  would  not  plead,  but  that  I  must ; 

{\)fit9,         (S)Beasiure(l, 


For  which  I  must  not  plead,  but  that  I  uu 
At  war,  'twixt  will,  and  will  not 

Ang.  Well;  the  mattw? 

Ism.  I  have  a  brother  is  condemn'd  to  die : 
I  do  beseech  vou,  let  it  be  his  fault,  • 
And  not  my  brother. 

Prov.  Heaven  give  thee  moving  gn^et ! 

>^ng.  Condemn  the  fault,  and  not  the  actor  of  it ' 
Why,  every  fault's  condemn'd,  ere  it  be  done  '• 
Mine  were  the  verj-  cypher  of  a  function, 
To  find  the  faults,  whose  fine  stands  in  record. 
And  let  go  by  the  actor. 

Isab.  O  just,  but  severe  law ! 

I  had  a  brother  then. — Heaven  keep  your  honour ! 

[Retiring. 

Lucio.  [To  Isab.]   Give't  not  o'er  so;   to  him 
again,  entreat  him ; 
Kneel  down  before  him,  hang  upon  his  gown ; 
You  are  too  cold :  if  you  should  need  a  pin, 
You  could  not  with  more  tame  a  tongue  desire  it : 
To  hira,  I  say. 

Isab.  Must  he  needs  die? 

Jlng.  Maiden,  no  remedy. 

Isab.  Yes  :  I  do  think  that  you  might  pardon  him, 
And  neither  heaven,  nor  man,  grieve  at  the  mercy. 

J}ng.  I  will  not  do't 

Isab.  But  can  you,  if  you  would  ? 

Jinz.  Look,  what  I  will  not,  that  I  cannot  do. 

Isab.  But  might  you  do't,  and  do  the  world  no 
wrong. 
If  so  your  heart  were  touch'd  with  that  remorse* 
As  mme  is  to  him  ? 

^tng.  He's  sentenc'd  ;  'tis  too  late. 

Lucio.  You  are  too  cold.  [To  Isabella. 

Isab.  Too  late  ?  why,  no :  I,  that  do  speak  a  word. 
May  call  it  back  again :  Well  believe'  this. 
No  ceremony  that  to  great  ones  'longs, 
Not  the  king's  crown,  nor  the  deputed  sword. 
The  marshal's  truncheon,  nor  the  judge's  robe, 
Become  them  with  one  half  so  good  a  grace. 
As  mercy  does.     If  he  had  been  as  you,  ' 
And  you  as  he,  you  would  have  slipt  like  him  ; 
But  he,  like  you,  would  not  have  been  so  stem. 

.^ni^.  Pray  you,  begone. 

Isai.  I  %vould  to  heaven  I  had  your  potency, 
And  you  were  Isabel !  should  it  then  be  thus  ? 
No  ;'I  would  tell  what  'twere  to  be  a  judge, 
And  what  a  prisoner. 

Lucio.  Ay,  touch  him :  there's  the  vein.     [tSsid$ 

^9ng.  Your  brother  is  a  forfeit  of  the  law. 
And  you  but  waste  your  words. 

Isab.  Alas!  alas!     \ 

Why,  all  the  souls  that  were,  were  forfeit  once  :  J 
And  He  that  might  the  vantage  best  have  took,  I 
Found  out  the  remedy :  How  would  you  be.  / 
If  He,  which  is  the  top  of  judgment," shouia 
But  judge  you  as  you  are  ?  O,  think  on  that ; 
And  mercy  then  will  breathe  within  your  lips, 
Like  man  new  made. 

Ang.  Be  you  content,  fair  maid  x 

It  is  the  law,  not  I,  condemns  your  brother ; 
Were  he  my  kinsman,  brother,  or  my  son, 
It  should  be  thus  with  him ; — He  must  die  to-raor- 
row. 

Isab.  To-morrow?  0,  that's  sudden !  Spare  him, 
spare  him : 
He's  not  prepar'd  for  death !  Even  for  our  kitchens 
We  kill  the  fowl  of  season  ;'  shall  we  serve  heaven 
With  less  respect  than  we  do  minister 
To  our  gross  selves  ?  Good,  good  my  lord,  bethink 

you: 
Who  is -it  that  hath  died  for  this  offence  7 

(3)  WhenuieawB* 


BemiUs 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Ml 


4- 


There's  many  hare  committed  it 

Lucia.  At, 

Ang.   The  law  hath  not  been  dead,  though  it 
hath  slept: 
Those  many  had  not  dar'd  to  do  that  evil, 
If  the  first  man  that  did  the  edict  infringe, 
Had  answer'd  for  his  deed;  now,  'tis  atvake  ; 
Takes  note  of  what  is  done  ;  and,  like  a  prophet. 
Looks  in  a  glass,  tliat  shows  what  future  evils 
(Either  now,  or  bv  remissness  new-conceiv'd. 
And  so  in  progress  to  be  hatch'd  and  born,) 
Are  now  to  hare  no  successive  degrees, 
But,  where  they  Ure,  ta  end. 

Isab.  -  Yet  show  some  pity. 

.in^.  I  show  it  most  of  all,  when  I  show  justice ; 
For  tiien  I  pity  those  I  do  not  know. 
Which  a  dismiss'd  ofl'ence  would  after  pall ; 
And  do  him  right,  that,  answering  one  foul  wrong, 
Lives  not  to  act  another.    Be  satisfied  ; 
Your  brother  dies  to-morrow :  be  content. 

Jsab.  So  you  must  be  the  first,  that  gives  this 
sentence : 
And  he,  that  suffers :  0,  it  is  excellent 
To  have  a  giant's  strength ;  but  it  is  tjTannous 
To  use  it  luce  a  gianL 

Lucio.  That's  well  said. 

Isab.  Could  great  men  thunder 
As  Jove  himself  does,  Jove  would  ne'er  be  quiet. 
For  every  pelting'  petty  officer, 
Would  use  his  heaven  for  thunder;  nothing  but 

thunder. 

Merciful  heaven ! 

Thou  rather,  with  thy  sharp  and  sulphurous  bolt, 

Split'st  the  unwedpeable  and  gnarled^  oak. 

Than  the  soft  mvrtle : — 0,  but  man,  proud  man ! 

Drest  in  a  little  brief  authority  ; 

Most  ignorant  of  what  he'«  most  assur'd. 

His  glassy  essence, — like  an  angry  ape, 

Plays  such  fantastic  tricks  before  high  heaven, 

As  make  the  angels  weep :  who,  with  our  spleens, 

Would  all  themselves  laugh  mortal. 

Lucio. 


Lucio.  You  had  ffiarr'd  all  els*. 

Isab.  Not  with  fond  shekcU  of  the  tested*  ffiK, 
Or  stones,  whose  rates  are  either  rich  or  poor, 
As  fancy  values  them ;  but  with  true  prayers, 
That  shall  be  up  in  heaven,  and  enter  there, 
Ere  sun-rise  ;  prayers  from  preserved*  souls, 
From  fasting  maids,  whose  minds  are  dedicate 
To  nothing  temporal. 

^Sng.  Well ;  come  to  me 

To-morrow. 

Lucio.  Go  to  ;  it  is  well ;  away.     [Aside  to  liab. 

Isab.  Heaven  keep  your  honour  safe ! 

An:^.  Amen :  for  I 

Am  that  way  going  to  temptation,  [Aside. 

Where  prayers  cross. 

Isab.  At  what  hour  to-morrow 

Shall  I  attend  jour  lordship  ? 

Ang.  At  any  time  'fore  noon. 

Isao.  Save  your  honour!  [£xe.Luc.  Isa.  andPro. 

Ang.  From  thee ;  even  from  thy  rirtue ! — 

What's  this  ?  what's  this  ?  Is  this  her  fault,  or  mine  ? 
The  tempter,  or  the  tempted,  who  sins  most  ?  Ha ! 
Not  she ;  nor  doth  she  tempt :  but  it  is  I, 
That  lying  by  the  violet,  in  the  sun, 
Do,  as  the  carrion  does,  not  as  the  flower, 
Corrupt  with  virtuous  season.    Can  it  be. 
That  modesty  may  more  betray  our  sense 
Than  woman's  lightness?  Having  waste  grduod 

enough, 
Shall  we  desire  to  raze  the  sanctuary. 
And  pitch  our  evils  there  ?'  O,  fie,  fie,  fie ! 
What  dost  thou  ?  or  what  art  thou,  Angelo  ? 
Dost  thou  desire  her  foully,  for  those  things 
That  make  her  good  ?  O,  let  her  brother  live : 
Thieves  for  their  robbery  have  authority. 
When  judpjes  steal  themselves.  What?  do  I  love  her. 
That  I  desire  to  hear  her  speak  again. 
And  least  upon  her  eyes  ?  What  is't  I  dream  on  ? 
O  cunning  enemy,  that,  to  catch  a  saint. 
With  saints  dost  bait  thy  hook !  Most  dangerous 
Is  that  temptation,  that  doth  goad  us  on 
O,  to  him,  to  liim,  wench :  he  will  relent ;  To  sin  in  loving  virtue  :  never  could  the  strumpet. 
He's  coming,  I  perceive'U  t  Wi(h  all  her  doable  vigour,  art,  and  nature. 


Prov. 


Pray  heaven,  she  win  him  !  ;Once  stir  my  temper  ;  but  thii  virtuous  maid 


Isab.  We  cannot  weifh  our  brother  with  ourself ; 
Great  men  may  jest  wiui  saints :  'tis  wit  in  lliem ; 
But,  in  less,  foul  profanation. 

Lucio.  Tnou  art  in  the  right,  girl ;  more  o'  that, 

Is(U),  That  in  the  captain's  but  a  choleric  word, 
Wltich  in  the  soldier  is  flat  blasphemy. 

Lucio.  Art  advis'd  o'  that  ?  more  on't. 

Ans;.  Why  do  you  put  these  sayings  upon  me? 

Isab.  Because  authority,  though  it  err  like  others, 
Hath  yet  a  kind  of  medicine  in  itself. 
That  skims  the  vice  o'  the  top :  Go  to  your  bosom  ; 
Knock  there ;  and  ask  your  heartj  what  it  doth  know 
That's  like  my  brother's  fault :  if  it  confess 
A  natural  guiltiness,  such  as  is  his. 
Let  it  not  sound  a  thousht  upon  your  tongue 
Against  my  brother's  life. 

%1ng.  She  speaks,  and  'tis 

Such  sense,  that  my  sense  breeds  with  it. Fare 

■you  well. 

Isab.  Gentle  my  lord,  turn  back. 

Ang.  I  will  bethink  me: — Come  again  to-morrow. 

Isab.  Hark,  how  I'll  bribe  you :  Good  my  lord, 
turn  back. 

Ang.  How !  bribe  me  ? 

Ism.  Ay,  with  such  gifts,  that  heaven  shall  share 
with  you. 

(1)  Paltry.    (2)  Knotted.    (3)  Attested,  stamped. 
(4)  Preterved  from  the  somiption  of  the  world. 


Subdues  nie  quite  ; — Ever,  till  now. 
When  men  were  fond,  I  smil'd,  and  wonder'd  hdw. 

[ExU. 

SCEJ'i'E  III.— A  room  in  a  prison.     Enter  Duke, 
habited  lil:e  a  Friar,  and  Provost, 

Duke.  Hail  to  you,  provost ;  so,  I  think  yOn  ar*. 
Prov.  I  am  the  provost:  What's  your  Will,  good 

friar  ? 
Duke.    Bound  by  my  charity,  and  my  bless 'd 
Order, 
I  come  to  visit  the  afflicted  Spirits 
Here  in  the  prison  :  do  me  the  common  right 
To  let  me  see  them ;  and  ta  make  me  know 
The  nature  of  their  crimes,  that  I  may  minister 
To  them  accordincrly. 
Pror.  I  w  ould  do  more  than  that,  if  more  irtH 
needful. 

Enter  Juliet. 

Look,  here  comes  one ;  a  gentlewoman  of  mine. 
Who  falling  in  tiie  flames  of  her  own  youth. 
Hath  blistcr'd  her  report :  She  is  with  chila  ; 
And  he  that  got  it,  sentenc'd :  a  young  matt 
More  fit  to  do  another  such  offence, 
Than  die  for  this. 
Duke.  When  must  he  die  7 

(5)  &ee  t  Kings,  x.  27. 


103 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Jetn. 


Prov.  As  I  do  think,  to-tnorrow. 
I  haye  provided  for  you ;  stay  awhile     [To  Juliet. 
And  you  shall  be  conducted. 

Duke.  Repent  you,  fair  one,  of  the  sin  you  carry  ? 

Juliet.  I  do ;  and  bear  the  shame  most  patiently. 

Duke.  I'll  teach  you  how  you  shall  arraign  your 
conscience, 
And  try  your  penitence,  if  it  be  sound. 
Or  hollowly  put  on. 

Juliet.  I'll  gladly  learn. 

Duke.  Love  you  the  man  that  wrone'd  you  7 

Juliet.  Yes,  as  I  lov'd  tlie  woman  that  wrong'd 
him. 

Duke.  So  then,  it  seems,  your  most  ofTenceful  act 
"Was  mutually  conunitted  / 

Juliet.  Mutually, 

Duke.  Then  wa.s  your  sin  of  heavier  land  than  his. 

Juliet.  I  do  confess  it,  and  repent  it,  father. 

Duke.  'Tis  meet  xo,  daugiiter :  But  lest  you  do 
repent. 
As  that  the  sin  hath  brought  you  to  this  shame, — 
'Which   sorrow  is  always   toward  ourselves,  not 

heaven ; 
Showing,  we'd  not  spare'  heaven,  as  we  love  it. 
But  as  we  stand  hi  fear, — 

Juliet.  I  do  repent  me,  as  it  is  an  evil ; 
And  take  the  shame  with  joy. 

Duke.  '     There  rest. 

Your  partner,  as  I  liear,  must  die  lo-morrow, 
And  I  am  going  with  instruction  to  lum. — 
(irace  go  withyou  !  Benedicite  !  [Exit. 

Juliet.  Must  die  to-morrow!  O,  injurious  love. 
That  respites  me  a  litV,  whose  very  comfort 
Is  still  a  dying  horror ' 

Prov.  'Tis  pity  of  him.       [Exeutlt. 


The  general,*  subject  to  a  wcll-wish'd  king^. 
Quit  their  own  part,  and  in  obsequious  fondness 
Crowd  to  his  presence,  where  their  untaught  lore 
Must  needs  appear  offence. 

Enter  Isabella. 


SCEJ^TE  IV.— .1  room  in  Angelo's  house.    Enter 
Angelo. 

ting.  ^Vhen  I  would  pray  and  think,  I  think  and 
pray 
To  several  subjects :  heaven  hath  my  empty  words  ; 
Whilst  my  invention,  hearing  not  my  tongue, 
Anchors  on  Isabel :  Heaven  in  my  mouth, 
As  if  I  did  but  only  chew  his  name  ; 
And  in  my  heart,  the  stron<r  and  swelling  evil 
Of  my  conception  :  The  state,  whereon  I  studied, 
Is  like  a  gooa  thing,  being  often  read. 
Grown  fear'd  and  tedious ;  yea,  my  gravity. 
Wherein  (let  no  man  hear  me)  I  take  pride. 
Could  I,  with  boot,^  change  for  an  idle  plume. 
Which  the  air  beats  for  vain.    O  place !  O  form ! 
How  often  dost  thou  with  thy  case,'  thy  habit, 
Wrench  awe  from  fools,  and  tie  the  wiser  souls 
To  thy  false  seeming  7  Blood,  thou  still  art  blood 
lyct's  write  good  angel  on  the  devil's  horu, 
*Ti3  not  the  devil's  crest. 

Enter  Servant. 
How  now,  who's  there  7 


One  Isabel,  a  sister, 

[Ex.  Serv. 


Serv, 
Desires  access  to  yon. 

^ing.  Teach  her  the  way. 

O  heavens ! 

Why  does  my  blood  thus  muster  to  my  heart ; 
Making  both  it  unable  for  itself. 
And  dispossessing  all  the  other  parts 
Of  necessary  fitness  ? 

So  play  the  foolish  throngs  with  one  that  swoons ; 
Come  all  to  help  him,  and  so  stop  the  air 
By  which  he  should  revive :  and  even  so 

(1)  Spare  to  oSend  heaven.       (J)  Profit. 
(8)  Outside.  (4)  People, 


How  now,  fair  maid  7 

Isab.  I  am  come  to  knew  your  pleasure. 

tdng.   That  you  might  know  it,  would  much 
better  please  me. 
Than  to  demand  what  'tis.  Your  brother  cannotlive. 

Jsab.  Even  so  7 — Heaven  keep  your  honour  I 

[Retiring. 

-ing.  Yet  may  he  live  a  while ;  and,  it  may  l^, 
As  long  as  you,  or  I :  Yet  he  must  die. 

Isah.  Under  your  sentence  7 

Jlng.  Yea. 

Isao.  When,  I  beseech  you  ?  that  in  his  reprieve, 
Longer,  or  sliorter,  he  may  be  so  fitted, 
That  his  soul  sicken  not. 

•  iiig-.  Ha !  Fie,  tlicse  filthy  vices !  It  were  as  good 
To  pardon  him,  that  hatli  from  nature  stolen 
A  man  already  made,  as  to  remit 
Their  saucy  sweetness,  that  do  coin  heaven's  image. 
In  stamps  ihat  are  forbid :  'tis  all  as  easy 
Falsely  to  take  away  a  life  true  made. 
As  to  put  mettle  in  restrained  means. 
To  make  a  false  one. 

Isab.  'Tis  set  down  so  in  lieaven,  but  not  in  earth, 

*1ng.  Say  you  so  ?  then  I  shall  pozcyou  quickly. 
Which  h;id  you  raiher,  That  the  most  just  law 
Now  took  your  brother's  life  iQr,  to  redeem  him. 
Give  up  your  body  to  such  sw^el  unclcanness. 
As  she  that  he  haih  stain'd  7 

Isab.  Sir,  helieve  this, 

I  had  rather  give  my  body  than  my  soul. 

^ng.  1  talk  not  of  your  soul :  Our  compell'd  sins 
Stand  more  for  number  than  accompt. 

Isab.  How  say  you  ? 

»ing.  Nay,  I'll  not  warrant  that ;  for  I  can  speak 
Against  the  thing  I  say.    Answer  to  this  ; — 
I,  now  the  voice  of  the  recorded  law. 
Pronounce  a  sentence  on  vour  brother's  life : 
Might  there  not  be  a  charity  in  sin. 
To  save  this  brother's  life  ? 

Isab.  Please  you  to  dot. 

I'll  take  it  as  a  peril  to  my  soul. 
It  is  no  sin  at  all,  but  charity. 

<^9ng.  Pleas'd  you  to  do't.  at  peri!  of  your  soul. 
Were  equal  poize  of  sin  and  charity. 

Isab.  That  I  do  beg  his  life,  if  it" be  sin. 
Heaven,  let  me  bear  it !  you  granting  of  my  suit. 
If  that  be  sin,  I'll  make  it  my  morn  prayer 
To  have  it  added  to  the  faults  of  mine, ' 
And  nothing  of  your,  answer. 

•^ng.  Nay,  but  hear  me : 

Your  sense  pursues  not  mine:  eitheryou  are  ignorant. 
Or  seem  so,  craftily ;  and  that's  not  good. 

/soA.  Let  me  be  ignorant,  and  in  nothing  good. 
But  graciously  to  know  I  am  no  better. 

'ing.  Thus  wisdom  wshes  to  appear  most  bright. 
When  it  doth  tax  itself:  as  tiiese  black  masks 
Proclaim  an  enshicld'  beauty  ten  times  louder 
Than  beauty  could  displayed. — But  mark  me ; 
To  be  receiv'd  plain,  I'll  speak  more  gross : 
Your  brother  is  to  die. 

Isab.  So. 

*ing.  And  his  offence  is  so,  as  it  appears 
Accountant  to  the  law  upon  that  pain.* 

Isab.  True. 

%^g.  Admit  no  other  way  to  save  his  life 

[i)  Ensbielded,  corerel       (6)  PenaHr* 


Setiu  L 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


103 


4 As  I  subscribe'  not  that,  nor  any  other, 
iut  in  the  loss  of  question,*)  that  you,  his  sister, 
Finding  yourself  desir'd  of  such  a  person, 
Whose  credit  with  the  judge,  or  own  great  place, 
Could  fetch  vour  brother  from  the  maiiaclos 
Of  the  all-binding  law  ;  and  thattiiere  were 
No  earthly  mean  to  save  him,  but  that  either 
You  must  lay  down  the  treasures  of  vour  body 
To  tills  supposed,  or  else  let  hiin  suffer ; 
What  would  you  do  ? 

Isab.  As  much  for  my  poor  brother,  as  myself: 
That  is,  Wers  I  under  the  terms  of  death, 
The  impression  of  keen  whips  I'd  wear  as  rubies. 
And  strip  myself  to  death,  as  to  a  bed 
That  lonorin^  I  have  been  sick  for,  ere  I'd  yield 
My  body  up  to  shame. 

linp;. '  Then  must  your  brother  die. 

Isab.  And  'twere  the  cheaper  way : 
Better  it  were,  a  brother  died  at  once. 
Than  that  a  sister,  by  redeeming  him. 
Should  die  forever. 

.  Jn^:.  >Vere  not  you  then  as  cruel  as  the  sentence 
That  you  have  siander'd  so  ? 

Jsab.  Ignoniy'  in  ransom,  and  free  pardon. 
Are  of  two  houses  :  lawful  mercy  is 
I>iothing  akin  to  foul  redemption. 

.ijig.  Yon  seem'd  of  late  to  make  the  law  a  ty- 
rant, 
And  rather  prov'd  the  slitiing  of  your  brother 
A  merriment  tiian  a  vice. 

Isab.  O,  pardon  me,  my  lord  ;  it  oil  falls  out. 
To  have  what  we'd  have,  we  speak  not  what  we 

mean: 
I  something  do  excuse  the  thing  I  hate. 
For  his  ad^  anlage  that  I  dearly  love. 

»?«?.  We  are  all  frail. 

Isab.  Else  let  my  brother  die, 

If  not  a  feodary,'*  but  only  he, 
Uwe,*  and  succeed  by  weakness. 

.4»ifi:.  Nay,  women  are  frail  too. 

laaio.  Ay,  as  tlie  glasses  wliere  they  view  them- 
selves ; 
^Vliich  are  as  easy  broke  as  they  make  forms. 
Women ! — Help  Iieaven !  men  their  creation  mar 
In  profiting  by  them.     Nay,  call  us  ten  timesfrail ; 
For  we  are  sufl  as  our  complexions  are. 
And  credulous  to  false  prints.* 

.3n J.  '  I  think  it  well : 

And  from  this  testimony  of  your  own  ses 
(Since,  I  suppose,  we  are  made  to  be  no  stronser 
Than  faults  may  shake  our  frames, )  let  me  be  bold ; 
I  do  arrest  your  words  ;  Be  that  you  are. 
That  is,  a  woman  ;  if  you  be  more,  jou're  none ; 
If  you  be  one  (as  you  are  well  exprcss'd 
By  all  external  warrants,)  show  it  now. 
By  putting  on  the  destin'd  livery. 

7so6.  I  have  no  tongue  but  one:  gentle  my  lord. 
Let  me  entreat  yon  speak  the  former  language. 

.Jnr.  Plainly  conceive,  I  love  vou. 

Isab.  My  brother  did    love   Juliet ;    and   you 
tell  me. 
That  he  shall  die  for  it. 

.frtCT.  He  shall  not,  Isabel,  if  vou  qive  me  love. 

Ixab.  I  know,  vour  virtue  hath  a  license  in't. 
Which  seems  a  little  fouler  than  it  is. 
To  pluck  on  others. 

>inj.  Believe  me,  on  mine  honour, 

Mv  words  express  my  purpose. 

Isab.  Ha !  little  honour  to  be  much  believ'dj 
And  most  pernicious  purpose  I — Seeming,  seemmg! ' 

ilj  Agree  to.  (J)  Conversation.    (3)  Ignominy. 
4)  Associate.       (d)  Own.       (6;  Impressions. 


I  will  proclaim  thee,  Angelo ;  look  for't ! 
Sign  me  a  present  pardon  for  my  brother. 
Or,  with  an  outstretch'd  throat,  I'll  tell  the  world 
Aloud,  what  man  thou  art. 

»ing-.  AVTio  will  believe  thee,  Isabel  1 

My  unsoil'd  name,  the  austereness  of  my  life, 
Mv  vouch'  against  you,  and  my  place  i'  the  state, 
Will  so  your  accusation  ovenveigli. 
That  you  shall  stifle  in  your  own  report. 
And  smell  of  calumny.    I  have  begun  ^ 
And  now  I  give  my  sensual  race  the  rem 
Fit  thy  consent  to  my  sharp  appetite ; 
Lay  bv  all  nicety,  ana  prolixious*  blushes. 
That  banish  what  they  sue  for ;  redeem  thy  brother 
By  yielding  up  thy  bodv  to  my  will ; 
Or  else  he  must  not  only  die  the  death. 
But  thy  unkindness  shall  his  death  draw  out 
To  lingering  sufterance :  answer  me  to-morrow, 
Or,  by  the  affection  that  now  guides  me  most, 
I'll  prove  a  tyrant  to  him :  As  for  jou. 
Say  ivhat  you  can,  my  false  o'erweighs^Jour  true. 

[Exit. 

hob.  To  whom  shall  I  complain?  Did  I  tell  this. 
Who  would  believe  me  ?  O  perilous  mouths. 
That  bear  in  them  one  and  the  self-same  tongue. 
Either  of  condemnation  or  approof ! 
Bidding  tlie  law  make  court'sy  to  their  will ; 
Hookin^T  both  ri<rht  and  wrong  to  the  appetite. 
To  follow  as  it  draws !  I'll  to  my  brother  : 
Though  he  hath  fallen  by  promptiire  of  the  blood, 
Yet  hath  he  in  him  such  a  mind  of  honour. 
That  had  he  twenty  heads  to  tender  down 
On  twenty  bloody  blocks,  he'd  yield  them  up. 
Before  his  sister  should  her  body  stoop 
To  such  abhorr'd  pollution. 
Then  Isabel,  live  chaste,  and,  brother,  die : 
More  than  our  brother  is  our  chastity. 
I'll  tell  him  yet  of  Augelo's  reauest. 
And  tit  his  mind  to  deatli,  for  his  soul's  rest.  [ExU, 


ACT  III. 

SCEJiTE  I. — .A  room  in  theprUon.    Enter  Duke 
Claudio,  and  Frovost. 

Duke.  So,  then  you  hope  of  pardon  from  lord 
An?elo  ? 

Claud.  The  miserable  have  no  other  medicine. 
But  only  hope : 
I  have  hope  to  live^  and  am  prepar'd  to  die. 

Duke.  Be  absolute'"  fordeath;  eitherdcath,  or  life 
Shall  thereby  be  the  sweeter.    Reason  thus  with 

life,— 
in  do  lose  thee,  I  do  lose  a  thing 
That  none  but  fools  would  keep^  a  breath  thou  art 
(Servile  to  all  the  skicy  influences,) 
That  dost  this  habitation,  where  thou  kecp'st. 
Hourly  afflict :  merelv,  thou  art  death's  fool ; 
For  hhn  thou  labour'st  by  thy  flight  to  shun. 
And  yet run'st  toward  him  stifl :  Tliou  art  not  noble ; 
For  all  the  accommodations  that  thou  bear'st. 
Are  nurs'd  by  baseness ;   Thou  art  by  no  means 

valiant : 
For  thou  dost  fear  the  soft  and  tender  fork 
Of  a  poor  worm :  Thy  best  of  rest  is  sleep, 
And  that  thou  ofl  provok'st ;  vet  grossly  fear'st     • 
Thy  death,  which  is  no  more.  "Thou  art  not  thyself; 
For  thou  exist'st  on  manv  a  thousand  grains 
That  issue  out  of  dust :  Happy  Uiou  art  not : 

(7)  Hvpocrisv.   (8)  Attestation.  (9)  Reluctant, 
(10)  Determined. 


m 


MEASURE  FUR  MEASURE. 


jutm. 


For  trhat  thou  hast  not,  still  thou  striv'st  to  ^et ; 
And  what  thou  hast,  Torget'st ;  Thou  art  not  certain ; 
For  thy  complexion  shms  to  strange  eflecU,' 
After  the  moon  :  If  thou  art  rich,  tnou  art  poor; 
For,  like  an  ass,  whose  back  with  ingots  bows, 
Thou  bear'st  thy  heavy  riches  but  a  journey. 
And  death  unloads  thee :  Friend  hast  thou  none  ; 
For  thine  own  bowels,  which  do  call  thee  sire, 
The  mere  effusion  of  thy  proper  loins, 
Do  curse  the  gout,  serpigo,'^  and  the  rheum, 
For  ending  thee  no  sooner :  Thou  hast  nor  youth, 

nor  age ; 
But,  as  it  were,  an  after-dinner's  sleep, 
lireaming  on  both :  for  all  thy  blessed  youth 
Becomes  as  aged,  and  doth  beg  thee  alms 
Of  palsied  eld  ;'  and  when  thou  art  old,  and  rlcli, 
Thou  hast  neither  heat,  affection,  limb,  nor  beauty. 
To  make  thy  riches  pleasant.    VVhat's  yet  in  this, 
That  bears  the  name  of  life  ?  Yet  in  this  life 
Lie  hid  more  thousand  deaths :  yet  death  we  fear, 
That  makes  these  odds  all  even. 

Claud.  I  humbly  thank  you. 

To  sue  to  live,  I  find,  I  seek  to  die ; 
And,  seeking  death,  nnd  life :  Let  it  corns  on. 

Enter  Isabella. 

Jadb.  What,  ho !  Peace  here ;  grace  and  good 
company ! 

Prov.  Who's  there  ?  come  in :  the  wish  deserves 
a  welcome. 

Duke,  Dear  sir,  ere  long  I'll  visit  you  again. 

Cltttul.  Most  holy  sir,  I  thank  you. 

Jsdb.  My  business  is  a  word  or  two  with  Claudio. 

Prov.  And  very  welcome.    Look,  signior,  here's 
your  sister. 

Duke.  Provost,  a  word  with  you. 

Prov.  As  many  as  you  please. 

Duke.  Bring  them  to  speak,  where  I  may  be 
conceal'd. 
Yet  hear  them.  [Exeunt  Duke  and  Provost. 

CUnid.  Now,  sister,  what's  the  comfort  ? 

Isd).  Why,  as  all  comforts  are ;  most  good  in- 
deed; 
Lord  Angelo.  haying  affairs  to  heaven, 
Intends  you  tor  his  swift  ambassador. 
Where  you  shall  be  an  everlasting  leiger:* 

Therefore  your  best  appointment'  malce  with  speed ; 
o-morrow  you  set  on. 

Claud.  Is  there  no  remedy  ? 

Isab.  None,  but  such  remedy,  as,  to  save  a  head, 
To  cleave  a  heart  in  twain. 

Claud.  But  is  there  any  7 

Isab.  Yes,  brother,  you  may  live ; 
There  is  a  devilish  mercy  in  the  judge, 
If  you'll  implore  it,  that  will  free  your  life, 
But  fetter  you  till  death. 

Claud.  Perpetual  durance  ? 

Uab.  Ay,  just,  perpetual  durance ;  a  restraint, 
Though  all  the  world's  vastidity'  you  had. 
To  a  determin'd  scope. 

Claud.  But  in  what  nature  ? 

Isab.  In  such  a  one  as  (you  consenting  to't) 
Would  bark  your  honour  from  that  trunk  you  bear, 
And  leave  you  naked. 

Claud.  Let  me  know  the  point. 

Isab.  O,  I  do  fear  thee,  Claudio  ;  and  I  quake 
Lest  thou  a  feverous  life  should'st  entertain, 
And  six  or  seven  winters  more  respect 
Than  a  perpetual  honour.    Dar'st  thou  die  7 

M)  Affects,  affections.  (2)  Leprous  eruptions. 
iSJ  Uld  age.  (4)  Resident.  (5)  Preparation. 
(I)  Vastness  of  extent.       (7)  Shut  up. 


The  sense  of  death  is  most  in  apprehension; 
And  the  poOr  beetle,  that  we  tread  upon, 
In  corporal  sufferance  finds  a  pang  as  great 
As  when  a  giant  dies. 

Claud.  Why  give  you  me  this  shamA  7 

Think  you  I  can  a  resolution  fetch 
From  flowery  tenderness  ?    If  I  must  die, 
I  will  encounter  darkness  as  a  bride. 
And  hug  it  in  mine  arms. 

Isab.  There  spake  my  brother ;  there  my  father's 
grave 
Did  utter  forth  a  voice !  Yes,  thou  must  die : 
Thou  art  too  noble  to  conserve  a  life 
In  base  appliances.    This  outward-sainted  deputy, 
Whose  settled  visage  and  deliberate  word 
Nips  youth  i'lhe  head,  and  follies  doth  enmew,* 
As  falcon  doth  the  fowl, — is  yet  a  devil ; 
His  filth  within  being  cast,  he  would  appear 
A  pond  as  deep  as  hell. 

Claud.  The  princely  Angelo  7 

Isab.  O,  'tis  the  cunning  livery  of  hell, 
The  damned'st  body  to  invest  and  cover 
In  princely  guards  !'    Dost  thou  think,  Claudio, 
If  I  would  yield  him  my  virginity, 
Thou  mightest  be  freed  ? 

Claud.  O,  heavens!  it  cannot  be. 

Isab.  Yes,  he  would  give  it  thee,  from  this  ranjc 
offence. 
So  to  offend  him  still :  This  night's  the  time 
That  I  should  do  what  I  abhor  to  name. 
Or  else  thou  diest  to-morrow. 

Claud.  Thou  shall  not  do't. 

Isab.  O,  were  it  but  my  life, 
I'd  throw  it  down  for  your  deliverance 
As  frankly'  as  a  pin. 

Claud.  Thanks,  dear  Isabel. 

Isab.  Be  ready,Claudio,  for  your  death  to-morrdw. 

Claud.  Yes. — Has  he  affections  in  him. 
That  thus  can  make  him  bite  the  law  by  the  nosd, 
When  he  would  force  it  ?  Sure  it  is  no  sin ; 
Or  of  the  deadly  seven  it  is  the  least. 

Isab.  Which  is  the  least  ? 

Clatid.  If  it  were  damnable,  he,  being  so  wis*, 
Why,  would  he  for  the  momentary  tric^. 
Be  perdurably'o  fined  7—0,  Isabel ! 

Isab.  What  says  my  brother  ! 

Claud.  Death  is  a  fearful  thing. 

Isab.  And  shamed  life  a  hateful. 

Claud.  Ay,  but  to  do  die,  and  goweknoi^ndt 
where ; 
To  lie  in  cold  obstruction,  and  to  rot ; 
This  sensible  warm  motion  to  become 
A  kneaded  cold  ;  and  the  delighted  spirit 
To  bathe  in  fiery  floods,  or  to  reside 
In  thrilling  regions  of  tliick-ribbed  ice ; 
To  be  imprison'd  in  the  viewless"  winds. 
And  blown  with  restless  violence  round  about 
The  pendent  world ;  or  to  be  worse  than  worst 
Of  those,  that  lawless  and  incertain  thought* 
Imagine  howlin? ! — 'tis  too  horrible ! 
The  wearied  and  most  loathed  worldly  lift. 
That  age,  ache,  penury,  and  imprisonment 
Can  lay  on  nature,  is  a  paradise 
To  what  we  fear  of  death. 

Isab.  Alas !  alas ! 

Claud.  Sweet  sister,  let  me  11»*. 

What  sin  you  do  to  save  a  brother's  life. 
Nature  dispenses  with  the  deed  so  far. 
That  it  becomes  a  virtue. 

Isab.  0,  you  beast ! 


(8)  Laced  robes. 
(11)  Invisible. 


(9)  Ftulj.     (10)  LuUag}j, 


temtL 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


105 


O,  faithleM  coward !  0,  dishoneat  wretch ! 
Wilt  thou  be  made  a  man  oCit  of  my  rice  ? 
is't  not  a  idud  of  incest,  to  take  life 


Duke.  That  shall  nftt  be  »uch  amiss :  yet,  as  th« 
matter  now  stands,  he  will  avoid  your  accusation  ; 
he  made  trial  of  you  only. — ^Therefore,  fasten  Tour 


From  thine  own  sister's  shame  ?    What  should  l|ear  on  my  advisings;  to  the  love  I  have  in  doin 

'  good,  a  remedy  presents  itself.    I  do  make 
Believe,  that  you  mav  most  uprighteously  do  a  poor 


f 


think  ? 
Heaven  shield,  my  mother  play'd  my  father  fair ! 
For  such  a  warped  slip  of  wilderness' 
Ne'er  issu'd  from  his  blood.    Take  my  defiance  :* 
Die  ;  perish  !  might  but  my  bending  down 
Reprieve  thee  from  thy  fate,  it  should  proceed : 
I'll  pray  a  thousand  prayers  for  thy  death, 
No  word  to  save  thee. 

dated.  Nay,  hear  me,  Isabel. 

Isab.  O,  fie,  fie,  fie ! 

Thy  sin's  not  accidental,  but  a  trade  :' 
Mercy  to  thee  would  jjrove  itself  a  bawd : 
*Tis  best  thou  diest  quickly.  [Going. 

Clattd.  O  hear  me,  Isabella. 

Re-enter  Duke. 

Dtike.  Vouchsafe  a  word,  young  sister,  but  one 
word. 

Isab.  What  is  your  will  ? 

Duke.  Mig^ht  you  dispense  with  your  leisure,  I 
would  b^  and  by  have  some  speech  with  you :  the 
satisfaction  I  would  require,  is  likewise  your  own 
benefit. 

Isab.  I  have  no  superfluous  leisure ;  my  stay  must 
be  stolen  out  of  other  affairs ;  but  I  will  attend  you 
a  while. 

Duke.  [To  Claudio,  aside.]  Son,  I  have  over- 
heard what  hath  passed  between  you  and  your  sis- 
ter. An^elo  had  never  the  purpose  to  corrupt  her ; 
only  he  hath  made  an  essay  of  her  virtue,  to  practise 
his  judgment  with  the  disposition  of  natures :  she, 
having  tiie  truth  of  honour  in  her,  hath  made  him 
that  gracious  denial  which  he  is  most  glad  to  re- 
ceive ;  I  am  confessor  to  Anj;elo,  and  1  know  this  to 
be  true ;  therefore  prepare  yourself  to  death :  do  not 
•atisfy  your  resolution  with  hopes  that  are  fallible : 
to-morrow  you  must  die  ;  go  to  your  knees,  and 
make  ready. 

Clmul.  Let  me  ask  my  sister  pardon.  I  am  so 
out  of  love  with  life,  that  I  will  sue  to  bs  rid  of  it. 

Dukt.  Hold*  you  there :  farewell.     [Ex.  Claud. 

Re-enter  Provost. 
Provost,  a  word  with  you, 

Prov.  What's  your  will,  father? 

DuA:«.  That  now  you  are  come,  you  will  be  goiie  : ,  .  . 

leave  me  a  while  ivith  the  maid ;  inv  mind  promises !&elo  ;  answer  his  requiring  with  a  plaus"ible  obedi- 
with  my  habit,  no  loss  siiall  touch  lier  by  my  com-  '^"•^^  j  !^?ree  with  his  demands  to  the  point :  only 
pany.  |  refer'  yourself  to  this  advantage,— first,  that  your 

Frov.  In  good  time.  [Exit  Provost. !  stay  with  him  may  not  be  long ;  that  the  time  may 

Duke.  The  hand  that  hath  make  you  fair,  hathi^^^'^  ^^  shadow  and  silence  in  it;  and  the  place 
made  you  good :  the  goodness,  that  is  cheap  in '  answer  to  convenience  :  this  being  granted  in 
beauty,  makes  beauty  brief  in  goodness;  but  grace,  I  course,  now  follows  all.  We  shall  advise  this 
being  the  soul  of  your  complexion,  should  keep  the  i '^''onsed  maid  to  stead  up  your  appointment,  eo  in 
body  of  it  ever  fair.  The  assault,  that  Angelo  hath!  V""""  J>lace  ;  if  the  encounter  acknowledge  itself 
made  to  you,  fortune  hath  convey'd  to  mv  under- l*i*^'"^^^s'">  ■'  i"^.)'  compel  him  to  her  recompense  ; 
standing;  and,  but  that  frailty  hath  examples  for^"^  here,  by  this,  is  your  brother  saved,  your  ho- 
hia  falling,  I  should  wonder  at  Angelo.  How  would  "our  untainted,  the  poor  Mariana  advantaged,  and 
you  do  to  content  this  substitute,  and  to  save  yourl''^^  corrupt  deputy  scaled.'  The  maid  will  I  frame, 
brother  7  jand  make  fit  for  his  attempt.     If  you  think  well  to 

Isab.  I  am  now  going  to  resolve  him:  I  had|<^a""yt^i^  *s  you  may,  tlie  doubleness  of  the  benefit 
rather  my  brother  die  by  the  law,  than  my  son  ^^0^"?,^*  ^^^  deceit  from  reproof.    What  think  you 


wronged  lady  a  merited  benefit;  redeem  your  bro- 
ther Irom  the  angry  law ;  do  no  stain  to  your  own 
gracious  person  ;  and  much  please  the  absent  duke, 
li",  peradventure,  he  shall  ever  return  to  have  hear- 
ing of  this  business. 

7sa6.  Let  me  hear  you  speak  further;  I  have 
spirit  to  do  any  thing  that  appears  not  foul  in  the 
truth  of  my  spirit. 

Duke.  Virtue  is  boW,  and  goodness  never  fearful. 
Have  not  you  heard  speak  of  Mariana,  the  sister  of 
Frederick,  the  great  soldier,  who  miscarried  at  sea? 

Isab.  I  have  licai  J  of  the  lady,  and  good  words 
went  with  her  name. 

Duke.  Her  should  this  Angelo  have  married ;  was 
affianced  to  her  by  oath,  and  the  nuptial  appointed : 
between  which  time  of  the  contract,  and  limit  of  the 
solemnity,  her  brother  Frederick  was  wrecked  at 
sea,  having  in  that  perish'd  vessel  the  dowry  of  his 
sister.  But  mark,  how  heavily  this  befel  to  the  poor 
gentlewoman :  there  she  lost  a  noble  and  renowned 
brother,  in  his  love  toward  her  ever  most  kind  and 
natural ;  with  him  the  portion  and  sinew  of  her  for- 
tune, her  marria?e-dowry ;  %vith  both,  her  combi- 
uate'  husband,  this  well-seeming  Angelo. 

Isab.  Can  this  be  so  ?  Did  Angelo  so  leave  her  1 

Duke.  Left  her  in  her  tears,  and  dry'd  not  one  of 
them  with  his  comfort ;  swallowed  his  vows  whole, 
pretending,  in  her,  discoveries  of  dishonour :  in  few, 
bestowed*^her  on  her  own  lamentation,  which  she 
yet  wears  for  his  sake ;  and  he,  a  marble  to  her 
tears,  is  w^ashed  with  them,  but  relents  not. 

Isab,  What  a  merit  were  it  in  death,  to  take  this 
poor  maid  from  the  world  !  What  corruption  in  this 
life,  that  it  will  let  this  man  live  I — But  how  out  of 
this  can  she  avail  ? 

Duke.  It  is  a  rupture  that  you  may  easily  heal : 
and  the  cure  of  it  not  only  saves  your  brother,  but 
keeps  you  from  dishonour  in  doing  it. 

Isab.  Show  me  how,  good  father. 

Duke.  This  fore-named  maid  hath  yet  in  her  the 
continuance  of  her  first  affection  ;  His  unjust  un- 
kindness,  that  in  all  reason  should  have  quenchel 
her  love,  hath,  like  an  impediment  in  the  current, 
made  it  more  violent  and  unruly.    Go  vou  to  An- 


should  be  unlawfully  born.  But  O,  how  much  is 
the  good  duke  deceived  in  Angelo  !  if  ever  he  re- 
turn, and  I  can  speak  to  him,  I  will  open  my  lips 
in  vain,  or  discover  his  government. 

(nWildness.  (2)  Refusal. 

iS)  An  established  habit. 

(4;  Continue  in  that  resolution. 


of  it  ? 

Isab.  The  image  of  it  gives  me  content  already ; 
and,  I  trust,  it  will  grow  to  a  most  prosperous  per- 
fection. 

Duke.  It  lies  much  in  your  holding  up :  hast« 


(S)  Betrothed, 

(7)  Have  recourse  to. 


(6)  Gave  her  up  to  her  sorrows 
(8)  Orer-reftched. 
O 


100 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Jet  111. 


fou  speedily  to  Angela ;  if  for  this  night  he  entreat 
rou  to  his  bed,  give  him  promise  of  satisfaction.  I 
will  presently  to  St.  Luke's  ;  there,  at  the  moated 
grange,'  resides  this  dejected  Mariana;  at  that 
place  call  upon  me;  and  despatch  with  Angelo, 
that  it  may  be  quickly. 

Isab.  I  thank  you  for  this  comfort :  fare  you  well, 
good  father.  [Exeunt  severally. 

SCEJ^'E  IL—The  street  before  the  prison.  Enter 
Duke,  as  a  fiiar ;  to  him  Elbow,  Clown,  and 
Officers. 

Elb.  Nay,  if  there  be  no  remedy  for  it,  but  that 
▼ou  will  needs  buy  and  sell  men  and  women  like 
Leasts,  we  sliall  have  all  tlic  »¥orld  drink  brown  and 
white  bastard.* 

Duke.  O,  heavens !  what  stuff  is  here? 

Clo.  'Twas  never  merry  world,  since,  of  two 
usuries,  the  merriest  was  put  doAvn,  and  the  worser 
allow'cl  by  order  of  law  a  furi'd  gown  to  keep 
him  warm;  and  furr'd  with  fox  and  lamb-skins 
too,  to  signify,  that  craft,  being  richer  than  inno- 
cencv,  stands  for  the  facinjj. 

Elo.  Come  your  nay,  sir:— Bless  you,  good  fa- 
ther friar.  ..^ 

Duke.  And  you,  good  brother  father:  \\Tiat 
offence  hath  this  man  made  you,  sir  ? 

Elb.  Marry,  sir,  he  hath  offended  the  law:  and, 
sir,  we  take  him  to  be  a  thief  too,  sir ;  for  we  have 
found  upon  him,  sir,  a  stran;e  pick-lock,*  which 
wc  have  sent  to  the  deputy. 

Duke.  Fie,  sirrah ;  a  bawd,  a  ^vicked  bawd ! 
The  evil  that  thou  causest  to  be  done. 
That  is  thy  means  to  live :  do  thou  but  think 
What  'tis  to  cram  a  maw,  or  clothe  a  back. 
From  such  a  tiltlivvice :  say  to  thyself, — 
From  their  abominable  and  beastly  touches 
I  drink,  I  eat,  array  myself,  and  live. 
Canst  thou  believe  thy  living  is  a  life. 
So  stinkingly  depending  ?  Go,  mend,  go,  mend. 

Clo.  Indeed,  it  does  stink  in  some  sort,  sir ;  but 
yet,  sir,  I  would  prove 

Duke.  Nay,  il  the  devil  have  given  thee  proofs 
for  sin. 
Thou  wilt  prove  his.    Take  him  to  prison,  officer ; 
Correction  and  instruction  must  both  work. 
Ere  this  rude  beast  will  profit 

Elb.  He  must  before  the  deputy,  sir;  he  has 
given  him  warning:  the  deputy  cannot  abide  a 
whoremaster:  if  he  be  a  whoremonger,  and  comes 
before  him,  he  were  as  good  go  a  mile  on  his  errand. 

Duke.  That  we  were  eill,  as  some  would  seem  to  be. 
Free  from  our  faults,  as  faults  from  seeming,  free ! 

Enter  Lucio. 

Elb.  His  neck  will  come  to  your, waist,  a  cord,*  sir. 

Cfo.  I  spy  comfort ;  I  cry,  bail :  here's  a  gentle- 
man, and  a  friend  of  mine. 

Lucio.  How  now,  noble  Pompey  ?  Wiiat,  at  the 
heels  of  Caesar  ?  Art  thou  led  in  triumph  ?  What, 
h  there  none  of  Pygmalion's  images,  newly  made 
woman,  to  be  had  now,  for  puttintr  th"*  hand  in  the 

?ockct,  and  extracting  it  clutch'd  ?  Wliat  reply  ? 
la  7  What  say'st  thou  to  this  tune,  matter,  and 
method  ?  Is't  not  drown'd  i'  the  last  rain  ?  Ha  ? 
What  say'st  thou,  trot  ?  Is  the  world  as  it  was, 
man  7  Which  is  the  way  7  Is  it  sad,  and  few 
words?  Or  how?  The  trick  of  it? 
Duke,  Still  thus,  and  thus !  still  worse ! 

(1 )  A  solitary  farm-house.    (8)  A  sweet  wine. 

}Si  For  a  Spanish  padlock. 
4}  T)e4  like  your  waist  with  a  ropo. 


Lucio.  How  doth  tny  dear  morsel,  thy  mistress  7 
Procures  she  still  ?  Ha  ? 

Clo.  Troth,  sir,  she  hath  eaten  up  all  her  beef, 
and  she  is  herself  in  the  tub.' 

Lwcto.  Why,  'tis  good  ;  it  is  the  right  of  it ;  it 
must  be  so :  ever  your  fresh  whore,  and  your  pow- 
der'd  bawd  :  an  unshunn'd  consequence  ;  it  must 
be  80 :  art  going  to  prison,  Pompey  7 

Clo.  Yes,  faithp  sir. 

Lwcto.  >Vhv,  'tis  not  amiss,  Pompcv :  farewell : 
0 ;  saj\  I  sent  thee  thither.  For  deot,  Pompey  ? 
)r  how  ? 

Elb.  For  being  a  bawd,  for  being  a  bawd. 

Lucio.  Well,  then  imprison  him:  if  imprison- 
ment be  the  due  of  a  bawd,  why,  'tis  his  right : 
bawd  is  he,  doubtless,  and  of  antiquity  too ;  bawd- 
born.  Farewell,  good  Pompey :  commend  me  to 
the  prison,  Pompey :  you  will  turn  good  husband 
now.  Pompey  ;  you  will  keep  the  house.* 

Clo.  I  hope,  sir,  your  good  worsliip  will  be  my 
bail. 

Lncto.  No,  indeed,  will  I  not,  Pompey ;  it  is  not 
the  wear.'  I  will  praVj  Pompey,  to  increase  your 
bondage :  if  you  take"  it  not  patiently,  why,  vour 
mettle^is  the  more.  Adieu,  trusty  Pompey.— Bless 
you,  friar. 

Duke.  And  you. 

Lucio.  Does  Bridget  paint  still,  Pompey  ?  Ha? 

Elb.   Come  vour  ways,  sir ;  come. 

Clo,  You  will  not  bail  me  then,  sir  ? 

Lucio.  Then,  Pompey  7  nor  now.— What  news 
abroad,  friar  ?  what  news  7 

Elb.  Come  your  ways,  sir ;  come. 

Lucio.  Go, — to  kennel,  Pompey,  go: 

[Exeunt  Elbow,  Clown,  and  Officers. 

What  news,  friar,  of  the  duke  ? 

Duke.  I  know  none :  can  you  tell  me  of  anv  ? 

Lucio.  Some  sav,  he  is  with  the  emperor  of  iRus- 
sia ;  other  some,  he  is  in  Rome :  but  where  is  he, 
think  you  7 

Duke,  I  know  not  where :  but  wheresoever,  I 
wish  him  well. 

Liicio.  It  was  a  mad  fantastical  trick  of  him,  to 
steal  from  the  state,  and  usurp  the  begeary  he  was 
never  born  to.  Lord  Angelo  dukes  it  well  in  his 
absence  ;  he  puts  transpjression  to't. 

Duke.  He  does  well  m't. 

Lucio.  A  little  more  lenity  to  lechery  would  do 
no  harm  in  him :  something  too  crabbed  that  way, 
friar. 

Duke.  It  is  too  general  a  vice,  and  severity  must 
cure  it. 

Lucio.  Yes,  in  good  sooth,  the  rice  is  of  a  great 
kindred  ;  it  is  well  ally'd :  but  it  is  impossible  to 
esliVp  it  quite,  iViar,  till  eating  and  drinking  be  put 
down.  They  say,  this  Angelo  was  not  made  by 
man  and  woman,  after  the  doivnright  way  of  crea- 
tion :  is  it  true,  think  you  ? 

Duke.  How  should  he  be  made  then  1 

Lucio.  Some  report,  a  sea-maid  spawn'd  him : — 
Some,  that  he  was  begot  between  two  stock-fishes  : 
but  it  is  certain,  that  when  he  makes  water,  his 
urine  is  congcal'd  ice  ;  that  I  know  to  be  true :  and 
he  is  a  motion'  ungenerative,  that's  infallible. 

Duke.  You  are  pleasant,  sir ;  and  speak  apace. 

Lxuio.  Why,  what  a  ruthless  thing  is  this  in 
him,  for  the  rebellion  of  a  cod-piece,  to  take  away 
the  life  of  a  man  ?  Would  the  duke,  that  is  absent, 
have  done  this  7  Ere  he  would  have  hang'd  a  man 
for  the  getting  a  hundred  bastards,  he  would  have 

(5)  Powdering  tub.        (6)  Stay  at  home. 
(7)  Fashion.  (8)  Puppet. 


hintlL 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


107 


paid  for  the  nursing  a  thousand :  he  had  some  feel 
ing  of  the  sport ;  he  knew  the  service,  and  that  in 
■tructed  him  to  mercy. 

Duke.  I  never  heard  the  absent  duke  much  de^ 
tected'  for  women  ;  he  was  not  inclined  that  way. 

Liicio,  0,  sir,  you  are  deceived, 

Dieke.  'Tis  not  possible. 

Lucio.  Who  ?  not  the  duke  ?  yes,  your  beggar  of 
fifty  ; — and  his  use  was,  to  put  a  ducat  in  her  clack- 
dish  :  the  duke  had  crotchets  in  him :  he  would  be 
drunk  too ;  that  let  me  inform  you. 

Duke.  You  do  him  wrong,  surel}-. 

Lueio,  Sir,  I  was  an  inward  of  his  :  a  shy  fellow 
was  the  duke  :  and,  I  believe,  I  know  the  cause  of 
his  withdrawing:. 

Duke.  What,  I  pr'ythee,  might  be  the  cause? 

Lucio.  No, — pardon  ; — 'tis  a  secret  must  be 
lock'd  within  the  teeth  and  the  lips  ;  but  this  I  can 
kt  you  understand, — The  greater  file*  of  the  sub- 
ject held  the  duke  to  be  wise. 

Duke.  Wise  ?  why,  no  question  but  he  was. 

Lucio.  A  very  superficial,  ignorant,  unweighing' 
fellow. 

Duke.  Either  this  is  envjr  in  you,  folly,  or  mis- 
taking :  the  very-  stream  of  his  lile,  and  the  business 
he  hath  helmed,*  must,  upon  a  warranted  need, 
give  him  a  better  proclamation.  Let  him  be  but 
testimonied  in  his  own  bringings  forth,  and  he  shall 
appear  to  the  envious,  a  scholar,  a  statesman,  and 
a  soldier:  therefore,  you  speak  unskilfully;  or,  if 
your  knowledge  be  more,  it  is  much  darken'd  in 
your  maUce. 

Lucio.  Sir,  I  know  him,  and  I  love  him. 

Duke.  Love  talks  with  better  knowledge,  and 
knowledge  with  dearer  love. 

Lucio.  Come,  sir,  1  know  what  I  know. 

Duke.  I  can  hardly  beUeve  that,  since  you  know 
not  what  you  speak.  But,  if  ever  the  duke  return 
(as  our  prayers  are  he  may,)  let  me  desire  you  to 
make  your  answer  before  him :  if  it  be  honest  you 
have  spoke,  you  have  courage  to  maintain  it:  I  am 
bound  to  call  upon  you;  and,  I  pray  you,  your 
name? 

Lucia.  Sir,  my  name  is  Lucio ;  well  known  to 
the  duke. 

Duke.  He  shall  know  you  better,  sir,  if  I  may 
live  to  report  you. 

Lucio.  I  fear  you  not. 

Duke.  O,  you  hope  the  duke  will  return  no  more ; 
or  you  imagine  me  too  unhurtful  an  opposite.  *  But, 
indeed,  I  can  do  you  little  harm :  you'll  forswear 
this  again. 

Lucio.  I'll  be  hang'd  first :  thou  art  deceived  in 
me,  friar.  But  no  more  of  this  :  can'st  thou  tell,  if 
Claudio  die  to-morrow,  or  no  ? 

Duke.  Why  should  he  die,  sir  ? 

Luei«.  Why  ?  for  filling  a  bottle  with  a  tun-dish. 
I  would,  the  duke,  we  talk  of,  were  return'd  again : 
this  ungenitur'd  agent  will  unpeople  the  province 
with  continency ;  sparrows  must  not  build  in  his 
house-eaves,  because  they  are  lecherous.  The  duke 
3'ct  would  have  dark  deeds  darkly  answer'd ;  he 
would  never  bring  them  to  light :  would  he  were 
return'd !  Marry,  this  Claudio  is  condemned  for 
imtrussinpr.  Farewell,  good  friar  ;  I  pr'ythee,  pray 
for  me.  The  duke,  I  say  to  thee  again,"would  eat 
mutton*  on  Fridays.  He's  now  past  it ;  yet,  and  I 
My  to  thee,  he  would  mouth  with  a  beggar,  though 
•be  smelt  brown  bread  and  garlic  :  say,  that  I  said 
•0.    Farewell.  [Exit. 


!1J  Suspected 
8^  iKOBsidemte. 


(2)  The  majority  of  his  subjects. 
(4)  Guided.    '5>  Opponent. 


Duke.  No  might  nor  greatness  m  mortality 
Can  censure  'scape  ;  back-wounding  calumny 
The  whitest  virtue  strikes  :  What  kmg  so  strong, 
Can  tie  the  gall  up  in  the  slanderous  tongue  ? 
But  who  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Escalus,  Provost,  Bawd,  and  OfEcers. 

Escal.  Go,  away  with  her  to  prison. 

Bawd.  Good  my  lord,  be  eood  to  me :  your  ho» 
nour  is  accounted  a  merciful  man :  good  my  lord, 

Escal,  Double  and  treble  admonition,  and  still 
forfeit'  in  the  same  kind  ?  This  would  make  mercy 
swear,  and  play  the  tyrant. 

Prov.  A  bawd  of  eleven  years  continuance,  may 
it  please  your  honour. 

Bawd.  My  lord,  this  is  one  Lucio's  information 
against  me;  mistress  Kate  Keep-down  was  with 
child  by  him  in  the  duke's  time,  he  promised  her 
marriage;  his  child  is  a  year  and  a  quarter  old. 
come  Philip  and  Jacob :  I  have  kept  it  myself;  ana 
sec  how  he  goes  about  to  abuse  me. 

Escal.  That  fellow  is  a  fellow  of  much  license : 
— let  him  be  called  before  us. — Away  with  her  to 
prison :  Go  to ;  no  more  words.  [Exeunt  Bawd  and 
Otlicers.l  Provost,  my  brother  Angelo  will  not  be 
alter'd,  Claudio  must'die  to-morrow ;  let  him  be 
furnished  witlj  divines,  and  have  all  charitable  pre- 
paration :  if  my  brother  w  rougiit  by  my  pity,  it 
should  not  be  so  with  him. 

Prov.  So  please  you,  this  friar  hath  been  with  him, 
and  advised  him  for  the  entertainment  of  death. 

Escal.  Good  even,  good  father. 

Duke.  Bliss  and  goodness  on  you ! 
'  Escal.  Of  whence  are  you  ? 

Duke.  Not  of  ttiis  country,  though  my  chance  is 
no^v 
To  u?e  it  for  mv  time :  I  am  a  brother 
Of  gracious  order,  late  come  from  the  sec. 
In  special  business  from  his  holiness. 

Escal,  What  news  abroad  i'  the  world  ? 

Duke.  None,  but  that  there  is  so  great  a  fever 
on  goodness,  that  the  dissolution  of  it  must  cure  it; 
novelty  is  only  in  request ;  and  it  is  as  dangerous  to 
be  constant  in  any  kind  of  course,  as  it  is  virtuous 
to  be  constant  in  any  undertaking.  There  is  scarce 
truth  enough  alive,  to  make  societies  secure ;  but 
security  enough,  to  make  fellowships  accurs'd : 
much  upon  this  riddle  runs  the  ^risdom  of  the  world. 
This  news  is  old  e;iough,  yet  it  is  every  day's  news. 
I  pray  you,  sir,  ot  what  disposition  was  the  duke  ? 

Escal.  One,  that,  above  all  other  strifes,  contend- 
ed especially  to  know  himself. 

Duke.  What  pleasure  was  he  given  to  ? 

Escal.  Rather  rejoicing  to  see  another  merry, 
than  inerry  at  any  tlung  which  profess'd  to  make 
him  rejoice;  a  gentleman  of  all  temperance.  But 
leave  we  him  to  his  events,  ivilh  a  prayer  they  may 
prove  prosperous :  and  let  me  desire  to  know  how 
you  find  Claudio  prepared.  I  am  made  to  under* 
stand,  that  you  have  lent  him  >isitation. 

Dicke.  He  professes  to  have  received  no  sinister 
measures  from  his  judge,  but  most  w  illingly  hum- 
bles himself  to  the  determination  of  justice:  yet 
had  he  framed  to  himself,  by  the  instruction  of  his 
frailt)',  many  deceiving  promises  of  life  ;  which  I. 
by  my  good  leisure,  have  discredited  to  him,  ana 
now  13  he  resolved*  to  die. 

Escal.  You  have  paid  the  heavens  your  function, 
and  the  prisoner  the  very  debt  of  your  calling.  I 
have  labour'd  for  the  poor  gentleman,  to  the  €»- 


S 


Have  a  wench. 
Satisfied. 


(7)  Transgress. 


IM 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Miir. 


tremest  shore  of  my  modesty  i  but  my  brother  jus- 
tice hare  I  found  so  severe,  tnat  he  hath  forced  me 
to  tell  him,  he  is  indeed— justice. 

Duke.  If  his  own  life  answers  the  straitness  of 
his  proceeding,  it  shall  become  him  well ;  wherein, 
if  he  chance  to  fail,  he  hath  sentenced  himself. 

Eical.  I  am  going  to  visit  the  prisoner:  Fare 
you  well. 

Duke.  Peace  be  with  you  ! 

[Exeunt  Escalus  and  Provost. 
He,  who  the  sword  of  heaven  will  bear, 
Should  be  as  holv  as  severe  ; 
Pattern  in  himself  to  know, 
Grace  to  stand,  and  virtue  go ; 
More  nor  less  to  others  paying. 
Than  by  self-offences  weighinfr. 
Shame  to  him,  whose  cruel  striking 
Kills  for  faults  of  his  own  liking ! 
Twice  treble  shame  on  Ano-clo, 
To  weed  my  vice,  and  let  his  prow! 
O,  what  may  man  within  him  hide. 
Though  angel  on  the  outward  side  ! 
How  may  likeness,'  made*  in  crimes. 
Making  practice  on  the  times. 
Draw  with  idle  spiders'  strings 
Most  pond'rous  and  substantial  things  ! 
Craft  against  vice  I  must  apply : 
With  Angelo  to-night  shall  lie 
His  old  betrothed,  but  despis'd  ; 
80  disguise  shall,  by  the  disguis'd, 
Pay  with  falsehood  false  exacting. 
And  perform  an  old  contracting.  [Exit. 


ACT  IV. 

SCE^NX  I. — ^  room  in  Mariana's  ho\ist.    Mari- 
ana discovered  silting ;  a  Boy  singing. 
SONG. 
Tnki,  6k  itike  those  lips  away, 

That  so  Siceetly  were  forsworn  j   ' 
And  these  eyes,  the  break  of  day, 

Lights  that  do  mislead  the  morn : 
BiU  my  kisses  bring  again, 

bring  again. 
Seals  of  love,  but  seaVd  irt  vain, 

seoTd  in  vain. 
Jllan.   Break  off  thy  song,  and  haste  thee  quick 
away ; 
Here  comes  a  man  of  comfort,  whose  advice 
Hath  often  still'd  my  brawling  dipcontent.— 

[Exit  Boy. 
Enter  Duke. 
I  try  you  mercy,  sir ;  and  well  could  wish 
YOu  had  not  found  me  here  so  musical : 
Let  me  exeuse  me,  and  believe  me  so, — 
My  mirth  it  much  displeas'd,  but  pleas'd  my  wo. 
Duke.  'Tis  good :  though  music  oft  hath  such  a 
charm, 
To  make  bad,  good,  and  good  provoke  to  harm. 
I  pray  you,  tell  me,  hath  any  body  inquired  for  me 
here  to-day  ?  much  upon  this  time  have  I  promis'd 
here  to  meet, 

«Varj.  Yon  have  not  been  inquired  after :  I  have 
sat  here  all  day. 

Enter  Isabella.  ' 
Dtike.   I  do  constantly  believe  you : — The  time 

(1)  Appearance.  (2)  Trained. 

(S)  Walled  round.        (4)  Planked,  wooden. 

'i)  Informed.  (6)  Waits. 


is  come,  even  now.  I  shall  crave  your  forbearaM* 
a  little:  may  be,  I  will  call  upon  you  anon,  for 
some  advantage  to  yourself. 

Jilari.  I  am  always  bound  to  you.  [Exit. 

Duke.  Very  well  met,  and  welcome. 
What  is  the  news  from  this  good  deputy  ? 

Isab.  He  hath  a  garden  circummur'd'  with  brick, 
Whose  western  side  is  with  a  vineyard  back'd  ; 
And  to  that  vineyard  is  a  planchea*  gate, 
That  makes  his  opening  with  this  bigger  key : 
This  other  doth  command  a  little  door, 
Which  from  the  vineyard  to  the  garden  leads  ; 
There  have  I  made  my  promise  to  call  on  him, 
Upon  the  heavy  middle  of  the  night. 

Duke.   But  shall  you  on  your  knowledge  find 
this  wjiy  ? 

Isab.  I  have  ta'en  a  due  and  wary  note  upon't ; 
With  whispering  and  most  guilty  diligence, 
In  action  all  of  precept,  he  did  show  me 
The  way  twice  o'er. 

Duke.  Are  there  no  other  tokens 

Between  you  'greed,  concerning  her  observance? 

Isab.  No,  none,  but  only  a  repair  i'  the  dark  ; 
And  that  I  have  possess'd"  him,  my  most  stay 
Can  be  but  brief:  for  I  have  made  him  know, 
I  have  a  servant  comes  with  me  along^ 
That  stays'  upon  me  ;  whose  persuasion  is, 
I  come  about  my  brother. 

Duke.  'Tis  well  borne  up. 

I  have  not  yet  made  known  to  Mariana 
A  word  of  this:— What,  ho!  within !  come  forth! 

Re-enter  Mariana. 

I  pray  you,  be  acquainted  with  this  maid ; 
She  comes  to  do  you  good. 
Isab.  I  do  desire  the  like. 

Duke.  Do  you  persuade  yourself  that  I  respect 

you  ? 
Mari.    Good  friar,  I  know  you  do ;  and  ha¥* 

found  it. 
Duke.  Take  then  this  ybur  companiort  by  th« 
hand, 
Who  hath  a  story  ready  for  your  ear : 
I  shall  attend  your  leisure ;  but  make  haste  5 
The  vaporous  night  approaches. 
Mari.  Will't  please  you  walk  asid«  t 

[Exeunt  Mariani  and  Isabella. 
Duke.  0  place  and  greatness,  millions  of  false 
eyes 
Are  stuck'upon  thee !  volumes  of  report 
Run  with  these  false  and  most  cOntrarious  questf* 
Upon  thy  doings  !  thousand  'scapes*  of  wit 
Make  thee  the  father  of  their  idle  dream. 
And  rack  thee  in  their  fancies !— Welcome !  How 
agreed  ? 

Re-enter  Mariana  and  Isabella. 

Isab.  She'll  take  the  enterprise  upon  her,  ()lth*r, 
If  vou  advise  it. 

Duke.  It  is  not  my  consent, 

But  my  entreaty  too. 

Isab.  Little  have  yOu  to  say, 

When  you  depart  from  him,  but,  soft  and  low, 
Remember  now  my  brother. 

-^Jari.  Fear  me  nOt. 

Diike.  Nor,  wentle  daughter,  fear  you  not  at  ill: 
He  is  your  husband  on  a  pre-contr&ct : 
To  bring  you  thus  together,  'tis  no  sin  ; 
Sith'  that  the  justice'of  your  title  to  him 
Doth  flourish'"  the  deceit.    Come,  let  us  go ; 

)  Inquisitions,  inquiries.        (8)  SalliM. 
0  Since>        (10)  Gild  of  varnish  over. 


3mm  XT. 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Our  corn's  to  reap,  for  y«t  pur  tithe's*  to  sow. 

[Exeunt. 


SCEXE  Il.—A  room  in  the  prison. 
Provost  and  Clown. 


Enter 


Prov.  Come  hither,  sirrah:  can  you  cut  off  a 
man's  head  ? 

Clo.  If  the  man  be  a  bachelor,  sir,  I  can :  but  if 
he  be  a  married  man,  he  is  his  wife's  head,  and  I 
can  never  cut  ofl"  a  woman's  head. 

Prov.  Come,  sir,  leave  me  your  snatches,  and 
yield  me  a  direct  answer.  To-morrow  morninsj 
are  to  die  Claudio  and  Barnardine  :  here  is  in  our 

f»rison  a  common  executioner,  who  in  his  office 
acks  a  helper  :  if  you  Avill  take  it  on  you  to  assist 
him,  it  shall  redeem  you  from  your  gyves  ;*  if  not, 
you  shall  have  your  full  time  of  imprisonment,  and 
your  deliverance  with  an  unpitied  whipping ;  for 
you  have  been  a  notorious  bawd. 

Clo.  Sir.  I  have  been  an  unlawful  bawd,  time 
out  of  mina ;  but  yet  I  will  be  content  to  be  a  law- 
ful hangman.  1  would  be  glad  to  receive  some  in- 
struction from  my  fellow  partner. 

Prov.  What  ho,  Abhorson !  VVhere'»  Abhprson, 
there? 

Enter  Abhorson. 

Abhor.  Do  you  call,  sir  ? 

Prov.  Sirrah,  here's  a  fellow  %vill  help  you  to- 
morrow in  your  execution :  if  you  think  him  meet, 
compound  with  him  by  the  year,  and  let  him  abide 
here  with  you  :  if  not,  use  nim  for  the  present,  and 
dismiss  him :  he  cannot  plead  his  estimation  with 
you  ■  he  hath  been  a  bawd. 

Mhor.  A  bawd,  sir  ?  Fie  upon  him,  he  will  dis- 
credit our  mystery.' 

Prov.  Goto,  sir;  you  weigh  equally;  a  feather 
will  turn  the  scale.  [Exit. 

Clo.  Pray,  sir,  by  your  good  favour  (for,  surely, 
«ir,  a  good  favour*  you  have,  but  that  you  have  a 
hanging  look,)  do  you  call,  sir,  your  occupation  a 
mystery  ? 

Abhor.  Ay  J  sir ;  a  mystery. 

Clo.  Paintmg,  sir,  I  have  heard  say,  is  a  mys- 
tery ;  and  your  whores,  sir,  being  members  of  my 
occupation,  using  painting,  do  prove  my  occupa- 
tion a  mystery :  but  what  mystery  there  should  be  in 
haniring,  if  I  should  be  hang'd,  I  cannot  imagine. 

Abhor.  Sir,  it  is  a  mystery. 

Clo.  Proof. 

Abhor.  Every  true*  man's  apparel  fits  your 
thief:  if  it  be  too  little  for  your  thief,  your  true  man 
thinks  it  big  enough ;  if  it  be  too  big  for  your  thief, 
your  thief  thinks  it  little  enough :  so  every  true 
man's  apparel  fits  your  thief. 

i?s-«iter  Provost, 

Prov.  Are  you  agreed  ? 

Clo.  Sir,  I  will  serve  him ;  for  I  do  find,  your 
hangman  is  a  more  penitent  trade  than  your  bawd ; 
he  doth  oftener  ask  forgiveness. 

Prov.  You,  sirrah,  provide  your  block  and  your 
axe,  to-morrow  four  o'clock. 

Abhor.  Come  on,  bawd ;  I  will  instruct  thee  In 
my  trade ;  follow. 

Clo.  I  do  desire  to  learn,  sir ;  and,  I  hope,  if  you 
have  occasion  to  use  me  for  your  own  turn,  vou 
shall  find  me  yare:*  for,  truly,  sir,  for  your  kind- 
ness, I  owe  you  a  good  turn. 

Prov.  Call  hither,  Barnardine  and  Claudio . 

\Exeimt  Clown  and  Abhorson. 


One  has  my  pity;  not  a  jot  the  other, 

Being  a  murderer,  though  he  were  0»y  brotber. 

Enter  Claudio. 
Look,  here's  the  warrant,  Claudio,  for  thy  death: 
'Tis  now  dead  midnight,  and  by  eight  to-morrow 
Thou  must  be  made  immortal.  Where's  BamardineT 
Claud.  As  fast  lock'd  up  in  sleep,  as  guLltleM 
labour 
When  it  lies  starkly'  in  the  traveller's  bones : 
He  ^vill  not  wake. 

Prov.  W^ho  can  do  good  on  hini? 

Well,  go,  prepare  yourself.  But  hark,  what  noi»e  7 
[Knocking  viihin. 
Heaven  give  your  spirits  comfort !   {Exit  Claudio. 

By  and  by  :— 
I  hope  it  is  some  pardon,  or  reprieve. 
For  the  most  gentle  Claudio.— WelcQioB,  MaiK. 

Enter  Duke. 

Duke.  The  best  and  wholesomest  spirits  pf  th« 
night 
Envelop  vou,  good  provost!  W^hocall'dhereofUt«? 

Prov.  ^'one,  since  the  curfew  rune. 

Duke.  JNotlsjOjelT 

Prov.  No. 

Duke.  They  will  then,  ere't  be  lonf . 

Prov.  What  comfort  is  for  Claudio  ? 

Duke.  There's  some  in  bope« 

Prov.  It  is  a  bitter  deputy. 

D^ike.  Not  so,  not  so  :  his  life  is  parallel'd 
Even  with  the  stroke  and  line  of  his  great  jufti^; 
He  doth  with  holy  abstinence  subdue 
That  in  himself,  which  he  spurs  on  his  power 
To  qualify*  in  others  :  were  he  meal'd' 
With  that  which  he  corrects,  then  were  hetyrannou«{ 
But  this  being  so,  he's  just. — Now  are  they  come.'^ 
[Knocking  icithin — Provost  goes  out. 
This  is  a  gentle  provost :  Seldom,  when 
The  steeled  aaoler  is  the  friend  of  men. 
How  now  ?  What  noise  ?  That  spirit's  possess'd 

Avith  haste, 
That  wounds   the  unsisting  postern  with  the4a 
strokes. 

Provost  returns,  speaking  to  one  at  the  door. 

Prov.  There  he  must  stay,  until  the  officer 
Arise  to  let  him  in  ;  he  is  call'd  up. 

Duke.  Have  you  no  countermand  for  Claudio  yet. 
But  he  must  die  to-morrow  ? 

Prov.  None,  sir,  none. 

Duke.  As  near  the  dawning.  Provost,  as  it  is, 
You  shall  hear  more  ere  morning. 

Prov.  Happily,'' 

You  something  know ;  yet,  I  believe,  there  comes 
No  countermand ;  no  such  example  have  we : 
Besides,  upon  the  very  siege' '  of  justice, 
Lord  Angelo  hath  to  the  public  ear 
Profess'd  the  contrary. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Duke.  This  is  his  lordship's  man, 

Prov.  And  here  comes  Claudio's  pardon. 

Mens.  My  lord  hath  sent  you  this  note ;  atid  by 
me  this  further  charge,  .that  you  swerve  not  from 
the  smallest  article  of  it,  neither  in  time,  matter, 
nor  other  circumstance.  Good  morrow ;  for,  as  I 
take  it,  it  is  almost«day. 

Prov.  I  shall  obey  him.  [Exit  Messenger. 

Duke.  Tfiis  is  his  pardon;  purchased  by  such 
sin,  [Atide, 


!1)  Tilth,  land  prepared  for  sowing. 
3)  Trade,     (4}  Countenance. 


(2)  Fetters. 
(5)  Honeat 


^l 


Ready. 
Defiled. 


(7)  Stiffly.  (8)  Moder»te, 

\\0)  rcrbp*«  ^  (U)  Seat. 


lid 


NiEASUBE  FOR  MEASCRfi. 


JiclItL 


For  which  thepardoner  himself  la  in : 
Hence  hath  ofience  his  quick  celerity, 
When  it  is  borne  in  high  authority :' 
When  vice  raakes  mercy,  mercy's  so  extended, 
That  for  the  fault's  love,  is  the  offender  friended. — 
'  Now,  sir,  what  news  ? 

Prov.  I  told  you :  Lord  Angelo,  belike,  think- 
ing me  remiss  in  mine  oflice,  uwakciis  me  with  this 
unwonted  puttiiic;  on : '  melhiiiks,  strangely ;  for 
be  hath  not  used  it  before. 

Dukt.  Pray  you,  let's  hear. 

Proi\  [Reads.]  Whatsotver  you  mav  hear  to 
the  cotitrary,  let  Claudia  be  executed  by  /our  of 
the  clock;  and,  in  the  afternoon,  Barnardine  : 
/or  my  better  satisfaction,  let  me  have  Claudid'i 
head  sent  me  by  Jive.  Let  this  be  dukj  performed  ; 
with  a  thought,  that  more  depends  on  it  than  we 
viust  yet  deliver.  Thus  fail  not  to  do  your  office, 
as  uou  Kill  answer  it  at  your  peril. 
What  say  you  to  this,  sir? 

Duke.  What  is  that  Barnardine,  who  is  to  be 
executed  in  the  afternoon  ? 

Prov.  A  Bohemian  born;  but  here  nursed  up 
ind  bred:  one  that  is  a  prisoner  nine  yeara  old.^ 

Duke.  How  came  it,  that  the  absent  duke  had 
not  either  deliver'd  him  to  his  liberty,  or  executed 
bim  I  I  have  heard,  it  was  ever  his  manner  to  do  so. 

Prov.  His  friends  still  wrought  reprieves  for 
him :  and,  indeed,  his  fact,  till  now  in  the  govern- 
ment of  lord  Angelo,  came  not  to  an  uuooubtful 
proof. 

Duke.  Is  it  now  apparent  ? 

Proc.  Most  manifest,  and  not  denied  by  himself. 

Duke.  Hath  he  borne  himself  penitejitly  in 
priiion  ?  How  seems  he  to  be  touch'd  ? 

Prov.  A  man  that  apprehends  death  no  more 
dreadfully,  but  as  a  drunken  sleep ;  careless,  reck- 
less, and  fearless  of  what's  past,  present,  or  to 
come:  insensible  of  mortality,  and  desperately 
mortal. 

Duke.  He  wants  advice. 

Prov.  He  will  hear  none  :  he  hath  evermore  had 
the  liberty  of  the  prison  ;  ffive  him  leave  to  escape 
hence,  he  would  not :  drunk  many  times  a  day,  if 
not  many  days  entirely  drunk.  We  have  very 
often  awaked  him,  as  if  to  carry  him  to  execution, 
and  show'd  him  a  seeming  warrant,  for  it :  it  hath 
not  mov'd  him  at  all. 

Duke.  More  of  him  anon.  There  is  written  in 
your  brow,  provost,  honesty  and  constancy :  If  I 
read  it  not  tndy,  my  ancient  sldll  be(ruiles  me ; 
bnt  in  the  boldness  of  my  cunninsj,  I  will  lay  my- 
self in  hazard.  Claudio,  whom  here  you  have  a 
warrant  to  execute,  is  no  greater  forfeit  to  the  law 
than  Angelo  who  hath  sentenced  him:  to  make 
you  understand  this  in  a  manifested  ei!ect,  I  crave 
but  four  days  respite  ;  for  the  which  you  are  to  do 
me  both  a  present  and  a  dangerous  courtesy. 

Prov.  Pray,  sir,  in  what  ? 

Duke.  In  the  delajing  death. 

Prov.  Alack !  how  may  I  do  it  ?  havin?  the  hour 
limited ;  and  an  express  command,  under  penalty, 
to  deliver  his  head  in  the.  view  of  Angelo  7  I  may 
make  my  case  as  Claudio's,  to  cross  this  in  the 
smallest. 

Duke.  By  the  vow  of  mine  order,  I  warrant  you, 
if  my  instructions  may  be  your  guide.  Let  this 
Barnardine  be  this  morning  executed,  and  his  head 
be  borne  to  Angelo. 

Prov.  Angelo  hath  aeen  them  both,  and  will 
discorer  the  favour.* 


Duke.  0,  death's  a  rreat  disguiter:  and  you 
may  add  to  it.  Shave  the  head,  and  tie  the  beard ; 
'  and  say,  it  was  the  desire  of  the  penitent  to  be  so 
bared  before  his  death:  you  know,  the  course  is 
common.  If  any  thing  fall  to  you  upon  this,  more 
than  thanks  and  good  fortune,  by  the  saint  whom 
I  profess,  I  will  plead  against  it  with  my  life. 

Prov.  Pardon  me,  good  father ;  it  is  against  my 
oath. 

Duke.  Were  you  sworn  to  the  duke,  or  to  ths 
deputy  ? 

Prov.  To  him,  and  to  his  substitutes. 

Duke,  You  will  think  you  have  made  no  offence, 
if  theduke  avouch  the  justice  of  your  deaUng  / 

Prov.  But  what  likelihood  is  in  that? 

Duke.  Not  a  resemblance,  but  a  certainty.  Yet 
s>nce  I  see  you  fearful,  that  neither  my  coat,  in- 
tegrity, nor  my  persuasion,  can  with  ease  attempt 
you,  I  will  go  lurther  than  I  meant,  to  pluck  all 
(ears  out  of  you.  Look^ou.  sir,  here  is  the  hand 
and  seal  of  the  duke.  1  ou  Know  the  character,  I 
doubt  not ;  and  tlie  simet  is  not  strange  to  you. 

Pror.  I  know  them  both. 

Duke.  The  contents  of  this  is  the  return  of  the 
duke ;  you  shall  anon  over-read  it  at  your  plea- 
sure ;  Avhere  you  shall  find,  within  these  two  davs 
he  will  be  here.  This  is  a  thing,  that  Angelo 
knows  not :  lor  he  this  very  day  receives  letters  of 
strange  tenor ;  perchance,  of  the  duke's  death ; 
perchance,  entering  into  some  monastery  ;  but,  by 
chance,  nothing  of  what  is  writ. — Lool;,  the  un  • 
folding  star  calls  up  the  shepherd:  put  not  vour^ 
self  into  amazement,  how  these  things  should  be  . 
all  difficulties  are  but  easy  when  thev  are  known. 
Call  your  executioner,  and  off  with  'Barnardine's 
head :  I  will  give  him  a  present  shrift,  and  advise 
him  for  a  better  place.  Yet  you  are  amazed  ;  but 
this  shall  absolutely  resolve  you.  Come  away  ;  it 
is  almost  clear  dawn.  [Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E  Ill.—^inother  room  in  the  samt.    Enter 
Clown. 

Clo.  I  am  as  well  acquainted  here,  as  I  was  in  our 
house  of  profession :  one  would  think,  it  were  mis- 
tress Over-done's  own  house,  for  here  be  manv  of 
her  old  customers.  First,  here's  young  master  Rash: 
he's  in  for  a  commodity  of  brown  paper  and  old 
ginger,  ninescore  and  seventeen  pounds ;  of  which 
he  made  five  marks,  ready  money :  marrv,  then, 
ginger  was  not  much  in  request,  for  the  old"  women 
were  all  dead.  Then  is  there  here  one  master  Ca- 
per,  at  the  suitof  master  Three-pile  the  mercer,  for 
some  four  suits  of  peach-colour'd  satin,  which  now 
peaches  him  a  beggar.  Then  have  we  here  voung 
Dizy,  and  younc  master  Deep-vow,  and  master 
Copper-spur,  and  master  Starve-lackey  the  rapier 
and  dagffer-man,  and  youn^  Drop-heir  that  kiH'd 
lusty  Pudding,  and  master  I  orthright  the  tilter,  and 
brave  master  Shoe-tie  the  great  traveller,  and  wild 
Half-cann  that  Btabb'd  PoU,  and,  I  think,  forty 
more ;  all  great  doers  in  our  trade,  and  are  now  for 
the  Lord's  sake. 

Enter  Abhorson. 

Mhor.  Sirrah,  bring  Barnardine  hither. 

Clo.  Master  Barnardine !  you  must  rise  and  be 
hanjx'd,  master  Barnardine. 

Mhor.  What,  ho,  Barnardine  ! 

Bamar.  [ Iff /Atn.]  A  pox o' vour throats!  Who 
makes  that  noise  there?  What  are  you? 

Clo,  Your  friends,  sir ;  the  hangman ;  yom  must 


[  I )  Spur,  incitent^tt    (2)  Nine  years  in  prison. 


(3)  Countenancet 


Beiu  lit 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


in 


be  80  good,  sir,  to  rise  and  be  put  to  death. 

Bamar.  \_WUhin.\  Away,  you  rogue,  away;  I 
am  sleepy. 

Jibhar.  Tell  him,  he  must  awake,  and  that 
quickly  too. 

Clo.  Pray,  master  Bamardine,  awake  till  you  are 
executed,  and  sleep  afterwards. 

Jihhor.  Go  in  to  him,  and  fetch  him  out. 

Clo.  He  is  coming,  sir,  he  is  coming ;  I  bear  his 
straw  rustle. 

Enter  Bamardine. 

Ahhor.  Is  the  axe  upon  the  block,  sirrah? 

Clo.  Very  ready,  sir. 

barnar.  "Hav/  now,  Abhorson  ?  what's  tlie  news 
with  vou  7 

Jlbhor.  Truly,  sir,  I  would  desire  you  to  clap 
into  your  prayers;  for,  look  you,  the  warrant's  come. 

Barnar.  \ou  rogue,  I  have  been  drinking  all 


niffht,  I  am  not  fitted  for't. 

ho.  -    ■   ■ 


Both  Bamardine  andClaudio :  Ere  twkt 
The  sun  hath  made  his  journal  greeting  to 
The  under  generation,'  you  shall  find 
Your  safety  manifested. 

Prov.  I  am  your  free  dependant. 

Duke.  Quick,  despatch. 

And  send  the  head  to  Angelo.  [Eril  ProTost. 

Now  will  I  write  letters  to  Angelo, — 
The  provost,  he  shall  bear  them, — whose  contents 
Shall  witness  to  him,  I  am  near  at  home ; 
And  that,  by  ^reat  injunctions,  I  am  bound 
To  enter  pubhclv :  him  I'll  desire 
To  meet  me  at  the  consecrated  fount, 
A  leapue  below  the  city  ;  and  from  thence. 
By  cold  gradation  and  weal-balanced  form, 
Ave  shall  proceed  willi  Angelo. 

Re-enter  Provost. 


Prov.  Here  is  the  head  ;  I'll  carry  it  myself. 
^     ,     ,  /.     ,     ^1    .  J  .  ,       111     Diike.  Convenient  is  it:  Make  as  wift  return: 

.  ,       ^\  \^t  ^^"?"?  ^'r  •■   %  ^f  *"^^  °."°'"  ^"  For  I  would  commune  with  you  of  such  things, 
night,  and  is  hang'd  betmies  m  tlie  morning,  may  ~  ■ 


sleep  the  sounder  all  the  next  day 
Enter  Duke. 

Mhor.  Look  you,  sir,  here  comes  your  ghostly 
father ;  do  we  jest  now,  think  you  ? 

Duke.  Sir,  induced  by  my  charity,  and  hearing 
how  hastily  you  are  to  depart,  I  am  come  to  advise 
you,  comfort  you,  and  pray  with  you. 

Barnar.  Friar,  not  I ;  I  have  been  drinking  hard 
all  night,  and  I  will  have  more  time  to  prepare  me, 
or  they  shall  beat  out  mv  brains  with  billets :  I  will 
not  consent  to  die  this  day,  that's  certain. 

Duke.  O,  sir,  you  must :   and  therefore,  I  be- 
seech you, 
Look  forward  on  the  journey  you  shall  go. 

Barnar.  I  swear,  I  will  not  die  to-day  for  any 
man's  persuasion. 

Duke.  But  hear  you, 

Bamar.  Not  a  word ;  if  you  hare  any  thing  to 
say  to  me,  come  to  my  ward ;  for  thence  will  not  I 
to-day.  [Exit. 

Enter  Provost. 

Duke.  Unfit  to  live,  or  die :  O,  gravel  heart! — 
After  him,  fellows ;  bring  him  to  the  block. 

[Exeunt  Abhorson  and  Clown. 

Prov.  Now,  sir,  how  do  you  find  the  prisoner  ? 

Duke.  A  creature  unprcpar'd,  unmeet  for  death ; 
And,  to  transport  him  in  the  miiidhe  is, 
Were  damnable. 

Prov.  Here  in  the  prison,  father, 

There  difed  this  morning  of  a  cruel  fever 
One  Ragozine,  a  most  notorious  pirate, 
A  man  of  Claudio's  years  j  his  beard,  and  head. 
Just  of  his  colour :  What  if  we  do  omit 
This  reprobate,  till  he  were  well  inclin'd  ; 
And  satisfy  the  deputy  v/ith  the  visage 
Of  Ragozine,  more  like  to  Claudio  I 

Duke.  0,  'tis  an  accident  that  Heaven  provides ! 
Despatch  it  presently  ;  the  hour  draws  on 
Prehx'd  by  Angelo :  See,  this  be  done. 
And  sent  according  to  command  ;  whiles  I 
Persuade  this  rude  wretch  willingly  to  die. 

fror.  This  shall  be  done,  good  father,  present!}'. 
But  Bamardine  must  die  this  afternoon : 
And  how  shall  we  continue  Claudio, 
To  save  me  from  the  danger  that  might  come. 
If  he  were  known  alive  ? 

Duke.  Let  this  be  done ;— Put  them  in  secret 
holds, 

<1)  Tbc  ftntipodes.     (3)  Your  beards  desiret 


That  ivant  no  ear  but  youis. 

Prov.  I'll  make  all  speed. 

[Exit. 

Isab.  [Within.]  Peace,  ho.  be  here ! 

Duke.  The  tongue  of  Isabel : — She's  come  to 
know. 
If  yet  her  brother's  pardon  be  come  hither : 
But  I  will  keep  her  iicnorant  of  her  good, 
To  make  her  heavenly  comforts  of  despair, 
When  it  is  least  expected. 

Enter  Isabella. 

Isab.  Ho,  by  your  leave. 

Duke.  Good  morning  to  you,  fair  and  gracious 
daughter. 

Isab.  The  oetter,  given  me  by  so  holy  a  man. 
Hath  yet  the  deputy  sent  my  brother's  pardon  ? 

Duke.   He  hath  releas'd  him,  Isabel,  from  the 
world ; 
His  head  is  off,  and  sent  to  Angelo. 

Isab.  Nay,  but  it  is  not  so. 

Duke.     '  It  is  no  other: 

Show  your  wisdom,  daughter,  in  your  close  pa- 
tience. 

Isab.  O,  I  will  to  him,  and  pluck  out  his  eyes. 

Duke.  You  shall  not  be  admitted  to  his  sight, 

Isab.  Unhappy  Claudio !  Wretched  Isabel ! 
Injurious  world !  Most  damned  Angelo ! 

Duke.  This  nor  hurts  him,  nor  profits  you  a  jot : 
Forbear  it  therefore ;  give  your  cause  to  Heaven. 
Mark  what  I  say  ;  ivhlch  you  shall  find. 
By  every  syllable,  a  faithful  verity : 
The  duke  comes  home  to-morrow  ; — nay,  dry  your 

eyes; 

One  of  our  convent,  and  his  confessor, 
Gives  me  this  instance  :  Already  he  hath  carried 
Notice  to  Escalus  and  Ang-clo  ; 
Who  do  prepare  to  meet  him  at  the  gates, 
There  to  give  up  their  power.    If  you  can,  pace 

your  wisdom 
In  that  good  path  that  I  would  wish  it  go  ; 
And  you  shall  have  your  bosom*  on  this  wretch, 
Grace  of  the  duke,  revenges  to  your  heart. 
And  general  honour. 

Isab.  I  am  directed  by  you. 

Duke.  This  letter  then  to  friar  Peter  give ; 
'Tis  that  he  sent  me  of  the  duke's  return : 
Sar,  by  this  token,  I  desire  his  company 
AtMarlana's  house  to  night.  Her  cause,  and  yours 
I'll  perfecthim  %vithal ;  and  he  shall  bring  rou 
Before  the  duke ;  and  to  the  head  of  Angefo 
Accuse  him  home,  and  home,    For  my  poor  9^ 


13 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


4«t  W 


I  am  combined  by  a  sacred  tow, 
And  shall  be  absent    Wend'  you  with  this  letter 
Command  these  fretting  waters  from  your  eyes 
With  a  light  heart ;  trust  not  my  holy  order, 
If  I  perrert  your  course. — Who's  here  ? 

Enter  Lucio. 
Lucio.  Good  even ! 

f  liar,  where  is  the  provost  ? 
Duke.  Not  within,  sir.     ,    ..  „ 

Lucie.  O,  pretty  Isabella,   I  am  pale  at  mine i  With  ransom  of  such  shame, 
heart,  to  see  thine  eves  so  red :  thou  must  be  pa- 1  had  liv'd ! 

tient ;  I  am  fain  to  dine  and  sup  with  water  and!  Alack,  when  once  our  grace  we  have  fbrgot 
bran ;  I  dare  not  for  roy  head  fill  my  belly ;  one  Nothing  goes  right ;  we  would  and  w«  would  not 
fruitful  meal  would  set  me  to't :  But  they  say  the  [Exit, 

duke  will  be  here  to-morrow.   By  my  troth,  Isabel,  eom^r'    v      r>- i  >        •..     .  .l     . 
lloT'd  thy  brother:  if  the  old  fantastical  duke  of  *^^^.:?._  *^-—^':"'"  ,«'?'.{"'"'  (««  ^°^S- 
dark  corners  had  been  at  home,  he  had  lived. 


The  law  against  it !— But  that  her  tender  shui9 

Will  not  proclaim  against  her  maiden  loss 

How  might  she  tongue  me?    Yet  reason  darw 

ner  ? — no : 
For  my  authority  bears  a  credent'  bulk, 
That  no  particular  scandal  once  can  touch, 
But  itconfoundsthe  breather.*  He  should  hareliv'd, 
Save  that  his  riotous  youth,  with  dangerous  sense, 
Might,  in  the  times  to  come,  have  ta'en  revenge, 
By  so  receiving  a  dishonour'd  life, 

Would  yet  he 


[Exit  Isabella. 

Duke.  Sir,  the  duke  is  marvellous  little  beholden 
to  your  reports ;  but  the  best  is,  he  lives  not  in  them. 

Lucio.  Friar,  thou  knowest  not  the  duke  so  well 
«■  I  do :  he's  a  better  woodman  than  thou  takest 
him  for. 

Duke.  Well,  you'll  answer  this  one  day.  Fare 
ye  well. 

Lucio 
can 

Duke,   iou  have  told  me  too  many 
ready,  sir,  if  they  be  true ;  if  not  true,  none  were 
enough. 

Lucio.  1  was  once  before  him  fpr  getting  a  wench 
with  child. 

Duke.  Did  you  such  a  thin^  ? 

Lucio.  Yes,  marry,  did  I :  out  was  fain  to  for- 


Duke  in  his  own  habit,  and  Friar  Pet«r. 

Duke.  These  letters  at  fit  time  deliver  mc. 

[Giving  lettiri. 
The  provost  knows  our  purpose,  and  our  plot. 
The  matter  being  afoot,  keep  your  instruction. 
And  hold  you  ever  to  our  special  drift ; 
Though  sometimes  you  do  blench'  from  this  to  that 
As  caus;  doth  minister.  Go,  call  at  Flavius'  house, 
And  tell  him  where  I  stay :  give  the  like  notice. 


.Hcto.  Nay,  tarry-  I'll  go  along  with  thee;  I  To  Valentinus,  Rowland^  and  to  Crassus, 
^tell  thee  pretty  tales  of  the  duke.  And  bid  them  bring  the  trumpeU  to  the  s; 

hike.  \ou  have  told  me  too  many  of  mm  al-  Rui  send  mp  Flavius  fir«t 


gate ; 
But  send  me  Flaviu?  first. 
F.  Peter.  It  shall  be  speeded  welL 

[Exit  Friar. 
Enter  Varrius. 
Duke.  I  thank  thee,  Varrius;  thou  hast  made 
good  haste ; 
Come,  we  will  walk:  There's  other  of  our  friends 


swear  it ;  they  would  else  have  married  me  to  the :  wm  greet  us  here  anon,  my  gentle  Varrius.   [Efc. 
rotten  medlar,  f     j  >=  i 


Duke.  Sir,  your  company  is  fairer  than  honest : 
Rest  you  well. 

Lucio.  By  mv  troth,  I'll  50  with  thee  to  the 
lane's  end  :  If  bawdy  talk  offend  you,  we'll  have 
very  little  of  it :  Nay,  friar,  I  am  a  kind  of  burr,  I 
shall  stick.  [Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E  IV. — A  room  in  Angelo's  house.    Enter 
Angelo  and  Escalus. 

£jca{.  Every  letter  he  hath  writ  hath  dis- 
Touch'd*  other. 

%Sng.  In  most  uneven  and  distracted  manner.  His 
actions  show  much  like  to  madness :  pray  Heaven, 
bis  wisdom  be  not  tainted  !  And  why  meet  him  at 
tl«e  gates,  and  re-deliver  our  authorities  there  ? 

Escal.  I  guess  not. 

Ang.  And  why  should  we  proclaim  it  in  an  hour 
before  his  entering,  that  if  any  crave  redress  of  injus- 
tice, they  should  exhibit  their  petitions  in  tlve  street  ? 

Escal.  He  shows  his  reason  for  that :  to  have  a 
despatch  of  complaints ;  and  to  deliver  us  from 
devices  hereafter,  which  shall  then  have  no  power 
to  stand  against  us. 

Ang.  Well,  I  beseech  you,  let  it  be  proclaim'd : 
Betimes  i'  the  morn,  I'll  call  you  at  your  house  : 
Give  notice  to  such  men  of  sort  and  suit,' 
As  are  to  meet  him. 

Escal.  I  shall,  sir :  fare  you  well.     [Exit. 

Ang.  Good  night. — 
This  deed  unshapes  me  quite,  makes  me  unpreg- 

nant. 
And  dull  to  all  proceedings.    A  deflower'd  maid ! 
And  by  an  eminent  body,  that  enforc'd 

in  Go.    (2)  Contradicted.     (3)  Figure  and  rank. 
4J  Calls^  cnallenges  her  to  do  it. 
if  Credit  unquestioniible,  (6)  Utterer. 


SCEJfE  VL— Street  near  the  city  gate. 
Isabella  and  Mariana. 


Enter 


Isab.  To  speak  so  indirectly,  I  am  loath ; 
I  would  say  the  truth  ;  but  to  accuse  him  so. 
That  is  your  part :  yet  I  am  advis'd  to  do  it ; 
He  says,  to  veil  full'  purpose. 

J\Iari.  Be  rul'd  by  him. 

Isab.  Besides,  he  tells  me,  that,  if  peradventure 
He  speak  against  me  on  the  adverse  side, 
!  should  not  think  it  strange :  for  'tis  a  physic. 
That's  bitter  to  sweet  end. 

.Man.  I  would,  friar  Peter, — 

Isab.  O,  peace ;  the  friar  if  eom^ . 

Enter  Friar  Peter. 

F.  Peter.  Come,  I  have  found  you  out  a  stand 

most  fit. 
Where  you  may  have  such  vantasrc*  on  the  duke. 
He  shall  not  pass  you :  Twice  nave  the  trumpets 

sounded ; 
The  generous"  and  gravest  citizens 
Have  hent"  the  gates,  and  very  near  upon 
The  duke  is  ent'rlng ;  therefore  hence,  away.  [Bxt. 


ACT  V. 

SCEA*E  I.—ti  public  place  near  the  city  gate. 

Mariana  (veiled,)  Isabella,  and  Peter,  al  a  diS' 
tance.  Enter  at  opposite  doors,  Duke,  Varrius, 
Lords;  Ansrelo,  Escalus,  Lucio,  Provost,  Offi- 
cers, and  Citizens. 

Duke.  My  very  worthy  cousin,  fairly  met  :-* 

(7)  Start  off.  (8)  Availful.  (9)  AdTintan, 
(10)  Most  noble/        (inSeiMd.  ^ 


Seoul. 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASUKE. 


lU 


Jur  old  and  faithful  friend,  we  are  glad  to  see  you. 

>3ng.  4"  Escal.  Happy  return  be  to  your  royal 
grace ! 

Duke.  Many  and  hearty  thankinss  to  you  both. 
We  have  made  inquiry  of  you ;  ana  we  hear 
Such  goodness  of  your  justice,  that  our  soul 
Cannot  but  yield  you  forth  to  public  thanks. 
Forerunning  more  requital. 

wJne'.  You  make  my  bonds  still  greater. 

Dukt.  0,  your  desert  speaks  loud ;  and  I  should 
wrong  it, 
To  lock  it  in  the  wards  of  covert  bosom, 
\^Tien  it  deservej  with  characters  of  brass 
\  forted  residence,  'gainst  the  tooth  of  time. 
And  razure  of  oblivion :  Give  me  your  hand, 
And  let  the  subject  see,  to  make  them  know 
That  outward  courtesies  ivould  fain  proclaim 
Favours  that  keep  within. — Come,  Escalus ; 
You  must  walk  by  us  on  our  other  band ; — 
And  good  supporters  are  you. 

JViar  Peter  and  Isabella  co7?ie  forward, 

F.  Peter.  Now  is  your  time ;  speak  loud,  and 
kneel  before  him. 

Isab,  Justice,  O,  royal  duke!  Vail"  your  regard 
Upon  a  wrong'd,  I'd  fahi  have  said,  a  maid ! 
0  worthy  prince,  dishonour  not  your  eye 
Bv  throwing  it  on  any  other  object. 
Till  you  have  heard  me  in  my  true  complaint. 
And  give  me, justice, justice,  justice,  justice! 

i>uXe.  Relate  your  wrongs:  In  what?  By  whom? 
Be  brief: 
Here  is  lord  An?elo  shall  give  you  justice ; 
Reveal  yourself  to  him. 

Isab.  0,  worthy  duke, 

You  bid  me  seek  redemption  of  the  devil : 
Hear  me  yourself:  for  that  which  I  must  speak 
Must  either  punish  me,  not  being  believ'd, 
Or  wrin»  redress  from  you :  hear  me,  0,  hear  me, 
nere. 

.^/ig*.  My  lord,  her  wits,  I  fear  me,  are  not  firm: 
She  hath  been  a  suitor  to  me  for  her  brother, 
Cut  oflF  by  course  of  justice. 

Isab.  By  course  of  justice  ! 

^ng.   And  she  will  speak  most  bitterly,  and 
strange. 

Isab.  Most  strange,  but  yet  most  truly,  will  I 
speak : 
That  Angelo's  forsworn ;  is  it  not  strange  7 
That  Angelo's  a  murderer ;  is't  not  strange  7 
That  Angelo  is  an  adulterous  thief, 
A  hypocrite,  a  virgin-violator  ; 
Is  it  not  strange,  and  stransre  ? 

Duke.  Nay,  ten  times  strange. 

Isab.  It  is  not  truer  he  is  Angelo, 
Than  this  is  ail  as  true  as  it  is  strange : 
Nay,  it  is  ten  times  true ;  for  truth  is  truth 
To  the  end  of  reckoning, 

Drtke.  Away  with  her :— Poor  soul. 

She  speaks  this  in  the  infirmity  of  sense. 

Isao.  O  prince,  I  c6njure  thee,  as  thou  believ'st 
There  is  another  comfort  than  this  worldj 
That  thou  neglect  me  not,  with  that  opinion 
That  I  am  touch'd  with  madness :  make  not  im- 
possible 
That  which  but  seems  unlike :  'tis  not  impos- 
sible. 
But  one,  the  wicked'st  caitiff  on  the  ground. 
May  seem  as  shy,  as  grave,  as  iust,  as  absolute, 
As  Angelo  ;  even  so  may  Angelo, 

il)  Lower.    (2)  Habits  and  characters  of  office. 
9)  Refuted.  (i)  Pity,  (5)  FooUsb, 


In  all  his  dressings,*  characts,  titles,  forms, 
Be  an  arch- villain  :  believe  it,  royal  prince, 
If  he  be  less,  he's  nothing ;  but  he's  more. 
Had  I  more  name  for  badness. 

Duke.  By  mine  honesty, 

If  she  be  mad  (as  I  believe  no  other,) 
Her  madness  hath  the  oddest  frame  of  sense, 
Such  a  dependency  of  thing  on  thing. 
As  e'er  I  heard  in  madness. 

Isab.  O,  ^cious  dulte, 

Harp  not  on  that ;  nor  do  not  banish  reason 
For  inequality  :  but  let  your  reason  serve 
To  make  the  truth  appear,  where  it  seems  hid ; 
And  hide  the  false,  seems  true. 

Duke.  Many  that  are  not  mad. 

Have,  sure,  more  lack  of  reason. — What  would 
you  say  ? 

Isab.  lam  the  sister  of  one  Claudio, 
Condemn'd  upon  the  act  of  fornication 
To  lose  his  head  ;  condemn'd  by  Angelo : 
I,  in  probation  of  a  sisterhood, 
\Vas  sent  to  by  my  brother :  One  Lucio 
As  then  the  messenger ; — 

Lucio.  That's  I,  an't  like  your  grtce . 

I  came  to  her  from  Claudio,  and  desir'd  her 
To  try  her  gracious  fortune  with  lord  Angelo, 
For  her  poor  brother's  pardon. 

Isnb.  That's  he  indeed. 

Duke.  You  were  not  bid  to  speak. 

Lucio.  No,  my  good  lord  j 

Nor  wish'd  to  hold  my  peace. 

Duke.  I  wish  you  now  then ; 

Pray  you,  take  note  of  it :  and  when  you  have 
A  business  for  yourself,  pray  heaven,  you  then 
Be  perfect. 

Ludo.  I  warrant  your  honour. 

Duke.  The  warrant's  for  yourself;  take  heed 
to  it. 

Isab.  This  gentleman  told  somewhat  of  my  tale. 

Lucio.  Right.  ' 

Duke.  It  may  be  right ;  but  you  are  in  the  wrong 
To  speak  before  your  time. — ^Proceed. 

Isab.  I  went 

To  this  pernicious  caitiff  deputy. 

Duke.  That's  somewhat  madly  spoken. 

Isab.  Pardon  it ; 

The  phrase  is  to  the  matter. 

Duke.  Mended  again :  the  matter : — Proceed. 

Isab.  In  brief, — to  set  the  needless  process  by, 
How  I  persuaded,  how  I  pray'd,  and  kneel'd. 
How  he  refell'd'  me,  and  how  I  reply'd ; 

IFor  this  was  of  much  lenalh,)  the  vile  conclusion 
now  besin  with  grief  and  shame  to  utter : 
He  would  not,  but  by  gift  of  my  chaste  body 
To  his  concupiscible  intemperate  lust. 
Release  my  brother ;  and,  after  much  debatement, 
My  sisterly  remorse*  confutes  mine  honour. 
And  I  did  yield  to  him :  But  the  next  mom  betimes, 
His  purpose  surfeiting,  he  sends  a  warrant 
For  my  poor  brother's  nead. 

Duke.  This  is  most  likely ! 

Isab.  O,  that  it  were  as  like,  as  it  is  true ! 

Duke.  By  heaven,  fond'  wretch,  thou  know'st 
not  what  thou  speak'st ; 
Or  else  thou  art  suborn'd  against  his  honour, 
In  hateful  practice  :" — First,  his  integrity 
Stands  without  blemish :  next,  it  imports  no  reasdn, 
That  with  such  vehemency  he  should  pursue 
Faults  proper  to  himself:  "if  he  had  so  offended. 
He  would  have  weigh'd  thy  brother  by  himself. 
And  not  have  cut  him  off:  Some  one  hath  set  you  on : 

(6)  Conapirscy, 


u« 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Jkir, 


Confess  the  truth,  and  say  by  whoae  adrice 
Thou  cam'st  here  to  complau. 

IseA.  And  is  this  all  7 

Then,  oh,  you  blessed  ministers  abore, 
Keep  me  in  patience  ;  and,  with  ripen'd  time, 
Unfold  the  evil  which  is  here  wrapt  up 
In  countenance ! — Heaven  shield  your  grace  from 

wo. 
As  I,  thus  wrong'd,  hence  unbelieved  go  ! 

Duke.  I  know,  you'd  fain  be  gone : — An  officer ! 
To  prison  with  her ; — Shall  %ve  thus  permit 
A  blasting  and  a  scandalous  breath  to  fall 
On  him  so  near  us  ?  This  needs  must  be  a  practice. 
—Who  knew  of  your  intent,  and  coming  hitlier  ? 

/»o4.  One  Uiat  I  would  were  here,  friar  Lodowick. 

Duke.  A  ghostly  father,  belike: — ^\Vho  knows 
that  Lodowick  ? 

Lucio.  My  lord,  I  know  him ;  'tis  a  meddling  friar; 
I  do  not  like  the  man :  had  he  been  lay,  my  lord. 
For  certain  words  he  spake  against  your  grace 
In  your  retirement,  I  had  swing'd'  him  soundly. 

Duke.  Words  against  me  ?  This'  a  good  friar, 
belike ! 
And  to  set  on  this  wretched  woman  here 
Against  our  substitute  ? — Let  this  friar  be  found. 

Lucio.  But  yesternight,  my  lord,  she  and  that 
friar 
I  saw  them  at  the  prison :  a  saucy  friar, 
A  very  scurvy  fellow. 

F.  "Peter.  Blessed  be  your  royal  grace ! 

I  have  stood  by,  my  lord,  and  I  have  heard 
Your  royal  ear  abus'd :  First,  hath  this  woman 
Most  wrongfully  accus'd  your  substitute  ; 
Who  is  as  tree  Irom  touch  or  soil  with  her, 
As  she  from  one  ungot. 

Duke.  We  did  believe  no  less. 

Know  you  that  friar  Lodowick,  that  she  speaks  of? 

F.  Peter.  I  know  him  for  a  man  divine  and  holy ; 
Not  scurvy,  nor  a  temporary  meddler, 
As  he's  reported  by  this  gentleman ; 
And,  on  my  trust,  a  roan  that  never  yet 
Did,  as  he  vouches,  misreport  your  grace. 

Lucio.  My  lord,  most  villanously;  believe  it. 

F.  Peter.  Well,  he  in  time  may  come  to  clear 
himself; 
But  at  this  instant  he  is  sick,  my  lord, 
Of  a  strange  fever  :  Upon  his  mcre^  request 

i  Being  come  to  knowledge  that  there  was  complaint 
ntended  'gainst  lord  Angelo,)  came  I  hither, 
To  speak,  as  from  his  mouth,  what  he  doth  know 
Is  true,  and  false  ;  and  what  he  with  his  oath, 
And  all  probation,  will  make  up  full  clear, 
Whensoever  he's  conventcd.'  First,  for  this  woman 
(To  justify  this  worthy  nobleman, 
So  vulgarly*  and  personrally  accus'd,) 
Her  shall  you  hear  disproved  to  her  eyes, 
Till  she  herself  confess  it. 
Dukt.  Good  friar,  let's  hear  it. 

[Isabella  w  carried  off,  ruarded;  and 
Mariana  comes  forward. 

Do  you  not  smile  at  this,  lord  Angelo  ? — 
O  heaven !  the  vanity  of  wretched  fools ! — 
Give  us  some  seats. — Come,  cousin  Angelo  ; 
In  this  I'll  be  impartial ;  be  you  judge 
Of  your  own  cause. — Is  this  the  witness,  friar  ? 
First,  let  her  show  her  face ;  and,  after  speak. 

Mori.  Pardon,  my  lord ;  I  will  not  show  my  face, 
Until  my  husband  bid  me. 

Duke.  What,  are  you  married  ? 

/SarL  No,  my  lord. 


(1)  Beat       (S)  Simple. 
(4)  PftbUely,     ' 


(9)  CoarcMd« 


Duke.  Are  yoa  a  maid  / 

Mori.  No,  my  lord. 

Duke.  A  widow  then  7 

JVLari.  Neither,  my  lord. 

Duke.  Why,  yoa 

Are  nothing  then : — Neither  maid,  widow,  nor  wife? 

Lucio.  My  lord,  she  may  be  a  punk ;  for  many 
of  them  are  neither  maid,  widow,  nor  wife. 

Duke.   Silence  that  fellow :    I  would,  he  had 
some  cause 
To  prattle  for  himself. 

Lucio.  Well,  my  lord. 

J^Iari.  My  lord,  I  do  confess  I  ne'er  was  married ; 
And,  I  confess,  besides,  I  am  no  maid : 
I  have  known  my  husband ;  yet  my  husband  know* 

not. 
That  ever  he  knew  me. 

Lucio.  He  was  drunk  then,  my  lord  ;  it  can  be 
no  better. 

Duke.  For  the  benefit  of  silence,  'would  thou 
wert  so  too. 

Lucio.  Well,  my  lord. 

Duke.  This  is  no  witness  for  lord  Angelo. 

Man.  Now  I  come  to't,  my  lord: 
She,  that  accuses  him  of  fornication, 
In  self-same  manner  doth  accuse  my  husband ; 
And  charges  him,  my  lord,  with  such  a  time, 
When  I'll  depose  I  had  him  in  mine  arms. 
With  all  the  effect  of  love. 

-ing.  Charges  she  more  than  me  7 

Mari.  Not  that  I  know. 

Duke.  No  ?  you  say,  your  husband. 

Mari.  Why,  just,  my  lord,  and  that  is  Angelo, 
W'ho  thinks,  he  knows,  that  he  ne'er  knew  my  body. 
But  knows,  he  thinks,  that  he  knows  Isabel's. 

»in,g.  This  is  a  strange  abuse : ' — Let's  see  thy 
face. 

Mari.  My  husband  bids  mc ;  now  I  will  unmask. 

[  Unveiling. 
This  is  that  face,  thoii  cruel  Angelo, 
Which,  once  thou  swor'st,  was  worth  the  look- 
ing on  : 
This  is  the  hand,  which,  with  a  vow'd  contr&ct. 
Was  fast  belock'd  in  thme  ;  this  is  the  body 
That  took  away  the  match  from  Isabel, 
And  did  supply  thee  at  thy  garden-house, 
In  her  imagin'd  person. 

Duke.  Know  you  this  woman  ? 

Lucio.  Carnally,  she  says. 

Duke.  Sirrah,  no  more. 

Lucio.  Enough,  my  lord. 

^ing.  My  lord,  I  must  confess,  I  know  this  wo- 
man ; 
And,  fire  years  since,  there  waa  some  speech  of 

marriage 
Betwixt  myself  and  her ;  which  was  broke  off, 
Partly,  for  that  her  promised  proportions 
Came  short  of  composition ;'  but,  in  chief. 
For  that  her  reputation  was  disvalued 
In  levity :  since  which  time  of  five  years, 
I  never  spake  with  her,  saw  her,  nor  heard  from  hei. 
Upon  my  faith  and  honour. 

Mari.  Noble  prince. 

As  there  comes  light  from  heaven,  and  words  froa 

breath. 
As  there  is  sense  in  truth,  and  truth  in  virtue, 
I  am  affianc'd  this  man's  wife,  as  strongly 
As  words  could  make  up  vows :  and,  my  good  lord. 
But  Tuesday  night  last  gone,  in  his  garden-house, 
He  knew  me  as  a  wife :  As  this  is  true 
Let  me  in  safety  raise  me  from  my  knees ; 

(()  Deception,       (6)  Her  fortoM  UH  riwit. 


Setnet. 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


115 


Or  else  for  e»er  be  confixed  here, 
A  marble  monument ! 

Ang.  I  did  but  smile  till  now  ; 

Now,  good  my  lord,  give  me  the  scope  of  justice ; 
My  patience  here  is  touch'd  :  1  do  perceive, 
These  poor  informal'  women  are  no  more 
But  instruments  of  some  more  mightier  member. 
That  sets  them  on  :  Let  me  hare  %¥ay,  my  lord. 
To  find  this  practice*  out. 

Duke.  Av,  with  my  heart ; 

And  punish  them  unto  vour  heij^ht  of  pleasure. — 
Thou  foolish  friar ;  and  thou  pernicious  woman, 
CompS.(;t  with  her  that's  gone  !  think'st  thou,  thy 

oaths, 
Though  tliey  would  swear  down  each  particular 

saint, 
Were  testimonies  airainst  his  worth  and  credit. 
That's  sealed  in  approbation? — You,  lord  Escalus," 
Sit  with  my  cousin  ;  lend  him  your  kind  pains 
To  find  out  this  abuse,  whence  'tis  deriv'd. — 
There  is  another  friar  that  set  them  on  ; 
Let  him  be  sent  for. 

F.  Peter.  Would  he  were  heje,  my  lord ;  for  he, 
indeed. 
Hath  set  the  women  on  to  this  complaint : 
Your  provost  knows  the  place  where  he  abides, 
And  he  may  fetch  him. 

Duke.  Go,  do  it  instantly. —         [Exit  Provost. 
And  you,  my  noble  and  well-warranted  cousin. 
Whom  it  concerns  to  hear  this  matter  forth,' 
Do  with  your  injuries  as  seems  you  best. 
In  any  chastisement :  I  for  a  wKile 
Will  leave  vou;   but  stir  not  you,  till  you  hare 

well 
Determined  upon  these  slanderers. 

Escal.  My  lord,  we'll  do  it  thorouprhly. — [Exit 
Duke.]  Si^nior  Lucio,  did  not  you  say,  you  knew 
that  friar  Lodowick  to  be  a  dishonest  person  ? 

Lucio.  Cuculliu  nonfacit  monachum. :  honest  in 
nothing,  but  in  his  clothes  ;  and  one  that  hath  spoke 
most  vdlanous  speeches  of  the  duke. 

Escal.  We  shall  entreat  you  to  abide  here  till 
he  come,  and  enforce  them  airainst  him :  we  shall 
find  this  friar  a  notable  fellow. 

'Lucio.  As  any  in  Vienna,  on  mv  word. 

Escal.  Call  that  same  Isabel  here  once  again  ; 
[To  an  attendant.]  I  would  speak  with  her:  Prav 
you,  my  lord,  give  me  leave  to  question ;  you  shall 
eee  now  I'll  handle  her. 

Lucio.  Not  better  than  he,  by  her  o\ra  report. 

Escal.  Say  you  ? 

Lucio.  Marrj-,  sir,  I  think,  if  vou  handled  her 
privately,  she  would  sooner  confess ;  perchance, 
publicly  she'll  be  ashamed. 

RC'enler  Officers,  vith  Isabella;  the  Dnke,  t»  the 
friar's  habit,  and  Provost. 

Escal.  I  will  fo  darkly  to  work  with  her. 

Lucio,  That's  the  way  ;  for  women  are  light  at 
midnight. 

Escal.  Come  on,  mistress:  [To  Isabella.]  here's 
a  gentlewoman  denies  all  that  you  have  said. 

Lucio.  My  lord,  here  comes' the  rascal  I  spoke 
of :  here,  with  the  provost. 

Esc(d.  In  very  cood  time: — Fpeak  not  you  to 
him,  till  we  call  upon  you.  ; 

Lucio.  Mum.  j 

Escal.  Come,  sir:  Did  you  set  these  women  on; 
to  slander  lord  .\ngclo  ?  they  have  confess'd  you 

Jhikt.  Tis  false. 

(I)  Crtzy,    {i)  ConspiracT,    '31  Tn  ♦}«  end. 


Escal.  How!  knew  you  where  you  are? 

Duke.  Respect  to  your  great  place !  and  let  the 
devil 
Be  some  time  honour'd  for  his  bumine;  throne  :— 
Where  is  the  duke  ?  'tis  he  should  hear  me  speak. 

Escal.  The  duke's  in  us ;  and  we  will  bear  you 
speak : 
Look,  you  speak  justly. 

Duke.  Boldly,  at  least: — But,  O,  poor  souls, 
Come  you  to  seek  the  lamb  here  of  the  fox? 
Good  ni}»bt  to  your  redress.    Is  the  duke  gone  ? 
Then  is  your  cause  gone  too.    The  duke's  ui^just. 
Thus  to  retort*  your  manifest  appeal. 
And  put  your  trial  in  the  villain's  mouth, 
Which  here  vou  come  to  accuse. 

Lucio.  This  is  the  rascal ;  this  is  he  I  spoke  of. 

Escal.   Why,  thou  unreverend  and  unhallow'd 
friar ! 
Is't  not  enough,  thou  hast  subom'd  these  women 
To  accuse  this  worthy  man ;  but,  in  foul  mouth. 
And  in  the  witness  of  his  proper  ear, 
Tccall  him  villain? 

And  then  to  glance  from  him  to  the  duke  himself; 
To  tax  him  with  injustice  ? — Take  him  hence  ; 
To  the  rack  with  him: — We'll  touze  you  joint  by 

joint. 
But  we  will  know  this  purpose : — What !  unjust  ? 
'  Duke.  Be  not  so  hot ;  the  duke 
Dare  no  more  stretch  this  finger  of  mine,  than  he 
Dare  rack  his  own  :  his  subject  am  I  not, 
Nor  here  provincial :'  My  business  in  this  state 
Made  me  a  looker-on  here  in  Vienna, 
Where  I  have  seen  corruption  boil  and  bubble, 
Till  it  o'cr-run  the  stew :  laws,  for  all  faults ; 
But  faults  so  countenanc'd,  that  the  strong  statutes 
Stand  like  the  forfeits  in  a  barber's  shop. 
As  much  in  mock  as  mark. 

Escal.  Slander  to  the  state  J  Away  with  him  to 

{irison. 
Vhat  can  you  vouch  against  him,  signior 
Lucio  ? 
Is  this  the  man  that  you  did  tell  us  of? 

Lucio.  'Tis  he,  mv  lord.— Come  hither,  goodman 
bald-pate :  Do  you  know  me  ? 

Diike.  I  remember  you,  sir,  by  the  sound  of  your 
roice :  I  met  you  at  the  prison,  in  the  absence  of 
tlie  duke. 

Lucio.  O,  did  you  so?  And  do  you  remember 
what  vou  said  of  the  duke  ? 

Duke.  Most  notedly,  sir. 

Lucio.  Do  you  so,  sir  ?  And  was  the  duke  a  flesh- 
monger,  a  fool,  and  a  coward,  as  you  then  reported 
him  to  be  ? 

Duke.  You  must,  sir,  change  persons  with  mc, 
ere  you  make  that  my  report :  you,  indeed,  spoke 
so  of  him  ;  and  much  more,  much  worse. 

Lucio.  O  thou  damnable  fellow !  Did  not  I  pluck 
thee  by  the  nose,  for  thv  speeches  ? 

Ditke.  I  protest  I  love  the  duke,  as  I  love  myself. 

»fnn-.  Hark!  how  the  villain  would  close  now, 
after  his  treasonable  abuses. 

Escal.  Such  a  fellow  is  not  to  be  falk'd  withal : 

Away  with  him  to  prison  :— Where  is  the  provost  7 
Away  with  him  to  prison ;  lay  bolts  enough  upon 
him ;  lf"t  him  speak  no  more.  Away  with  those 
giglots«  too,  and  with  the  other  confederate  com- 
panion. [The  Provost  lays  hands  on  the  Duke. 

Duke.  Stay,  sir ;  stav  a  while. 

.Ins:.  What!  resists  he?  Help  him,  Lucio. 

Lucio.  Come,  sir;  come,  sir;  come,  sir;  foh, 
sir :  Why,  you  bald-pated,  lying  rascal !  vou  must 
be  hooded,  must  you  ?  Show  your  knave^s  visage, 

/4)  Refer  back.    (6)  Accountable,  (6)  Wanton^ 


Ilr 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


49iK 


with  a  pox  to  you !  show  your  sheep-biting  face, 
and  be  hang'd  an  hour !   Will't  not  off? 

IPulU  off  the  friar's  hood,  and  discovers 
the  Duke. 

DwAre.  Thou  art  the  first  knave,  that  e'er  made 

a  duke. 

First,  provost,  let  me  bail  these  gentle  three : — 
Sneak  not  away,  sir ;  [To  Lucio.]  for  the  friar  and 

you 
Must  have  a  word  anon : — lay  hold  on  him. 

Lucio.  This  may  prove  worse  than  hanginsr. 

JhAe.  What  you  have  ^oke,  I  pardon ;  sit  vou 

down. [To  Escalus. 

We'll  borrow  place  of  him : — Sir,  by  your  leave : 

[To  Angelo. 
Hast  thou  or  word,  or  wit,  or  impudence. 
That  yet  can  do  thee  office  ? '    If  thou  hast. 
Rely  upon  it  till  my  tale  be  heard. 
And  hold  no  longer  out. 

»4ng-.  0  my  dread  lord, 

I  should  be  guiltier  than  my  sruiltlncss, 
To  think  I  can  be  undiscerniblc. 
When  I  perceive,  your  grace,  like  power  divine, 
Hath  look'd  upon  nay  passes:*  Then,  good  prince, 
No  longer  session  hold  upon  my  shame, 
But  let  my  trial  be  mine  own  confession  ; 
Immediate  sentence  then,  and  sequent'  death, 
Is  all  the  grace  I  beg. 

Duke.  Come  hither,  Mariana : — 

Say,  w  ast  thou  e'er  contracted  to  this  woman  ? 

^ng.  I  was,  my  lord. 

DtiKe.  Go,  take  her  hence,  and  marry  her  in- 
stantly.— 
Do  you  the  oihce,  friar ;  which  consummnte, 
Return  him  here  ajjain : — Go  with  him,  provost. 
[Exeunt  Angelo,  Mariana,  Peter,  and  Provost. 

Escd.  My  lord,  I  v.rn  more  amaz'd  at  his  dis- 
honour, 
Than  at  the  strangeness  of  iL 

Duke,  Come  hither,  Isabel : 

Your  friar  is  now  vour  prince :  As  I  was  then 
Advertising,*  and  toly  to  your  business, 
Not  changing  heart  with  habit,  I  am  still 
Attomey'd  at  your  service. 

Isab.  O,  rrivc  me  pardon. 

That  I,  your  vassal,  have  employ'd  and  pain'd 
Your  unknown  sovereignty. 

Duke.  1  on  are  pardon'd,  Isabel : 

And  now,  dear  maid,  be  you  as  free  to  us. 
Your  brother's  death,  I  know,  sits  at  your  heart ; 
And  you  may  marvel,  why  I  obscur'd  myself, 
Labouring  to  save  his  life ;  and  would  not  rather 
Make  rash  remonstrance  of  my  hidden  power, 
Than  let  him  so  be  lost :  O,  most  kind  maid. 
It  was  the  sivifl;  celerity  of  his  death. 
Which  I  did  think  with  slower  foot  came  on, 
That  brain'd  my  purpose :  But,  peace  be  with  liim ! 
That  life  is  better  life,  past  fearinir  death, 
Than  that  which  lives  to  fear :  make  it  your  comfort. 
So  happy  is  your  brother. 

Re-enter  Angelo,  Mariana,  Peter,  and  Provost. 

Isah.  ^  I  do,  my  lord. 

Dukt.  For  this  new-married  man,  approaching 
here. 
Whose  salt  imagination  yet  bath  wrong'd 
Your  well-defended  honour,  you  must  pardon 
For  Mariana's  sake:  but  as  he  adjudg'd  your 

brother 
(Being  criminal,  in  doable  violation 

(\)  Service.       (2)  Devices.      (3)  Following, 
ii)  AUenUre.      {i)  Angelo^a  own  tongue. 


Of  sacred  chastity,  and  of  promise-breach. 

Thereon  dependant,  for  your  brothsr**  life,) 

The  very  mercy  of  the  law  cries  out 

Most  audible,  even  from  his  proper^  tongue, 

j?ji  ^Qngelo/or  Claudia,  death  for  death. 

Haste  still  pays  haste,  and  leisure  answers  leisure  ; 

Like  doth  quit  like,  and  J\Ieasure  still /or  Measure. 

Then,  Angelo,  thy  fault's  thus  manifested : 

Which  though  thou  would'st  deny,  denies  the* 

vantage : 
We  do  condemn  thee  to  the  very  block 
^Mierc  Claudio  stoop'd  to  death,  and  with  like 

haste ; — 
Away  with  him. 

Mari.  O,  my  most  gracious  lord, 

I  hope  you  will  not  mock'rae  with  a  husband ! 

Duke.  It  is  your  husband  mock'd  you  with  a 
husband : 
Consenting  to  the  safeguard  of  your  honour, 
I  thought  your  marriage  fit ;  else  imputatioii. 
For  that  he  knev/  you,  miglit  reproach  your  ufe. 
And  choke  your  good  to  come :  for  his  possessioM 
Although  by  confiscation  they  ai'e  ours. 
We  do  instate  and  wido^v  you  withal, 
To  buy  you  a  better  husband. 

Mari.  O,  my  dear  lord, 

I  crave  no  other,  nor  no  better  man.' 

Duke.  Never  crave  him ;  we  are  definitive. 

Mari.  Gentle  my  liege, —  [Kneeling. 

Duke.  You  do  but  lose  vour  labour : 

.\way  with  him  to  death. — Now,  sir,  [To  Lucio.] 
to  you. 

Mari.   O,  my  good  lord! — Sweet  Isabel,  take 
my  part ; 
Lend  me  your  Icnees,  and  all  my  life  to  come 
I'll  lend  you,  all  mv  life  to  do  you  service. 

Duke.  Against  a^l  sense*  do  you  importune  her : 
Should  she  kneel  down,  in  mercy  of  this  fact, 
Her  brother's  ghost  his  paved  bed  ivonld  break. 
And  take  her  hence  in  horror. 

Mari.  Isabel, 

Sweet  Isabel,  do  yet  but  kneel  by  me  ; 
Hold  up  your  hands,  say  nothinrr,  I'll  speak  all. 
They  say,  best  men  arc  moulded  out  of  faults  ; 
And,  for  the  most,  become  much  more  the  better 
For  being  a  little  bad :  so  may  my  husband. 
0,  Isabel !  will  you  not  lend  a  knee  ? 

Dv.ke.  He  dies  for  Claudio's  death. 

Isab.  Most  bounteoiis  sir, 

[Kneeling. 
Look,  if  it  please  vou,  on  this  man  condemn'd, 
As  if  my  brother  fiv'd  :  I  partly  think, 
A  due  smceritv  govern'd  his  deeds. 
Till  he  did  look  on  me  ;  since  it  is  so, 
Let  him  not  die  :  Mv  brother  had  but  justice, 
In  that  he  did  the  thing  for  which  he  died : 
For  Angelo, 

His  act  did  not  o'erfake  his  bad  intent. 
And  must  be  buried  but  as  an  intent 
That  perish'd  by  the  way :  thoughts  are  no  subjects, 
Intents  but  merely  thoughts. 

Mari..  Merely,  my  lord. 

Dike.  Your  suit'sunprofitable  ;'stand  up,  I  say.— 
I  have  bethought  me  of  another  fault : — 
Provost,  how  "came  it,  Claudio  was  beheaded 
At  an  unusual  hour  ? 

Prov.  It  was  commanded  so. 

Dike.  Had  you  a  special  warrant  for  the  deed  ? 

Prov.  No,  my  good  lord  ;  it  was  by  private  mes- 
sage. 

Duke.  For  which  I  do  discharge  you  of  your  oScfl. 


(0)  JU^son  ftnd  ftgection. 


Scent  J. 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


117 


Give  up  your  keys. 

Prov.  Pardon  me,  noble  lord : 

I  thought  it  was  a  fault,  but  knew  it  not ; 
Yet  did  repent  me,  after  more  advice : ' 
For  testimony  whereof,  one  in  the  prison 
That  should  by  private  order  else  have  died, 
I  have  reserv'd  alive. 

Duke.  What's  he  ? 

Prov.  His  name  is  Bamardine, 

Duke.  I  would  thou  had'st  done  so  by  Claudio. — 
Go,  fetch  him  hither ;  let  me  look  upon  him. 

[Exit  Provost 

Escai.  I  am  sorry,  one  so  learned  and  so  wise 
As  you,  lord  Angelo.  have  still  appear'd,  , 
Should  slip  so  grossly,  both  in  the  heat  of  blood, 
And  lack  of  temper'd  judgment  afterward. 

Jing.  I  am  sorry,  that  such  sorrow  I  procure : 
And  so  deep  sticks  it  in  my  penitent  heart. 
That  I  crave  death  more  willing:!}'  than  mercy : 
'Tis  my  deserving,  and  I  do  entreat  it. 

^c-ejUer  Provost,  Bamardine,  Claudio,  ^nd  Juliet. 

Duke.  Which  is  tliat  Bamardine  ? 

Prov.  This,  my  lord 

Duke.  There  was  a  friar  told  me  of  this  man : — 
Sirrah,  thou  art  said  to  have  a  stubborn  soul. 
That  apprehends  no  further  than  this  world. 
And  squar'st  thy  life  according.  Thou'rt  condemn'd; 
But,  for  those  early  faults,  I  quit  them  all ; 
And  pray  thee,  take  this  mercy  to  provide 

For  better  times  to  come : Friar,  advise  him ; 

I  leave  him  to  your  hand. — ^What  muffled  fellow's 
that? 

Prov.  This  is  another  prisoner,  that  I  sav'd, 
That  should  have  died  when  Claudio  lost  his  head ; 
As  like  almost  to  Claudio,  as  himself. 

[  Unniiiffles  Claudio. 

Duke.  If  he  be  like  your  brother,  [To  Isabella.] 
for  his  sake 
Is  he  pardon'd ;  And,  for  your  lovely  sake, 
Give  me  your  hand,  and  say  you  will  be  mine, 
He  is  my  brother  too  :  But  fitter  time  for  that. 
Bv  this,  lord  Angelo  perceives  he's  safe: 
Melhinks,  I  see  a  quickeninj^  in  his  eye  : — 
Well,  Angelo,  your  evil  qnits=  you  well :        • 
Look  that  you  love  your  wife;   her  worth,  worth 

yours. — 
I  find  an  apt  remission  in  myself: 
And  yet  here's  one  in  place  I  cannot  pardon  ; 
You,  sirrah,  [To  Lucio.]  that  knew  me  for  a  fool, 

a  coward, 
One  all  of  luxury,^  an  ass,  a  madman  ; 
AVherein  have  I  so  descrv'd  of  you. 
That  you  extol  me  thus  ? 

Lucio.  'Faith,  my  lord,  I  spoke  it  but  according 
to  the  trick  :*  If  you  will  hang  me  for  it,  you  mayj 
but  I  had  rather  it  ivould  please  you,  I  might  be 
whipp'd. 

Duke.  'Whipp'd  first,  sir,  and  hang'd  after. — 
Proclaim  it,  provost,  round  about  the  city ; 
If  any  woman's  wrong'd  by  this  lewd  fellow 
( As  I  have  heard  him  s^vcar  himself,  there's  one 
^Vhom  he  begot  with  child,)  let  her  appear, 
And  he  shall  marry  her :  the  nuptial  finish'd, 


Let  him  be  whipp'd  and  hang'd. 

Lucio.  I  beseech  your  highness,  do  not  marrr 
me  to  a  whore !  Your  highness  said  even  now,  1 
made  you  a  duke :  good  my  lord,  do  not  recom- 
pense me,  in  making  me  a  cuckold. 

Duke.  Upon  mine  honour,  thou  shall  marry  her. 
Thy  slanders  I  forgive ;  and  therewithal 
Remit  thy  other  forfeits :' — Take  him  to  prison : 
And  see  our  pleasure  herein  executed, 

Lttcio.  Marrying  a  punk,  my  lord,  is  pressing  to 
death,  whippino:,  and  hanging. 

Duke.  Siand'ring  a  prince  deserves  it. — 
She,  Claudio,  that  you  wrong'd,  look  you  restore. — 
Joy  to  you,  Mariana ! — ^love  her,  Angelo  ; 
I  have  confess'd  lier,  and  I  know  her  virtue. — 
Thanks,  good  friend  Escalus,for  thy  much  goodness: 
There's  more  behind,  that  is  more  gratulate.* 
Thanks,  provost,  for  thy  care,  and  secrecy  ; 
We  shall  employ  thee  in  a  worthier  place : — 
Forgive  him,  Angelo,  that  brought  you  home 
The  head  of  Ragozine  for  Claudio's ; 
The  offence  pardons  itself. — Dear  Isabel, 
I  have  a  motion  much  imports  your  good ; 
Whereto  if  you'll  a  willing  ear  incline. 
What's  mine  is  yours,  and  "what  is  yours  is  mine  :— 
So,  bring  us  to  our  palace  ;  where  we'll  show 
What's  yet  behind,  that's  meet  you  all  should  know. 

[Exeunt. 


in  Consideration. 
S)  Incontinence. 


The  novel  of  Giraldi  Cinthio,  from  which  Shak- 
speare  is  supposed  to  have  borrowed  this  fable, 
may  be  read  m  Shaksneare  Illustrated,  c]e^ant\y 
translated,  with  remarks  which  will  assist  the  in- 
quirer to  discover  how  much  absurdity  Shakspearc 
has  admitted  or  avoided. 

I  cannot  but  suspect  that  some  other  had  new- 
modelled  the  novel  of  Cinthio,  or  written  a  story 
^vhich  in  some  particulars  resembled  it,  and  that 
Cinthio  was  not  the  author  whom  Shakspeare  im- 
mediately followed.  The  emperor  in  Cinthio  is 
named  Maximiue :  the  duke,  in  Shakspeare's  enu- 
meration of  the  persons  of  the  drama,  is  called  Vin- 
centiO.  This  apj>ears  a  very  slight  remark;  but 
since  the  duke  has  no  name  in  the  play,  nor  is  ever 
mentioned  but  by  his  title,  why  should  he  be  called 
Vincentio  among  the  persotis,  but  because  the  name 
was  copied  from  the  story,  and  placed  superflu- 
ously at  the  head  of  the  list,  by  the  mere  habit  of 
transcription  ?  It  is  therefore  likely  that  there  wau 
then  a  storj'  of  Vincentio  duke  of  Vienna,  diflerent 
from  that  of  Maximine  emperor  of  the  Romans. 

Of  this  play,  the  light  or  comic  part  is  very  natu- 
ral and  pleasing,  but  the  grafe  scenes,  if  a  few  pa^- 
sacres  be  excepted,  have  more  labour  than  elegance. 
The  plot  is  rather  intricate  than  artful.  The  time 
of  the  action  is  indefinite:  some  time,  we  know  not 
how  much,  must  have  elapsed  between  the  recess 
of  the  duke  and  the  imprisonment  of  Claudio  ;  for 
lie  must  have  learned  the  story  of  Mariana  in  his 
disguise,  or  he  delegated  his  power  to  a  man  al- 
ready known  to  be  corrupted.  The  unitica  of  action 
and  place  are  sufficiently  preserved. 

JOHNSON. 


(2)  Requites. 
(4)  Thoughtless  practice.  | 


(5)  Punishments. 


(6)  To  reward. 


(    118    ) 

MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


PERSONS  EEPRESENTED. 

Don  Pedro,  Prince  of  ^Jrragon.  \.i  Sexton. 

Don  John,  Aw  bastard  hrother.  \A  Friar. 

Claudio,  a  young  lord  of  Florence,  favourite  fo|w3  Boy, 

Don  Pedro. 
Benedick,  o  yottn^  lord  of  Padua,  favowrite  like 

wise  of  Don  Pedro, 
Leonato,  s^overnor  of , Messina. 
Antonio,  liis  brother, 
Balthazar,  servant  to  Don  Pedro. 


^•;^^^^\'^'\  two  foolish  officers. 


Hero,  d<Mghter  to  Leonato. 
Beatrice,  niece  to  LeoncUo. 

UraiSa,™^'  }  «'«»''««'*'««»  attending  on  Hen. 
Messengers,  watch,  and  attendants. 
Scene,  ,Vessina. 


ACT  I. 

SCEJ^TE  I, — B^oreheonaXd'a house.  Enter  Leo- 
nato.  Hero,  Beatrice,  and  others,  with  a  Mes- 
senger. 

Leonato, 

1  LEARN  in  this  letter,  that  Don  Pedro  of  Arra- 
gon,  comes  this  nipht  to  Messina. 

Mess.  He  is  very  near  by  this  ;  he  was  not  three 
leases  off  when  I  left  him. 

Leon,  How  many  gentlemen  have  you  lost  in 
this  action  7 
JVfess.  But  few  of  any  sort,*  and  none  of  name. 
Leon.  A  victory  is  twice  itself,  when  the  achiever 
brings  home  full' numbers.  I  find  here,  that  Don 
Pedro  hath  bestowed  much  honour  on  a  young 
Florentine,  called  Claudio. 

Jtfe»s.  Much  deserved  on  his  part,  and  equally 
remembered  by  Don  Pedro:  he  hath  borne  him- 
eelf  beyond  the  promise  of  his  as^e;  doinp,  in  the 
figure  of  a  lamb,  the  feats  of  a  lion  :  he  hath,  in- 
deed, better  bettered  expectation,  than  you  must 
expect  of  mc  to  tell  you  how. 

Leon,  He  hath  an  uncle  here  in  Messina  will  be 
verr  much  glad  of  it. 

Mess.  I  have  already  delivered  him  letters,  and 
there  appears  much  joy  in  him ;  even  so  much, 
that  joy  could  not  show  itself  modest  enough,  with- 
out a  badire  of  bitterness. 
J^eon.  Did  he  break  out  into  tears  ? 
Mess,  In  srreat  measure.'^ 
Leon.  A  kind  overflow  of  kindness :  There  arc 
no  faces  truer  than  those  that  are  so  washed.  How 
much  better  is  it  to  weep,  at  joy,  than  to  joy  at 
weeping  7 

Beat,  I  pray  you,  is  signior  Montanto  returned 
from  the  wars,  or  no  7 

Mess.  I  know  none  of  that  name,  lady ;  there 

was  none  such  In  the  army  of  any  sort, 

Leon.  What  is  he  that  you  ask  for,  niece  ? 

Hero,  My  cousin  means  signior  Benedick  of 

Padua. 


Mess,  0,  he  is  returned;  and  as  pleasant  as 
ever  he  was. 

Beat.  He  set  up  his  bills  here  in  Messina,  and 
challenscd  Cupid  at  the  flight:'  and  my  uncle's 
fool,  reading  the  challenge,  subscribed  for  Cupid, 
and  challenged  him  at  the  bird-bolt. — I  pray  >ou, 
how  many  hath  he  killed  and  eaten  in  these  wars  7 
But  how  "many  hath  he  killed  7  for,  indeed,  1  pro- 
mised to  eat  all  of  his  killing. 

Lemi.  Faith,  niece,  you  tux  signior  Benedick  too 
much ;  but  he'll  be  meet*  wiih  you,  I  doubt  it  not. 

Mess,  He  hath  done  good  service,  lady,  in  these 
wars. 

Beat.  You  bad  musty  victual,  and  he  hath  holp 
to  eat  it :  he  is  a  very  valiant  trencher-man,  he 
hath  an  excellent  stomach. 

Mess.  And  a  good  soldier  too,  lady. 

Beat.  And  a  good  soldier  to  a  liidy ; — But  what 
is  he  to  a  lord  ? 

Mess.  A  lord  to  a  lord,  a  man  to  a  man ;  stuffed 
with  all  honourable  virtues. 

Beat.  It  is  so,  indeed  ;  he  is  no  less  than  a  stuffed 
man :'  but  for  the  stuffing, — Well,  we  are  all  mortal. 

Lton.  You  must  not,  sir,  mistake  my  niece:  there 
is  a  kind  of  merry  war  betwixt  signior  Benedick 
and  her :  they  never  meet,  but  there  is  a,  skirmish 
of  wit  between  them. 

Beat.  Alas,  he  gets  nothing  by  that.  In  our  last 
conflict,  four  of  his  five  wits  went  halting  off", 
and  now  is  the  whole  man  governed  with  one :  so 
that  if  he  have  wit  enough  to  keep  himself  warm, 
let  him  bear  it  for  a  difference  between  himself  and 
his  horse :  for  it  is  all  the  wealth  that  he  hath  left, 
to  be  known  a  reasonable  creature. — Who  is  his 
companion  now  7  He  hath  every  month  a  new 
sworn  brother. 

Mess,  Is  it  possible  ? 

Beat.  Very  easily  possible :  he  wears  his  faith  but 
as  the  fashion  of  liis  hat,  it  over  changes  with  the 
next  block.* 

Mess.  I  sse,  lady,  the  gentleman  is  not  in  your 
books. 

Beat.  No :  an  he  were,  I  would  burn  my  study. 
But,  I  pray  you,  who  is  his  companion  7  Is  there  no 


(I)  Kind.  (3)  Abundance.  (3)  At  long  lengths.     (4)  Even.    (5)  A  cuckold.  (6)  Mould  for  a  hat. 


Scene  I. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING, 


119 


Toung  iquarer'  now,  that  will  nuke  a  Toyage  with  I  heartily  prays  some  occasion  mav  detain  us  longer  : 
bim  to  the  deyil  ?  1 1  dare  swear  he  is  no  hypocrite, "hut  prays  from  hu 

.Mess.  He  is  most  in  the  company  of  the  right:  heart, 
noble  Claudio.  Leon.  If  you  swear,  my  lord,  tou  shall  not  be 

Beat.  O  Lord !  he  will  hang  upon  him  like  a  dis- forsworn. — Let  me  bid  you  welcome,  my  lord: 
ease :  he  is  sooner  caught  than  the  pestilence,  and|beinp  reconciled  to  the  prince  your  brother,  I  owe 
the  laker  runs  presently  mad.     God  help  the  noble  you  all  duty 


Claudio  !  if  be  have  caught  the  Benedick,  it  will 
cost  him  a  thousand  pound  ere  he  be  cured. 

.Mess.  I  will  hold  Iriend*  with  you,  lady. 

Beat.  Do,  good  friend. 

Leon.  You  will  never  run  mad,  niece. 

Beat.  No,  not  till  a  hot  January. 

iMeas.  Don  Pedro  is  approacheH. 

Enter   Don  Pedro,  attended  bij  Balthazar,   and 
others,  Don  John,  Claudio,  and  Benedick. 


D.  John.  Ithadkyou:  I  am  not  of  many  words, 
but  I  thank  you. 

Leon.  Please  it  your  grace  lead  on  ? 

D.  Pedro.  Your  hand,  Leonato  ■  we  will  go  to- 
gether.        [Exeitnt  all  but  Benedick  and  Claudio. 

Claud.  Benedick,  didst  thou  note  the  daughter 
of  signior  Leonato  ? 

Bene.  I  noted  her  not ;  but  I  looked  on  her. 

Claud.  Is  she  not  a  modest  youn:;  lady  ? 

Bene.  Do  you  question  me,  as  an  honest  man 


D.  Pedro.  Good  sicmior  Leonato,  vou  are  come  should  do,  for  my  simple  true  judgment ;  or  would 
to  meet  your  trouble:  the  lashion  of  the  world  is  jjo"  have  me  speak  af^^^^ 
to  avoid  cost,  and  you  encounter  it. 


Leon.  Never  came  trouble  to  my  house  in  the 
likeness  of  your  grace :  for  trouble  bein^  pone,  com- 
fort should  remain ;  but,  when  you  depart  from 
me,  sorrow  abides,  and  happiness  takes  his  leave. 

1).  Pedro.  You  embrace  your  charge*  too  wil- 
lingly.— I  think,  tliis  ii  yourdaughter. 

Leon.  Her  mother  hath  many  limes  told  me  so. 

Ben  e.  Were  you  in  doubt,  sir,  "that  you  asked  her ; 

Leon.  Signior  Benedick,  no  ;  for  tiica  were  you 
a  child 


fessed  tvrant  to  their  sex  ?    ^ 

C/omJ.  No,  I  pray  thee,  speak  in  sober  judg- 
ment. 

Bene.  VVhy,  i'faith,  methuiks  she  is  too  low  for  a 
high  praise,  too  brown  for  a  fair  praise,  and  too  lit- 
tle for  a  great  praise :  only  this  commendation  I  can 
ali'ord  her ;  that  were  she  other  than  she  is,  she  were 
unhandsome ;  and  being  no  other  but  as  she  is,  I  do 
not  like  her. 

Claud.  Thou  thinkest,  I  am  in  sport;  I  pray 
thee  tell  me  truly  how  thou  likest  her? 

Bene.  Would  you  buy  her,  that  you  inquire  after 


D.  Pedro.  You  have  it  full.  Benedick :  we  may,       .^ 
ruess  bv  this  what  )-ou  are,  being  a  man.    Trulv,;"^'^-      ,    _,      .,  , , .  ,      .       ,, 

the  lady-fathers  herself  :-Be  happy,  lady !  for  j6a\     C/ai/d.  Can  the  world  buy  such  r  jewel  ? 
are  like  an  honourable  father.  I     £«'«•  ^  ea,  and  acase  to  put  it  mlo._    But  speak 


sJirnior  Benedick ;  no  body  marks  you 
Bew.  What,  my  dear  lady  Disdain !  areyouj'ct 

living? 
Becd.   Is  il  possible,  disdain  should  die,  while 

she  hfith  such  meet  iood  to  feed  it,  as  signior  Bene 


Claud.  In  mine  eye,  she  is  tlie  sweetest  lady  that 
ever  I  looked  on. 

Bene.  I  can  see  yet  without  spectacles,  and  I  see 
no  such  matter :  there's  her  cousui,  an  she  were  not 
possessed  with  a  fury,  exceeds  her  as   much  in 


dick?  Courtesy  itself  must  convert  to  disdain,  il^^e*"l>%^the  first  of  May  doth  the  last  of  Decern- 
-  ber.    But  I  hope  you  have  no  intent  to  turn  hus  • 


you  come  in  her  presence. 

Bene.  Then  is  courtesy  a  turn-coat: — But  it  is 
certain,  I  am  loved  of  all  ladies,  only  you  excepted  : 
and  I  v.ould  I  could  fnid  in  my  heart  that  I  had  not 
a  hard  heart ;  for,  truly,  I  love  none. 

Beat.  A  dear  happiness  to  women  ;  they  would 
else  have  been  troubled  with  a  pernicious  suitor.  I 
thank  God,  and  my  cold  blood,  I  am  of  your  hu- 
mour for  mat ;  I  had  rather  hear  my  dog  bark  at 
a  crow,  than  a  man  swear  he  loves  mc. 

Bene.  G  od  keep  your  ladyship  still  in  that  mind  ! 
K)  some  gentleman  or  other  shall  'scape  a  predesti- 
nate scratched  face. 

Beat.  Scratching  could  not  make  it  worse,  an 
'twere  such  a  face  as  yours  were. 

Bene.  Well,  you  are  a  rare  parrot-teacher. 

Beat.  A  bird  of  my  tongue,  is  better  than  a  beast 
of  yours. 

Bene.  I  would  my  horse  had  the  speed  of  your 
tongue  ;  and  so  good  a  continuer :  But  keep  your 
way  o'  God's  name  ;  I  have  done, 


band  ;  have  you  ? 

Claud.  I  would  scarce  trust  myself,  though  I  had 
sworn  the  contrary,  if  Hero  would  be  my  wife. 

Bene.  Is  it  come  to  thisj  i'faith  ?  Hath  not  the 
world  one  man,  but  he  will  wear  his  cap  with 
suspicion  ?  Shall  I  never  sec  a  bachelor  of  three- 
score a^^ain  ?  Go  to,  i'faith ;  an  thou  wilt  needs 
thrust  thy  neck  into  a  j'oke,  wear  the  print  of  it, 
and  si^h  away  Sundays.  Look,  Don  Pedro  is  re- 
turned to  seek  you. 

Re-enter  Don  Pedro. 


D.  Pedro.  'What  secret  hath  held  you  here,  that 
you  followed  not  to  Leonato's  ? 

Bene.  I  would,  your  grace  would  constrain  mo 

to  tell. 

D.  Pedro.  I  charge  thee  on  thy  allegiance. 

Bene.  You  hear,  count  Claudio  :  I  can  be  secret 

as  a  dumb  man,  I  would  have  vou  think  so ;  but  on 

ly  o'  uoa  s  name  ;  i  navc^aone.  my  allegiance,— mark  vou  thisl  on  mv  allegiance:— 

Beat.  You  always  end  with  a  jade's  tnci ;  I  kno-.v ,  He  is  inlove.  With  who  ?— now  that  is  vour  grace's 

5'°'^,    T?j      ^v    •    .1.  r    11    T         .        Ipart.— Mark,  how  short  hb  answer  is: —With  Hero. 

D.  Pedro.  This  is  the  sum  of  all :  Leonato,— |  Leonato's  short  daushter. 
eigmor  Claudio,  and  signior  Benedick,--my  dear      ci^ud,  if  this  wefe  so,  so  were  it  uttered, 
fnend  Leonato,  hath  invited  you  all.    I  tell  lum,  we      ^ene.  Like  the  old  tale,  m v  lord :  it  is  not  so,  nor 
•hall  stay  here  at  the  least  a  month  ;    and  he  .(was  not  so;  but,  indeed,  Go'd  forbid  it  should  be  so, 

Claud.  If  mv  passion  change  not  shortly,  Qod 
(I)  Quarrelsoise  fellow.  (2)  Tnwt.       Iforbid  it  should  be  otherwise. 


120 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


4ei/^ 


D.  Pedro,  Amen,  if  you  love  her ;  for  the  ladyt    D.  Pedro.  My  love  x  thine  to  teach ;  teach  U 


is  very  well  worthy 

Claud.  You  speak  this  to  fetch  me  in,  my  lord. 

D.  Pedro.  By  my  troth,  I  speak  my  thought. 

Claud.  And,  m  faith,  mv  lord,  I  spoke  mine. 

Bene.  And,  by  my  two  faiths  and  troths,  my  lord, 
I  spoke  mine. 

CUutd.  That  I  love  her,  I  feel. 

D.  Pedro.  That  she  is  worthy,  I  know. 

Bene.  That  I  neither  feel  now  she  should  he 
loved,  nor  know  how  she  should  be  worthy,  is  the 
opinion  that  fire  cannot  melt  out  of  me ;  1  will  die 
in  it  at  the  stake. 

D.  Pedro.  Thou  wast  ever  an  obstinate  heretic 
in  the  despite  of  beauty, 

Claud.  And  never  could  maintain  his  part,  but 
in  the  force  of  his  will. 

Bene,  That  a  woman  conceived  me,  I  thank  her ; 
that  «he  brought  me  up,  I  likewise  give  her  most 
humble  thanks :  but  that  I  will  have  a  recheat' 
winded  in  my  forehead,  or  hang  my  bugle''  in  an 
invisible  baldric,^  all  women  shall  pardon  me.  Be- 
cause I  will  not  do  them  the  wrong  to  mistrust  any, 
I  will  do  myself  the  ria;ht  to  trust  none ;  and  the 
fine  is  (for  the  which  I  may  go  the  finer,)  I  will 
live  a  bachelor. 

D.  Pedro.  I  shall  see  thee,  ere  I  die,  look  pale 
with  love. 

Bene.  With  anger,  with  sickness,  or  with  hun- 
ger, my  lord :  not  mth  love :  prove,  that  ever  I 
fose  more  blood  with  love,  than  I  will  get  asrain 
with  drinking,  pick  out  mme  eyes  with  a  ballad- 
maker's  pen,  and  hang  me  up  at  the  door  of  a 
brothel-house,  for  the  sign  of  blind  Cupid. 

D.  Pedro.  Well,  if  ever  thou  dost  fall  from  thb 
faith,  thou  wilt  prove  a  notable  argument. 

Bene.  If  I  do,  hang  me  in  a  bottle  like  a  cat,  and 
shoot  at  me ;  and  he  that  hits  me,  let  him  be  clap- 
ped on  the  shoulder,  and  called  Adam.* 

D.  Pedro.  Well,  as  time  shall  try : 
In  lime  the  socage  bull  doth  bear  the  yoke. 

Bene.  The  savage  bull  may ;  but  if  ever  the 
sensible  Benedick  bear  it,  pluck  oflTthe  bull's  horns, 
and  set  them  in  my  forehead  :  and  let  me  be  vilely 
painted ;  and  in  such  great  letters  as  thev  write, 
JJere  is  good  horse  to  hire,  kt  them  signify  under 
my  sign, — Here  you  may  see  Benedick  the  married 
man. 

Claud.  If  this  should  ever  happen,  thou  would'st 
be  horn-mad. 

D.  Pedro.  Nay,  if  Cupid  have  not  spent  all  his 
quiver  in  Venice,  thou  wilt  quake  for  this  shortly. 

Bene.  I  look  (or  an  earthquake  too  then. 

D.  Pedro.  Well,  you  will  temporize  with  the 
hours.  In  the  mean  time,  good  sigiiior  Benedick, 
repair  to  Leonato's  ;  commend  me  to  him,  and  lel! 
him,  I  will  not  (iiil  him  at  supper ;  for,  indeed,  he 
hath  made  great  preparation. 

Bene.  I  have  almost  matter  enough  in  me  for 
such  an  embassage  ;  and  so  I  commit  you — 

Claud,  To  the  tuition  of  God:  From  my  house 
(if  I  hid  it)— 

/).  Pedro.  The  sixth  of  July:  Your  loving 
friend,   Benedick. 

Bene.  Nay,  mock  not,  mock  not:  The  body  of 
your  discourse  is  sometime  giuarded'  with  frag- 
ments, and  the  guards  are  but  sliThlly  basted  on 
neither:  ere  you  flout  old  ends  any  further,  examine 
your  conscience;  and  so  I  leave  you.    [Exit  Bene. 

Claud,  My  liege,  your  highness  now  may  do  me 
good. 

{1)  The  time  sounded  to  call  ofi*  the  dog^s. 
2}  Uuuting^horn.  (3)  Girdle. 


hut  how. 
And  thou  shalt  see  how  apt  it  is  to  learn 
Any  hard  lesson  that  may  do  thee  good. 

Claud.  Hath  Leonalo  any  son,  my  lord  7 

D.  Pedro.  N"  child  but  Hero,  she's  his  only  heir ; 
Dost  thou  affect  her,  Claudio  ? 

Claud.  0,  my  lord, 

When  you  went  onward  on  this  ended  action, 
I  look'd  upon  her  with  a  soldier's  eye. 
That  liked,  but  had  a  rougher  task  in  hand 
Than  to  drive  liking  to  the  name  of  love : 
But  now  I  am  return'd,  and  that  war-thoughts 
Have  left  their  places  vacant,  in  their  rooms 
Come  thronging  soft  and  delicate  desires. 
All  prompting  me  how  fair  young  Hero  is, 
Sayinw,  I  Uk'd  her  ere  I  went  to  wars. 

D.  Pedro.  Thou  wilt  be  like  alover  presentlfi 
And  tire  the  hearer  with  a  book  of  words : 
If  thou  dost  love  fair  Hero,  cherish  it ; 
And  I  will  break  with  her,  and  with  her  father. 
And  thou  shalt  have  her :  Was't  not  to  this  end. 
That  thou  began'st  to  twist  so  fine  a  story  ? 

Claud.  How  sweetly  do  you  minister  to  love, 
That  know  love's  grief  by  his  complexion  ! 
But  lest  my  liking  might  too  sudden  seem, 
I  would  have  salv'd  it  with  a  longer  treatise. 

D.  Pedro.  What  need  the  bridge  much  broader 
than  the  flood  ? 
The  fairest  grant  is  the  necessity : 
Look,  what  will  serve,  is  fit :  'tis  once,*  thou  lov'st 
And  I  will  fit  thee  with  the  remedy. 
I  know,  we  shall  have  revelling  to-night ; 
I  will  assume  thy  part  in  some  disguise, 
And  tell  fair  Hero  I  am  Claudio  ; 
And  in  her  bosom  I'll  unclasp  my  heart, 
And  take  her  hearing  prisoner  with  the  force 
And  strong  encounter  of  my  amorous  tale : 
Then,  after,  to  her  father  will  I  break  ; 
And,  the  conclusion  is,  she  shall  be  tliine : 
In  practice  letus  put  it  presently.  [ExetoiL 

SCEJ^E  II.— .S  room  in  Leonato's  house.    En- 
ter  Leonato  and  Antonio. 

Leon.  How  now,  brother  ?  where  is  my  cousin, 
your  son  ?    Hath  he  provided  this  music  ? 

,^iit.  He  is  very  busy  about  it.  But,  brother,  I 
can  tell  you  strange  news  that  you  yet  dreamed 
not  of. 

Leon.  Are  tliey  good  ? 

.Snt.  As  the  event  stamps  them ;  but  they  haT0 
a  good  cover,  they  show  well  outward.  The  prince 
and  count  Claudio,  walking  in  a  thick-pleached' 
alley  m  my  orchard,  were  thus  much  overheard 
by  a  man  of  mine  :  The  prince  discovered  to  Clau- 
dio, that  he  loved  my  niece  your  daughter,  and 
meant  to  acknowledge  it  this  night  in  a  dance ; 
and,  if  he  found  her  accordant,  he  meant  to  lake 
the  present  time  by  the  top,  and  instantly  break 
with  you  of  it. 

Leon.  Hath  the  fellow  any  wit,  that  told  you  this  ? 

^nt.  A  good  sharp  fellow :  I  ^^  ill  send  for  him, 
and  question  him  yourself. 

Leon.  No,  no  ;  we  will  hold  it  as  a  dream,  till 
it  appears  itself: — but  I  will  acquaint  my  daughter 
withal,  that  she  may  be  the  better  prepared  for  an 
answer,  if  peradven'ture  this  be  true.  Go  yon,  and 
tell  her  of  it.  [Several  persons  cross  the  slaee,] 
Cousins,  you  know  what  you  have  to  do. — 0.  I 
cry  you  mercy,  friend ;  you  go  with  roe,  ana  I 

f 4)  The  name  of  a  famous  archer.    (5)  Trimmed , 
(6)  Once  for  all.  (7)  Thickly  interwoven . 


actru  UI. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


121 


will  use  your  skill :— Good  cousins,  hare  a  care 
this  busy  time.  \_Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E  III. — Another  room  in  Leonato's  house. 
EtUer  Don  John  and  Conrade. 

Con.  ^Vhat  the  goujere,'  my  lord !  why  are  you 
thus  out  of  measure  sad  ? 

D.  John,  There  is  no  measure  in  the  occasion 
that  breeds  it,  therefore  the  sadness  is  without  limit. 

Con.  You  should  hear  reason. 

D.  John.  And  when  I  have  heard  it,  what 
blessing  bringeth  it  ? 

Con.  If  not  a  present  remedy,  yet  a  patient  suf- 
ferance. 

D.  John.  I  wonder  that  thou  being  (as  thou 
lay'st  thou  art)  born  under  Saturn,  goest  about  to 
apply  a  moral  medicine  to  a  mortifying  mischief. 
I  cannot  hide  what  I  am :  I  must  he  sad  when  I 
have  cause,  and  smile  at  no  man's  jests ;  eat  when 
I  have  a  stomach,  and  wait  for  no  man's  leisure  ; 
sleep  when  I  am  drowsy,  and  tend  to  no  man's 
business  j  laugh  when  I  am  merry,  and  claw*  no 
man  in  his  humour. 

Con.  Yea,  but  you  must  not  make  the  full  show 
of  this,  till  you  may  do  it  without  controlment. 
You  have  of  late  stood  out  against  your  brother, 
and  he  hath  ta'en  you  newly  into  his  grace ;  where 
it  is  impossible  you  should  take  true  root,  but  by 
the  fair  weatlier  that  you  make  yourself:  it  is 
needful  that  you  frame  the  season  for  your  own 
harvest. 

D.  John.  I  had  rather  be  a  canker'  in  a  hedge, 
than  a  rose  in  his  grace ;  and  it  better  fits  my  blood 
to  be  disdained  of  all,  than  to  fashion  a  carriage 
to  rob  love  from  any :  in  this,  thoujrh  I  cannot  be 
jaid  to  be  a  flattering  honest  man,  it  must  not  be 
denied  that  I  am  a  plain-dealing  villain.  I  *m 
trusted  with  a  muzzle,  and  enfranchised  with  a 
clog ;  therefore  I  have  decreed  not  to  sing  in  my 
cage  ;  if  I  had  my  mouth,  I  would  bite ;  if  I  had 
my  liberty,  I  would  do  my  liking :  in  the  mean 
time,  let  me  be  that  I  am,  and  seek  not  to  alter  me. 

Con.  Can  you  make  no  use  of  your  discontent  ? 
D.  John.  I  make  all  use  of  it,  for  I  use  it  only. 
Who  comes  here  7  What  news,  Borachio  ? 

Enter  Borachio. 
Bora.  I  came  yonder  from  a  great  supper ;  the 

Erince,  your  brother,  is  royally  entertained  by 
eonato ;  and  I  can  give  you  intelligence  of  an 
intended  marriage. 

D.  John.  Will  it  serve  for  any  model  to  build 
niischief  on  ?  What  is  he  for  a  fool,  that  betrolhs 
himself  to  unquietness  7 

Bora.  Marrv,  it  is  your  brother's  right  hard. 

n.  John.  Who  7  the  most  exquisite  Claudio? 

Bora.  Even  he. 

D.  John.  A  proper  squire !  And  who,  and  who  7 
which  wav  looks  he  7 

Bora.  Marry,  on  Hero,  the  daughter  and  heir 
of  Leonato. 

D.  John.  A  very  forward  March  chick !  How 
came  you  to  this  7 

Bora.  Being  entertained  for  a  perfumer,  as  I 
was  smoking  a  musty  room,  comes  me  the  prince 
and  Claudio,  hand  in  hand,  in  sad*  conference :  I 
whipt  me  behind  the  arras ;  and  thorn  heard  it 
agreed  upon,  that  the  prince  should  woo  Hero  for 
himself,  and  having  obtained  her,  give  her  to  count 
Claudio. 

D.  John.  Come,  come,  let  us  thither ;  this  may 
prove  food  to  my  displeasure :  that  young  start-up 

(1)  The  venereal  disease.        (2)  Flatter. 


hath  all  the  glory  of  my  overthrow ;  if  I  can  cross 
him  anyway,  I  bless  myself  every  way :  You  are 
both  sure,  and  will  assist  me  7 

Con.  To  tlie  death,  my  lord. 

D.  John.  Let  us  to  the  great  supper ;  their 
cheer  is  the  greater,  that  I  am  subdued :  'Would 
the  cook  were  of  my  mind  !— Shall  we  go  prove 
what's  to  be  done  7 

Bora.  We'll  w  ait  upon  your  lordship.    [Egeunt. 


ACT  II. 


SCEJiTE  I.— A  hall  in  Leonato's  house.    Enter 
Leonato,  Antonio,  Hero,  Beatrice,  and  otiiers. 

Leon.  Was  not  count  John  here  at  supper  ? 

Jint.  I  saw  him  not. 

Beat.  How  tartly  that  gentleman  looks !  I  never 
can  see  him,  but  I  am  heart-burned  an  hour  after. 

Hero.  He  is  of  a  veiy  melancholy  disposition. 

Beat.  He  were  an  excellent  man,  that  were 
made  just  in  the  mid-wav  between  him  and  Bene- 
dick :  the  one  is  too  like  an  image,  and  says 
nothing ;  and  the  other,  too  like  my  lady's  eldest 
son,  evermore  tattling. 

Leon.  Then  half  signior  Benedick's  tongue  in 
count  John's  mouth,  and  half  count  John's  melan- 
choly in  siffnior  Benedick's  face, — 

Beat.  Witli  a  good  leg,  and  a  good  foot,  uncle, 
and  money  enough  in  his  purse,  such  a  man  would 
win  any  woman  m  the  world,— if  he  could  get  her 
good  will. 

Leon.  By  mr  troth,  niece,  thou  wilt  never  get 
thee  a  husband,  if  Ihou  be  so  shrewd  of  thy  tongue. 

Jlnt.  In  faith,  she  is  too  curst. 

Beat.  Too  curst  is  more  than  curst:  I  shall  les- 
sen God's  sending  that  way :  for  it  is  said,  God 
sends  a  curst  cow  slwrt  horns  ;  but  to  a  cow  too 
curst  he  sends  none. 

Leon.  So,  by  being  too  curst,  God  will  send  Tou 
no  horns. 

Beat.  Just,  if  he  send  me  no  husband ;  for  the 
which  blessing,  I  am  at  him  upon  my  knees  every 
morning  and  evening :  Lord !  I  could  not  endure 
a  husband  with  a  beard  on  his  face ;  I  had  rather 
lie  in  the  woollen. 

L»n.  You  may  light  upon  a  husband,  that  hath 
no  beard. 

Beat.  What  should  I  do  with  him  ?  dress  him 
in  my  apparel,  and  make  him  my  waiting  pentle- 
5voman  7  He  that  hath  a  beard,  is  more  than  a 
youth ;  and  he  that  hath  no  beard,  is  less  than  a 
man  :  and  he  that  is  more  than  a  youth  is  not  for 
nie  ;  and  he  that  is  less  than  a  man,  I  am  not  for 
him.  Therefore,  I  will  even  take  sixpence  in 
earnest  of  the  bear-herd,  and  lead  his  apes  into  hell. 

Leon.  Well  then,  go  you  into  hell  7 

Be(U.  No  i  but  to  the  gate ;  and  there  will  the 
devil  meet  me,  like  an  old  cuckold,  with  horns  on 
his  head,  and  say.  Get  ynn  to  heaven,  Beatrice,  get 
you  to  heaven  ;  here's  no  place  for  you  maids ;  so 
deliver  I  up  mv  apes,  and  away  to  Saint  Peter  for 
the  heavens ;  he  shows  me  where  the  bachelors 
sit,  and  there  live  we  as  merrv  as  tlie  day  is  long. 

^nt.  Well,  niece,  [To  Hero.]  I  trust,  you  wijl 
be  ruled  by  your  father. 

Beat.  Yes,  faith  ;  it  is  my  cousin's  duty  to  make 
courtesy,  and  say,  Father,  as  it  please  you  .-—but 
vet  for  all  that,  cousin,  let  him  be  a  handsome  fel- 
low, or  else  make  another  courtesy,  and  say,  j*. 
ther,  as  it  please  me. 


(3)  Dog-rose. 


Q 


(4)  Serious. 


Uf 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


JklU. 


Leon.  Well,  niece,  I  hope  to  see  you  one  day 
fitted  with  a  husband. 

Btat.  Not  till  God  make  men  of  some  other 
metid  than  earth.  Would  it  not  grieve  a  woman 
to  be  over-mastered  with  a  piece  of  valiant  dust  ? 
to  make  an  account  of  her  life  to  a  clod  of  way- 
waid  marl?  No,  uncle,  I'll  none :  Adam's  sons  are 
my  brethren ;  and  truly,  I  hold  it  a  sin  to  match  in 
my  kindred. 

Lton.  Daughter,  remember,  what  I  told  you: 
if  the  prince  do  solicit  you  in  that  kind,  you  know 
your  answer. 

Beat.  The  fault  will  be  in  the  music,  cousin,  if 
you  be  not  woo'd  in  good  time :  if  the  pnnce  be  too 
important,'  tell  him,  there  is  measure  in  every 
thing,  and  so  dance  out  the  answer.  For  hear  me, 
Hero:  wooing,  wedding,  and  repenting,  is  as  a 
Scotch  jig,  a  tiieasure.  and  a  cinque-pace :  the  first 
suit  is  hot  and  hasty,  like  a  Scotch  jig,  and  full  as 
fantastical ;  the  wedding,  mannerly  modest,  as  a 
measure  full  of  state  and  ancientry;  and  then 
comes  repentance,  and,  i\  ith  his  bad  legs,  falls  into 
the  cinque-pace  faster  and  faster,  till  he  suik  into 
his  grave. 

Leon.  Cousin,  you  apprehend  passing  shrewdly 

Beat.  I  have  a  good  eye,  uncle:  I  can  see  : 
church  bv  day-light. 

Leon.  The  revellers  are  entering ;  brother,  make 
good  room. 

Enter  Don  Pedro,  Claudio,  Benedick,  Balthazar; 

Don  John,  Borachio,  Margaret,  Ursula,   und 

others,  masked. 

D.  Pedro.  Lady,  will  you  walk  about  with  your 
friend  ?^ 

Hero.  So  you  walk  softly,  and  look  sweetly,  and 
say  nothing,'I  am  yours  (or  the  walk ;  and  espe- 
cialljv when  I  walk  away. 

D.  Fedro.  With  me  in  your  company  ? 

Hero.  I  may  say  so,  wiien  I  please. 

D.  Pedro.  And  when  please  you  to  say  so  ? 

Hero.  When  I  like  your  favour :  for  God  de- 
fend,* the  lute  should  be  like  the  case ! 

D.  Pedro.  My  visor  is  Philemon's  roof;  within 
the  house  is  Jove. 

Hero.  Why,  then  your  visor  should  be  thatch'd. 

D.  Pedro.  Speak  low,  if  you  speak  love. 

[Takes  ker  aside. 

Bene.  Well,  I  would  vou  did  like  nie. 

Marg.  So  would  not  I,  for  your  own  sake ;  for  I 
have  many  ill  qualities. 

Bene.  W'hich  is  one  ? 

.VrtJ-^.  I  say  my  prayers  aloud. 

Bene.  I  love  you  the  better ;  the  hearers  may 
cry  Amen. 

.Mars.  God  match  me  with  a  good  dancer ! 

Ballh.  Amen. 

Marg.  And  God  keep  him  out  of  my  sight,  when 
the  dance  is  done ! — Answer,  clerk. 

Ballh.  No  more  words ;  the  clerk  is  answered. 

Vrs.  I  know  you  well  enough ;  you  are  signior 
Antonio. 

^nt.  At  a  word,  I  am  not. 

Urs.  I  know  you  by  the  waf'glin?  of  your  head. 

t9nt.  To  tell  you  true,  I  counterfeit  him. 

Urs.  You  could  never  do  him  so  ill-well,  unless 
you  were  the  very  man :  Here's  his  dry  hand  up 
and  down ;  you  are  he,  you  are  he. 

^nt.  At  a  word,  I  am  not. 

Urs.  Come,  come ;  do  you  think  I  do  not  know 
you  by  your  excellent  wit?  Can  virtue  hide  itself? 

(1)  Importunate.       (2)  Lover.      (S)  Forbid. 
(4)  Incredible.  (5)  Accosted. 


Go  to,  mum,  you  are  he :  gneta  will  appear,  aod 
there's  an  end. 

Beat.  Will  you  not  tell  me  who  told  you  so. 

Bene.  No,  you  shall  pardon  me. 

Beat.  Nor  will  you  not  tell  me  who  you  are  7 

Bene.  Not  now. 

Beat.  That  I  was  disdainful, — and  that  I  had  mr 
good  wit  out  of  the  Hundred  merry  Tales; — Well, 
this  was  sienior  Benedick  that  said  so. 

Bene.  What's  he  ? 

Beat.  I  am  sure,  ^ou  know  him  well  enough. 

Bene.  Not  I,  believe  me. 

Beat.  Did  he  never  make  you  laugh  ? 

Bene.  I  pray  you,  what  is  he  ? 

Beat.  Why,  he  is  the  prince's  jester:  a  very  dull 
fool ;  only  his  gift  is  in  devising  impossible*  slan- 
ders :  none  but  libertines  delight  in  him  ;  and  the 
commendation  is  not  in  his  wit^  but  in  his  villany : 
for  he  both  pleaseth  men,  and  augers  them,  ana 
then  they  laugh  at  him,  and  beat  him  :  I  am  sure, 
he  is  iu  tlie  fleet ;  I  would  he  had  boarded'  me. 

Bene.  When  I  knou-  the  gentleman,  I'll  tell  him 
what  you  say. 

Beat.  Do,"  do :  he'll  but  break  a  comparison  or 
two  on  me ;  which  peradventure,  not  marked,  or 
not  laughed  at,  strikes  him  into  melancholy  ;  and 
then  there's  a  partridge's  wing  saved,  for  the  fool 
will  eat  no  supper  that  night.  [JVIusjc  within.]  We 
must  follow  the  leaders. 

Bene.  In  every  good  thing. 

Beat.  Nay,  if  they  lead  to  any  ill,  I  will  leave 
them  at  tite  next  turning. 

[Dance.    Then  exeunt  all  but  Don  John, 
Borachio,  and  Claudio. 

D.  Juhn.  Sure,  my  brother  is  amorous  on  Hero, 
and  hath  withdrawn  lier  father  to  break  with  him 
about  it:  tlie  ladies  follow  her,  and  but  one  visor 
remains. 

Bcra.  And  that  is  Claudio :  I  know  him  by  liis 
bearin^.*^ 

/>.  John.  Are  not  you  signior  Benedick  7 

Claud.  You  know  me  well ;  I  am  he. 

D.  John.  Si^ior,  you  are  very  near  my  brother 
in  his  love :  he  is  enamoured  on  Hero ;  I  prav  you, 
dissuade  him  from  her,  she  is  no  equal  for  his  birth : 
you  may  do  the  part  of  an  honest  man  in  it. 

Claitia.  How  kno^v  you  he  loves  her  ? 

D.  John.  I  heard  him  swear  his  afi'ection. 

Bora.  So  did  I  too ;  and  he  swore  he  would 
marrj'  her  to-night. 

D.  John.  Come,  let  us  to  the  banquet. 

[Exeunt  Don  John  and  Borachio. 

Chud.  Thus  answer  I  in  name  of  Benedick, 
But  hear  these  ill  news  with  the  ears  of  Claudio.— 
'Tis  certain  so ; — the  prince  woos  for  himself. 
Friendsliip  is  constant  in  all  other  things. 
Save  in  the  office  and  affairs  of  love : 
Therefore,  all  hearts  in  love  use  their  own  tongues ; 
Let  every  eye  negotiate  for  itself^ 
And  trust  no  agent ;  for  beauty  is  a  witch, 
Asrainst  whose  charms  faith  melteth  into  blood.' 
This  is  an  accident  of  hourly  proof. 
Which  I  mistrusted  not:  Farewell  therefore,  Hero! 

Re-enter  Benedick. 

Bene.  Count  Claudio  7 

Claud.  Yea,  the  same. 

Bene.  Come,  will  you  go  with  me  7 

Claud.  Whither? 

Bene.  Even  to  the  next  willow,  about  your  own 
business,  count  What  fashion  will  you  wear  tho 
garland  of?     About  your  neck,  like  a  usurer's 

(6)  Carriage,  demeanour.      (7)  Fassioa. 


BumL 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTIIINQ. 


isai 


chain?  or  under  your  arm,  like  a  lieutenant's 
scarf  7  You  must  wear  it  one  way,  for  tlie  prince 
hatk  got  your  Hero. 

Claud.  I  wish  him  joy  of  her. 

Bene.  Why,  that's  spoken  like  an  honest  drover ; 
so  they  sell  bullocks.  But  did  you  Uiiiik,  the  prince 
would' hare  served  you  thus  ? 

Claud.  I  pray  you,  leave  me. 

Bene.  Ho !  now  you  strike  like  the  Mind  man ; 
*twa:i  the  boy  that  stole  your  meat,  and  }  ou'U  beat 
the  post. 

Claud.  If  it  will  not  be,  I'll  leave  you.       [Exit. 

Bene.  Alas,  poor  hurt  fowl !  Now  will  he  creep 

into  sedges. But,  that  my  lady  Beatrice  should 

know  me,  and  not  know  me !  Tiie  prince's  fool ! — 
Ha !  it  may  be,  I  go  under  that  title,  because  I  am 
merry. — Yea ;  but  so ;  I  am  apt  to  do  myself  wronjj: 
I  am'  not  so  reputed :  it  is  tiie  base,  the  bitter  dis- 
position of  Beatrice,  that  puts  the  world  into  her 
person,  and  so  gives  me  out.  Well,  I'll  be  :«- 
Tenged  as  I  may. 

Re-enter  Don  Pedro,  Hero,  a7ul  Leonato. 

p.  Pedro.  Now,  signior,  where's  the  count? 
Did  you  see  him  ? 

Bene.  Troth,  my  lord,  I  have  played  the  part  of 
lady  Fame.  I  found  him  here  as  melancholy  as  a 
lodge  in  a  warren  ;  I  told  him,  and,  I  tliink,  I  told 
him  true,  that  your  grace  had  got  the  good  will  of 
this  young  lady ;  and  I  offered  Kim  my  company  to 
a  willow  tree,  either  to  make  him  a  garland,  as 
being  forsaken,  or  to  bind  him  up  a  rod,  as  being 
worthy  to  be  whipped. 

D.  Pedro.  To  be  whipped !  What's  his  fault  ? 

Bene.  The  flat  transgression  of  a  school-boy ; 
who,  beino;  overjoy'd  with  finding  a  bird's  nest, 
shows  it  his  companion,  and  he  steals  it. 

/>.  Pedro.  Wilt  thou  make  a  trust  a  transgres- 
sion ?  The  transgression  is  in  the  stealer. 

Bene.  Yet  it  had  not  bex;n  amiss,  the  rod  had 
been  made,  and  the  garland  too:  for  the  garland 
he  might  have  worn  himself;  and  the  rod  he  might 
have  bestowed  on  you,  who,  as  I  take  it,  have  stol'n 
his  bird's  nest. 

D.  Pedro.  I  will  but  teach  them  to  sing,  and  re- 
Store  them  to  the  owner. 

Bene.  If  their  singing  answer  your  saying,  by 
my  faith,  you  say  honestly. 

D.  Pedro.  The  lady  Beatrice  hath  a  ouarrel  to 

Jou ;  the  gentleman,  that  danced  with  licr,  told 
er.  she  is  much  wronged  by  you. 
Bene.  O,  she  misused  me  past  the  endurance  of 
a  block ;  an  oak,  but  with  one  green  leaf  on  it, 
would  have  answered  her ;  my  very  visor  began  to 
assume  life,  and  scold  with  her :  She  told  me,  not 
thinking  I  had  been  myself,  that  I  was  the  prince's 
jester ;  that  I  was  duller  than  a  great  thaw ;  hud- 
dling jest  upon  jest,  with  such  impossible'  convey- 
ance, upon  me,  that  I  stood  like  a  man  at  a  mark, 
with  a  whole  army  shooting  at  me :  she  speaks 
poniards,  and  every  word  stabs :  if  her  breath  were 
as  terrible  as  her  terminations,  there  were  no  living 
near  her,  she  would  infect  to  the  north  star.  I 
■would  not  marry  her,  though  she  were  endowed 
•with  all  that  Adam  had  left  him  before  he  trans- 
gressed: she  would  have  made  Hercules  have 
turned  spit ;  yea,  and  have  cleft  his  club  to  make 
the  fire  too.  Come,  talk  not  of  her ;  you  shall  find 
her  the  infernal  At6*  in  good  apparel.  I  would  to 
God,  some  scholar  would  conjure  her;  for,  cer- 
tunly,  while  she  is  here,  a  man  may  live  as  quiet 


!1)  Incredible. 
2)  The  Goddess  of  Discord. 


(S)  Interest. 


in  hell,  as  in  a  sanctuary ;  and  people  sin  upon  pnr* 
pose,  because  they  would  go  thither ;  so,  indeeo,  aU 
disquiet,  horror,  and  perturbation  follow  her. 

Re-enter  Claudio  and  Beatrice.  . 

D.  Pedro.  Look,  here  she  comes. 

Bene.  Will  your  grace  command  me  any  service 
to  the  world's  end  ?  1  will  go  on  the  slightest  errand 
now  to  the  Antipodes,  that  you  can  devise  to  send 
me  on ;  I  will  fetch  you  a  toothpicker  now  from  the 
fartliest  inch  of  Asia ;  bring  you  the  length  of  Pres- 
ter  John's  foot;  fetch  you  a  hair  off  the  great 
Cham's  beard ;  do  you  any  embassage  to  the  Pig- 
mies, rather  than  hold  three  words'  conference  with 
this  harpv :  You  have  no  employment  for  me  7 

D.  Pearo.  None,  but  to  desire  your  good  com- 
pany. 

Bene.  0  God,  sir,  here's  a  dish  I  love  not :  I  can- 
not endure  my  lady  Tongue.  [Exit. 

D.  Pedro.  Come,  lady,  come ;  you  have  lost  the 
heart  of  signior  Benedick. 

Beat.  Indeed,  my  lord,  he  lent  it  me  awhile ;  and 
I  gave  him  use '  for  it,  a  double  lieart  for  his  single 
one :  marrj,  once  before,  he  won  it  of  me  with 
false  dicCj  therefore  your  grace  may  well  say,  t 
have  lost  it. 

D.  Pedro.  You  have  put  him  down,  lady,  you 
have  put  him  do^vn. 

Beat.  So  I  would  not  he  should  do  me,  my  lord, 
lest  I  should  prove  the  mother  of  fools.  I  have 
brouglit  count  Claudio,  whom  you  sent  me  to  seek. 

D.  Pedro.  Why,  how  now,  count?  wherefore 
are  you  sad  ? 

Claud.  Not  sad,  my  lord. 

D.Pedro.  How  then?  Sick? 

Claud.  Neither,  my  lord. 

Beat.  The  count  is  neither  sad  nor  sick,  nor 
merry,  nor  well:  but  civil,  count;  civil  as  an 
orange,  and  something  of  that  jealous  complexion. 

D.  Pedro.  I'faith,  lady,  I  think  your  blazon  to 
be  true  ;  though  I'll  be  sworn,  if  he  be  so,  his  con- 
ceit is  false.  Here,  Claudio,  I  have  wooed  in  thr 
name,  and  fair  Hero  is  won ;  I  have  broke  with 
her  father,  and  his  good  will  obtained :  name  the 
day  of  marriage,  and  God  give  thee  joy ! 

Leon.  Count,  take  of  me  my  daughter,  and  with 
her  my  fortunes :  his  grace  hath  made  the  match, 
and  all  grace  say  Amen  to  it ! 

J5ea/."Speak,  count,  'tis  your  cue.* 

Claud.  Silence  is  the  peffectest  herald  of  joy :  I 
were  but  little  happy,  if  I  could  say  hmv  much. — 
Lady,  as  you  are  mine,  I  am  yours :  I  give  away 
myself  for  you,  and  dote  upon  tlic  exchange. 

Beat.  Speak,  cousin  ;  or  if  you  cannot,  stop  his 
mouth  with  a  kiss,  and  let  him  not  speak,  neither. 

D.  Pedro.  In  faith,  lady,  you  have  a  merry  heart. 

Beai.  Yea,  my  lord ;  l  "thank  it,  poor  fool,  it 
keeps  on  the  windy  side  of  care : — My  cousin  tells 
him  in  his  ear,  that  he  is  in  her  heart. 

Claud.  And  so  she  doth,  cousin. 

Beat.  Good  lord,  for  alliance ! — Thus  goes  every 
one  to  the  world  but  I,  and  I  am  sun-burned ;  I  may 
sit  in  a  corner,  and  cry,  heigh  ho !  for  a  husband. 

D.  Pedro.  Lady  Beatrice,  I  will  get  you  one. 

Beat.  I  would  rather  have  one  of  your  father's 
getting :  Hath  your  erace  ne'er  a  brother  like  you  ? 
Your  father  got  excellent  husbands,  if  a  maid  could 
come  by  them. 

D.  Pedro.  Will  you  have  me,  lady  ? 

Beat.  No,  my  lord,  unless  I  might  have  another 
for  working-days : — your  grace  is  too  costly  to  wear 
every  day: — But,  I  beseech  your  grace,  pardon 

(4)  Turn :  a  phrase  amopg  the  playenk 


124 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHINO. 


JMil 


me  ;  I  was  born  to  speak  all  mirthj  and  no  n 
Z).  Ptdro.  Your  silence  most  offends  me, 


I 


I  matter, 
.  and  to 
be  merry  best  becomes  you ;  for,  out  of  question, 
you  were  bom  in  a  merry  hour. 

Beat.  No,  sure,  my  lord,  my  mother  crj'd  ;  but 
then  there  was  a  star  danced,  and  under  that  was 
I  born. — Cousins,  God  give  you  joy ! 

Leon.  Niece,  will  you  look  to  tiiose  things  I  told 
you  of? 

Beat.  I  cry  you  mercy,  uncle. — By  your  grace's 
pardon.  [Exit  Beatrice. 

D.  Pedro.  By  my  troth,  a  pleasant-spirited  lady. 

Lton.  There's  little  of  the  melancholy  element 
in  her,  my  lord :  she  is  never  sad,  but  when  she 
sleeps ;  and  not  ever  sad  then ;  for  I  have  heard 
my  daughter  say,  she  hath  often  dreamed  of  utt 
happiness,  and  waked  herself  with  laughing. 

1).  Pedro.  She  cannot  endure  to  hear  tell  of  a 
husband. 

Leon.  0,  by  no  means ;  she  mocks  all  her  woo 
era  out  of  suit. 

D.  Pedro.  She  were  an  excellent  wife  for  Bene- 
dick. 

Leon.  0  Lord,  my  lord,  if  thev  were  but  a  week 
married,  they  would  talk  themselves  m:id. 

D.  Pedro.  Count  Claudio,  when  mean  you  to  go 
to  church  ? 

Claud.  To-morrow,  my  lord:  Time  goes  on 
crutches,  till  love  have  all  his  rites, 

Leon.  Not  till  Monday,  my  dear  son,  which  is 
hence  a  just  seven-night ;  and  a  time  too  brief  too, 
to  have  all  things  answer  my  mind. 

I).  Pedro.  Come,  you  shake  the  head  at  so  lon^ 
a  breathing ;  but,  I  warrant  thee,  Cl.-ujdio,  the 
time  shall  not  go  dully  by  us ;  I  %t'iil,  in  the  interim, 
undertake  one  of  Hercules'  labours ;  wWch  i?,  to 
bring  sianior  Benedick,  and  tiic  lady  Beatrice  into 
a  moimtain  of  afleclion,  the  one  with  the  other.  I 
would  fain  have  it  a  match ;  and  I  doubt  not  but 
to  fashion  it,  if  you  three  ^n\l  but  minister  sucli 
assistance  as  I  shall  give  you  direction. 

Leon.  My  lord,  I  am  for  you,  though  it  cost  me 
ten  nights'  watcliings. 

Claud.  And  I,  my  lord. 

D.  Pedro.  And  you  too,  p;entle  Hero  ? 

Hero.  I  will  do  any  modest  ofiice,  my  lord,  to 
help  my  cousin  to  a  good  husband. 

1).  Pedro.  And  Benedick  is  not  the  unhopefullest 
husband  that  1  know  :  thus  far  can  I  praise  him : 
he  is  of  a  noble  strain,"  of  approved  valour,  and 
confirmed  hoaesty.  I  will  teach  you  how  to  hu- 
mour your  coupin,  that  she  shall  fall  in  love  with 
Benedick : — and  I,  >vith  your  two  liclps,  will  so 
practise  on  Benedick,  that,  in  despite  of  his  quick 
wit  and  his  queasy*  stomach,  he  shall  fall  in  love 
with  Beatrice.  If  we  can  do  this,  Cupid  is  no 
longer  an  archer ;  his  glory  shall  be  ours,  for  we 
are  the  only  love-gods.  Go  in  witli  me,  and  I  will 
t«ll  you  my  drifL  [Exeunt. 

SCEJ^'E  U. — Another  room  in  Leonato's  liouse. 
Enter  Don  John  and  Borachio, 

D.  John.  It  is  so ;  the  count  Claudio  shall  marry 
the  daughter  of  Leonato. 

Bora.  Yea.  my  lord  ;  but  I  can  cross  it. 

D.  John.  Any  bar,  any  cross,  any  impediment 
will  be  medicinable  to  me :  I  am  sick  in  displea- 
sure to  him ;  and  whatsoever  comes  athwart  his 
affection,  ranges  evenly  with  mine.  How  canst 
thou  cross  this  marriage  ? 

Bera.  Not  honestly,  my  lord ;  but  so  covertly 
that  no  dishonesty  shall  appear  in  me. 

n)  Lineage.      (2)  Fastidious.     (3)  Fritend. 


D.  John.  Show  me  briefly  how. 

Bora,  I  think,  I  told  your  lordship,  a  year  suice, 
how  much  I  am  in  the  favour  of  Margaret,  the 
waiting  gentlewoman  to  Hero. 

D.  John.  I  remember. 

Bora.  I  can,  at  any  unseasonable  instant  of  the 
iiight,  appoint  her  to  look  out  at  her  lady's  cham- 
ber-window. 

D.  John.  Wliat  life  is  in  that,  to  be  the  death  of 
this  marriage  ? 

Bora.  The  poison  of  that  lies  in  you  to  temper. 
Go  you  to  the  prince  your  brother":  spare  not  to 
tell  him,  that  he  hath  wronged  his  honour  in  mar- 
rying the  renowned  Claudio  (whose  estimation  do 
you  mightily  hold  up)  to  a  contaminated  stale, 
such  a  one  as  Hero. 

D.  John.  What  proof  shall  I  make  of  that? 

Bora.  Proof  enough  to  misuse  the  prince,  to  vex 
Claudio,  to  undo  Hero,  and  kill  Leonato :  look  you 
for  any  other  issue  1 

D.  John.  Only  to  despite  them,  I  will  endeavour 
any  thing. 

iiora.  Go  then,  find  me  a  meet  hour  to  draw 
Don  Pedro  and  the  count  Claudio,  alone:  tell  them, 
that  you  know  that  Hero  loves  me ;  intend'  a  kind 
of  zeal  both  to  the  prince  and  Claudio,  as — in  love 
of  your  brother's  honour  ivho  hath  made  this 
match;  and  his  friend's  reputation,  who  is  thus 
like  to  be  cozened  with  the  semblance  of  a  maid, — 
that  you  have  discovered  thus.  They  will  scarcely 
believe  this  without  trial :  offer  them  instances'; 
lyhich  shall  bear  no  less  likelihood,  than  to  see  me 
at  her  chamber- whidow ;  hear  me  call  Margaret, 
Hero ;  hear  Margaret  tenn  mo  Borachio ;  and 
bring  them  to  see  this,  the  very  night  before  the  in- 
tended wedding:  for,  in  the  mean  time,  I  will  so 
fashion  the  matter,  that  Hero  shall  be  absent.;  and 
there  shall  appear  such  seeming  truth  of  Hero's 
disloyalty,  tliat  jealousy  shall  be  called  assurance, 
and  all  the  preparation  overtlirown, 

D.  John.  Gro^v  this  to  what  adverse  issue  it  can, 
I  will  put  it  in  practice  :  Be  cunning  in  the  work- 
in^this,  and  thy  fee  is  a  thousand  ducats. 

Bora.  Be  you  constant  in  the  accusation,  and 
my  cunning  shall  not  shame  me. 

D.  John.  I  will  presently  go  learn  their  day  ef 
marriage.  [Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E  ///,— Leonato's  Garden.    Enter  Bene- 
dick  and  a  Boy. 

Bene.  Boy, — 

Boy.  Sigriior. 

Bene.  In  my  chamber- window  lies  a  book ;  bring 
it  hither  to  me  in  the  orchard. 

Boy.  I  am  here  already,  sir. 

Bene.    I  know  that; — but  I  would  have  thcr 
hence,  and  here  again.     [Exit  Boy.] — I  do  mucl 
wonder,  that  one  man,  seeing  hon-  much  anothci 
man  is  a  fool  when  he  dedicates  his  behaviours  !i 
love,  will,  after  he  hath  laughed  at  such  shallov. 
follies  in  others,  become  the  argument  of  his  owr 
scorn,  by  falling  in  love :  and  such  a  man  is  Clau- 
dio. I  have  known,  when  there  was  no  music  wit) 
him  but  the  drum  and  fife,  and  now  had  he  rathe, 
hear  the  tabor  and  the  pipe :  I  have  known,  whei 
he  would  have  walked  ten  mile  afoot,  to  see  a  goo( 
armour;   and  now  will  he  lie  ten  nights  awakf 
carving  the  fashion  of  a  new  doublet.    He  wa 
wont  to  speak  plain,  and  to  the  purpose,  like  a 
honest  man,  and  a  soldier ;  and  now  is  he  turned  or 
thographer ;  his  words  are  a  very  fantastical  bar 
quet,  just  so  many  strange  dishes.    May  I  be  s 
converted,  and  see  with  these  eyes  7  I  cannot  tell 
I  think  not :  I  will  not  be  sworn,  but  love  ma 


Scetu  III 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOtHING. 


m 


transform  me  to  an  oyster;  but  I'll  take  my  oath!  Bene.  {Aside.'\  An  he  had  been  a  do?,  that 
on  it,  till  he  have  made  an  oyster  of  me,  he  shall  should  have  howled  thus,  Uiey  would  have  hanged 
never  make  me  such  a  fool.  One  woman  is  fair ;  him :  and  I  pray  God,  his  bad  voice  bode  no  mis- 
yet  I  am  well :  another  is  wise ;  yet  I  am  well ;  chief!  I  had  as  lief  have  heard  the  night-raven, 
anotlier  virtuous ;  yet  I  am  well :  but  till  all  graces  come  v.  hat  plague  could  have  come  afltr  it. 
be  in  one  woman,  one  woman  shall  not  come  in  my  I  D.Pedro.  \ea,  marrV;  [To  Claudio.] — Doat 
?race.  Rich  she  shall  be,  that's  certain ;  wise,  or j thou  hear,  Balthazar?  I  pray  thee,  get  us  some 
I'll  none;  virtuous,  or  I'll  never  cheapen  her;  fair,  excellent  music;  for  to-morrow  night  we  would 
or  I'll  never  look  on  her ;  mild,  or  come  not  nearlhave  it  at  the  lady  --      -     •       - 


me ;  noble,  or  not  1  for  an  cngel ;  of  good  dis- 
course, an  excellent  musician,  and  her  hair  shall 
be  of  what  colour  it  please  God.  Ha!  the  prince 
and  monsieur  Love !    I  will  hide  me  in  the  arbour. 

[  Witkdraws. 
Enter  Don  Pedro,  Leonato,  and  Claudio. 
D.  Pedro.  Come,  shall  we  hear  this  music? 
Claud.    Yea,   my  good   lord: — How  still  the 
evening  is. 
As  hush'd  on  purpose  to  grace  harmony ! 
D.  Pedro,    bee  you  where  Benedick  hath  hid 

himself? 
Claud.  O,  very  well,  my  lord :  the  music  ended,. 
We'll  fit  tlie  kid-fox'  with  a  penny-worth. 

Enter  Balthazar,  with  music. 

D.  Pedro.    Come,   BalUiazar,  we'll  hear  that 
song  again. 

Balth.  O  goo^  my  lord,  tax  not  so  bad  a  voice 
To  slander  music  any  more  than  once. 

D.  Pedro.  It  is  the  witness  still  of  excellency, 
To  put  a  strange  face  on  his  own  perfection: — 
1  prav  thee,  sing,  and  let  me  woo  no  more. 

Balth.  Because  you  talk  of  wooing,  I  will  sing; 
Since  many  a  wooer  doth  commence  liis  suit 
To  her  he  thinks  not  worthy ;  yet  he  woos ; 
Yet  will  he  swear,  he  loves^ 

D.  Pedro.  Nay,  pray  thee,  come : 

Or,  if  thou  wilt  hold  longer  argument, 
Do  it  in  notes. 

Balth.  Note  this  before  my  notes. 

There's  not  a  note  of  mine  that's  worth  the  noting. 

D.  Pedro.  Why,  these  are  very  crotchets  that  ne 
speaks ; 
Note,  note,  forsooth,  and  noting!  [Music. 

Bene.  Now,  Divine  air !  noiv  is  his  soul  ravish- 
ed!— Is  it  not  strange,  that  sheep's  guts  should 
hale  souls  out  of  men's  bodies  ? — Well,  a  horn  for 
my  money,  when  all's  done. 

Balthazar  sin^s. 
I. 

Balth.   Sis:h  no  more,  ladies,  st'g/t  no  more, 
Jflen  tcere  decfivrrs  ever; 
One  foot  in  sea,  and  one  on  short; 
To  one  thin^  constant  never: 
Then  sigh  not  so. 
But  let  them  go, 
And  be  you  blith  and  bonny  ; 
Converting  all  your  sounds  ofvoo 
Into,  Hey  nonny,  nonny. 
II. 
Sinp^  no  more  ditties,  sing  no  mo'* 

Of  dumps  so  dtdl  and  heavy  ; 
The  fraud  of  men  was  ever  so. 
Since  summer  first  teas  leavy. 
Then  sigh  not  so,  d-c. 
D.  Pedro.  By  my  troth,  a  good  song. 
Balth.  And  an  ill  singer,  my  lord. 
D.Pedro.  Ha?  no;  no,  faith ;  thou  singest  well 
enough  for  a  shift. 

{\)  Youag  or  cub^fox*  ^2}  Longer. 


Hero's  chamber- \vindow. 

Balth.  The  best  I  can,  my  lord. 

D,  Pedro.  Do  so :  farewell.  [Exeunt  Balthazar 
and  music]  Come  hither,  Leonato :  What  was  it 
you  told  me  of  to-day  ?  that  your  niece  Beatrice 
was  in  love  with  siguior  Benedick  ? 

Claud.  O,  ay : — Stalk  on,  stalk  on  j  the  fowl  sita. 
[Aside  to  Pedro.]  I  did  never  thmk  that  lady 
would  have  loved  any  man. 

Leon.  No,  nor  I  neither ;  but  most  wonderful 
that  she  should  so  dot«  on  signior  Benedick,  whom 
she  hath  in  all  outward  behaviours  seemed  ever  to 
abhor. 

Bene.  Is't  possible?  Sits  the  wind  in  that  comer 7 

[Aside. 

Leon.  Bv  my  troth,  my  lord,  I  cannot  tell  what 
to  think  of  it ;  but  that  "she  loves  him  with  an  en- 
raged affection, — it  is  past  the  infinite  of  thought.* 

Id.  Pedro.  May  be,  she  doth  but  counterfeit. 

Claud.  'Faith,' like  enough. 

Leon.  O  God!  counterfeit!  There  never  waa 
counterfeit  of  passion  came  so  near  the  life  of  pas- 
sion, as  she  discovers  it. 

D.  Pedro.  WhVjwhat  effects  of  passion  shows  she? 

Claud.  Bait  tfie  hook  well ;  this  fish  will  bite. 

[Aside. 

Lf  on.  What  effects,  my  lord  ?  She  will  sit  you,— 
You  heard  my  daughter  tell  you  how. 

Claud.  She  did  indeed. 

D.  Pedro.  How,  how,  I  pray  you  ?  You  amaze 
me :  I  would  have  thoaght  her  spirit  had  been  in- 
vincible against  all  assaults  of  affection. 

Lean.  I  would  have  sworn  it  had,  my  lord; 
especially  asraiust  Benedick. 

Bene.  [Aside.]  I  should  think  this  a  gull,  but 
that  the  w^te-bcarded  fellow  speaks  it :  knavery 
cannot,  sure,  hide  itself  in  such  reverence. 

Clam.  He  hath  ta'cn  the  infection ;  hold  it  up. 

D.  Pedro.  Hath  she  made  her  affection  known 
to  Benedick  ? 

Leon.  No ;  and  swears  she  never  will :  that's 
her  torment. 

Claud.  'Tis  true,  indeed;  so  your  daughfsr 
says:  ShuU  I,  says  she,  that  have  so  oft  encoun- 
tered him  with  scorn,  write  to  him  that  I  love  him  7 

Leon.  This  says  she  now  when  she  is  beginning 
to  write  to  him :  for  she'll  be  up  twenty  times  a 
night ;  and  there  will  she  sit  in  her  smock,  till  she 
have  writ  a  sheet  of  paper : — my  daughter  tells 
us  all. 

Claud.  Now  you  talk  of  a  sheet  of  paper,  re- 
member a  pretty  jest  your  dautrhter  told  us  of. 

Leon.  O  ! — When  she  had  writ  it,  and  was 
reading  it  over,  she  found  Benedick  and  Beatrice 
between  the  sheet  ? — 

Claud.  That. 

Leon.  O  !  she  tore  the  letter  into  a  thousand 
half-pence  ;  railed  at  herself,  that  she  should  be  so 
immodest  to  write  to  one  that  she  knew  would  flout 
her :  /  measure  him,  says  she,  by  my  own  spirit ; 
for  I  shoidd  flout  him,  if  he  writ  to  me ;  yea, 
though  I  love  nim,  I  should. 

Ctaud,  Then  down  upon  her  knees  she  fallsi 

(3)  Beyond  tho  power  of  thought  to  conceht* 


.ih 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHirfG. 


Aetni. 


weeps,  sobs,  beats  her  heart  tears  her  hiir,  prays, 
curses: — Oaweet  Benedick!  God  give  me  patience! 

Leon.  She  doth,  indeed ;  my  daughter  says  so : 
and  the  ecstasy'  hath  so  much  overDonic  lier,  that 
my  daugliter  is  sometimes  afraid  she  will  do  a  des- 
perate outrage  to  herselt';  It  is  very  true. 

D.  Pedro.  It  were  good  that  Benedick  knew  of 
it  by  some  other,  if  she  will  not  discover  it. 

Claud.  To  what  end  ?  He  would  make  but  a 
sport  of  it,  and  torment  the  poor  lady  worse. 

D.  Pedro.  An  he  should,  it  were  an  alms  to 
hang  him  :  she's  an  excellent  sweet  lady  ;  and,  out 
of  afi  suspicion,  she  is  virtuous. 

Claud.  And  she  is  exceeding  wise. 

D.  Pedro.  In  every  thing,  butin  loving  Benedick 

Leon.  O  my  lord,  wisdom  and  blood  combating 
.n  so  tender  a  body,  we  have  ten  proofs  to  one,  that 
blood  hath  the  victory.  I  am  sorry  for  her,  as  I  liave 
just  cause,  being  her  uncle  and  her  guardian. 

D.  Pedro.  I  would  she  had  bestowed  this  dotage 
on  me  ;  I  would  have  dafPd*  all  other  respects,  and 
made  her  half  myself:  I  pray  you,  tell  Benedick 
of  it,  and  hear  what  he  will  say. 

Leon.  Were  it  good,  think  you  ? 

Claud.  Hero  thmks  surely,  she  will  dicr  for  she 
says,  she  will  die  if  he  love"  her  not ;  and  she  will 
die  ere  she  makes  her  love  known  ;  and  she  will 
die  if  he  woo  her,  rather  than  she  will  'bate  one 
oreath  of  her  accustomed  crossness, 

D.  Pedro.  She  doth  well:  ifshe  should  make  ten- 
der of  her  love,  'tis  verv  possible  he'll  scorn  it ;  for 
the  man,  as  vouknow  all,  hath  a  contemptible^  spirit. 

Claud.  He  is  a  very  proper*  man. 

J).  Pedro.  He  hatli,  indeed,  a  good  outward 
Happiness. 

Claud.  'Fore  God,  and  in  my  mind,  very  wise. 

D.  Pedro.  He  doth,  indeed,  show  some  sparks 
that  are  like  wit. 

[.eon.  And  I  take  liim  to  be  valiant. 

D.  Pedro.  As  Hector,  I  assure  you  :  and  in  the 
managing  of  quarrels  yoii  may  say  he  is  wise ;  for 
either  he  avoids  tliera  with  areat  discretion,  or  un- 
dertakes them  with  a  most  Christian-like  fear. 

J^on.  If  he  do  fear  God,  he  must  necessarily 
keep  peace ;  if  he  break  the  peace,  he  ought  to 
enter  into  a  quarrel  with  fear  and  trembling. " 

D.  Pedro.  And  so  will  he  do ;  for  the  man  doth 
fear  God,  howsoever  it  seems  not  in  him,  by  some 
large  jests  he  will  make.  Well,  I  am  sorry  for 
v«ur  niece:  shall  we  go  see  Bcnetlick,  and  tell 
nim  of  her  love  ? 

Clmid.  Never  tell  him,  my  lord  ;  let  her  wear  it 
out  with  srood  rounjcl. 

Leon.  Nay,  that's  impossible ;  she  may  wear  her 
heart  out  first. 

D.  Pedro.  Well,  we'll  hear  further  of  it  by  your 
daughter ;  let  it  cool  the  while.  I  love  Benedick 
well ;  and  I  could  wish  he  would  ftjodestly  examine 
himself,  to  see  how  much  he  is  unworthy  so  good  a 
lady. 

Leon.  Mr  lord,  will  vou  walk  ?  dinner  is  ready. 

Claud.  It  he  do  not  dote  on  her  upon  this,  I  will 
never  trust  my  expectation.  [^Iside. 

D.  Pedro.  Let  there  be  the  same  net  spread  for 
her;  and  that  must  your  dauffhter  and  her  jrentle- 
woman  carry.  The  sport  will  be,  when  they  hold 
one  an  opinion  of  another's  dotasje,  and  no  such 
matter ;  that's  the  scene  that  I  would  see,  which 
will  be  merely  a  dumb  show.  Let  us  send  her  to 
eall  him  in  to  dinner.  [^iside. 

[Exeunt  Don  Fcdro,  Claudio,  and  Leonato. 


(I)  Alienation  of  mind., 
t)  CoRt«o^t«on<. 


(2)  Thrown  off. 
(4)  Handsome, 


Benedick  advances  from  ahote. 


Bene.  This  can  be  no  trick :  the  conference  wa> 
sadly  borne.' — They  have  the  truth  of  this  from 
Herb.  They  seeni  to  pity  the  lady  ;  it  seems,  her 
affections  have  their  full  benU  Love  me !  why,  it 
must  be  requited.  I  hear  how  I  am  censured  :  they 
say,  I  will  bear  myself  proudly,  if  I  perceive  the 
love  come  from  her ;  they  say  too,  that  she  will 
rather  die  than  give  any  sign  of  auection. — I  did 
never  think  to  marry : — 1  must  not  seem  proud : — 
H:ippy  are  tliey  that  hear  their  detractions,  and 
can  put  them  to  mending.  They  say,  the  lady  is 
fair ;  'tis  a  truth,  I  can  bear  them  witness  ;  and  vir 
tuous  ; — 'tis  so,  1  cannot  reprove  it ;  and  wise,  but 
for  loving  me : — By  my  troth,  it  is  no  addition  to  her 
wit;  nor  no  great  argument  of  her  folly,  for  I  will 
be  horribly  in  love  with  her. — I  may  chance  have 
some  odd  quirks  and  remnants  of  wit  broken  on 
me,  because  I  have  railed  so  long  against  mar- 
riage : — But  doth  not  the  appetite  alter  ?  A  man 
loves  the  meat  in  his  youth,  that  he  cannot  endure 
in  his  age :  shall  quips,  and  sentence?,  and  these 
paper  bullets  of  the  brain,  awe  a  man  from  the  ca- 
reer of  his  humour?  No:  the  world  must  be  peopled. 
When  I  said,  I  would  die  a  bachelor,  I  did  not 
think  I  should  live  till  I  were  married. — Here  comes 
Beatrice :  By  this  day,  she's  a  fair  lady  ;  I  do  spy 
some  marks  of  love  in  her. 

Enter  Beatrice. 

Beat,  Against  my  will,  I  am  sent  to  bid  you 
come  in  to  «inner. 

Bene.  Fair  Beatrice,  I  thank  you  for  your  pains. 

Beat.  I  took  no  more  pains  for  those  thanks,  than 
you  take  pains  to  thank  me  ;  if  it  had  been  painful, 
I  would  not  have  come. 

Bene.  You  take  pleasure  in  the  message  ? 

Beat.  Yea,  just  so  much  as  you  may  take  upon  a 
knife's  point,  and  chokic  a  daw  withal : — You  have 
no  stomach,  signior :  fare  you  well.  [Exit. 

Bene.  Ha !  ,^gainst  my  Kill  I  am  sent  to  bid 
you  come  to  dinner — there's  a  double  meaning  in 
that.  I  took  no  more  pains  for  tliose  thanks,  than 
yon  took  pains  to  tliank  me— that's  as  much  as  to 
say.  Any  pains  that  I  take  for  you  is  as  easy  as 
thanks : — If  I  do  not  take  pity  of  her,  I  am  a  vil- 
lain ;  if  I  do  not  lore  bcr,  I  am  a  Jew :  I  will  go 
get  bcr  picture.  [Exit, 


ACT  III. 

SC£.\*E  I.— Lconato's  Garden.     Enter  Hero, 
Margaiet  and  Ursula. 

Hero.  Good  Margaret,  run  thee  into  the  parlour ; 
There  shall  thou  find  my  cousin  Beatrice 
Proposing'  with  the  prince  and  Claudio: 
W^hi^iper  her  ear,  ana  tell  her,  I  and  Ursula 
Walk  in  the  orchard,  and  our  whole  discourse 
Is  all  of  her ;  say,  that  thou  overheard'st  us  ; 
And  bid  her  steal  into  the  pleached  bower, 
Where  honey-suckles,  ripen'd  by  the  sun, 
Forbid  the  sun  to  enter ; — like  favourites. 
Made  proud  by  princes,  that  advance  their  pride 
Against  that  po%ver  that  bred  it : — there  will  she 

hide  her, 
To  listen  our  propose  :  this  is  thy  office. 
Bear  thee  well  in  it,  and  leave  us  alone. 

J\Iarg.  I'll  make  her  come,  I  warrant  youLpre* 
sently.  [ExiU 

(5)  Seriously  carried  on,       (6}  Pkeonrsing, 


5«ne  /. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


isf 


Hero.  Now,  Ursula,  when  Beatrice  doth  come, 
As  we  do  trace  this  alley  up  and  down. 
Our  talk  must  only  be  of  Benedick  : 
When  I  do  name  him,  let  it  be  thy  part 
To  prai:ie  liim  more  tlian  ever  man  did  merit : 
My  talk  to  thee  must  be,  liow  Benedick 
Is  sick  in  love  with  Beatrice :  of  tliis  matter 
Is  little  Cupid's  crafty  arrow  made. 
That  only  wounds  by  hearsay.    Now  begin ; 

Enter  Beatrice,  behind. 

For  look  where  Beatrice^  like  a  lapwin«r,  runs 
Close  by  the  ground,  to  near  our  conference. 

Urs.  The  pleasant'st  anglincv-  is  to  see  the  fish 
Cut  with  her  polden  oars  tiie  silver  stream, 
And  greedily  devour  the  treacherous  bait : 
[•-.     So  angle  we  for  Beatrice  ;  who  even  now 
Is  couched  in  the  woodbine  coverture : 
Fear  you  not  my  part  of  the  dialoi^ue. 

Hero.  Then  go  we  near  her,  that  her  ear  lose 
nothing 
Of  the  false  sweet  bait  that  we  lay  for  it — 

[They  advance  to  the  botcer. 
No,  trulv,  Ursula,  she  is  too  disdainful ; 
I  know,  her  spirits  are  as  coy  and  wild 
As  haggards  of  tlie  rock.  > 

Urs.  But  are  yon  sure, 

That  Benedick  loves  Beatrice  so  entirely  7 

Hero.  So  savs  the  prince,  and  my  new-trothed 
lord.  ■ 

Urs.  And  did  they  bid  you  tell  her  of  it,  madam  ? 

Hero.  They  did  entreat  me  to  acquaint  her  of  it 
But  I  persuaded  them,  if  thevlov'd  Benedick, 
To  wish  him  wrestle  with  affection, 
And  never  to  let  Beatrice  know  of  it. 

Urs.  Why  did  you  so !   Doth  not  the  gentleman 
Deserve  as  lull,  as  fortunate  a  bed. 
As  ever  Beatrice  shall  couch  upon  ? 

Hero,  O  p;od  of  love !  I  know,  he  doth  deserve 
As  much  as  may  be  yielded  to  a  man : 
But  nature  never  fram'd  a  woman's  heart 
Of  prouder  stuff  than  that  of  Beatrice  : 
Disdain  and  scorn  ride  sparkling  in  her  ej'es. 
Misprising*  what  they  look  on  :  and  her  wit 
Values  itself  so  highly,  that  to  ner 
All  matter  else  seems  weak :  she  cannot  lore. 
Nor  take  no  shape  nor  project  of  atlcction. 
She  is  so  sclf-cndearcd. 

Urs.  Sure,  I  think  so ; 

And  therefore,  certainly,  it  were  not  good 
She  knew  his  love,  lest  she  make  sport  at  it. 

Hero.  ^V^1y,  you  speak  truth:  I  neveryetsawman. 
How  wise,  how  noble,  young,  how  rarely  featur'd, 
But  she  would  spell  him  backward :  if  fair-fac'd. 
She'd  swear,  the  gentleman  should  be  her  sister; 
If  black,  why,  nature,  drawing  of  an  antic. 
Made  a  foul  blot :  if  tall,  a  lance  ill-headed  ; 
If  low,  an  agate  very  vilely  cut : 
If  speaking,  why,  a  vane  blown  with  all  irinds : 
If  silent,  why,  a  block  moved  with  none. 
So  turns  she"  every  man  the  wrong  side  out ; 
And  never  gives  to  truth  and  virtue,  that 
Which  simpleness  and  merit  purchaseth. 

Urs.  Sure,  sure,  such  carping  is  not  commendable. 

Hero.  No :  not  to  be  so  odd,  and  from  all  fashions, 
As  Beatrice  is,  cannot  be  commendable : 
But  who  dare  tell  her  so  ?  If  I  should  speak, 
She'd  mock  me  into  air  ;  O,  she  would  laugh  me 
Out  of  myself,  press  me  to  death  with  wit. 
Therefore  let  Benedick,  like  cover'd  fire, 
Confume  away  in  sighs,  waste  inwardly  : 


(1)  A  species  of  bftwk. 


fZ)  Undervaluing. 
4)  Conrertation,    , 


It  were  a  better  death  than  die  with  moekt ; 
Which  is  as  bad  as  die  with  tickling. 

Urs.  Yet  tell  her  of  it ;  hear  what  she  will  say. 

Hero.  No ;  rather  I  will  go  to  Benedick, 
And  counsel  him  to  fight  against  his  passion : 
And,  truly,  I'll  devise  some  honest  slanders 
To  stain  my  cousin  with :  one  doth  not  know, 
How  much  an  ill  word  may  empoison  liking. 

Urs.  O,  do  not  do  your  cousin  such  a  wrong. 
She  cannot  be  so  much  without  true  judgment 
(Having  so  swift'  and  excellent  a  wit, 
As  she  IS  priz'd  to  have, )  as  to  refuse 
So  rare  a  gentleman  as  signior  Benedick. 

Hero.  He  is  the  only  man  in  Italy, 
Ahv-ays  excepted  my  clear  Claudio. 

Urs.  I  pray  you,  be  not  angry  with  me,  madam. 
Speaking  my  fancy  ;  signior  Benedick, 
For  shape,  for  bearing,  argument."  and  valour. 
Goes  foremost  in  report  through  Italy. 

Hero.  Indeed,  he  hath  an  excellent  good  name. 

Urs.  His  excellence  did  earn  it,  ere  he  had  iL- 
When  are  vou  married,  madam  ? 

Hero.  Why,  every  day ;— to-morrow :  come,  go 
in; 
I'll  show  thee  some  attires ;  and  have  thy  counsel. 
Which  is  the  best  to  furnish  me  to-morrow. 

Urs.   She's  iim'd,*  I  warrant  you ;    we  hare 
caught  her,  madam. 

Hero.  If  it  prove  so,  then  loving  goes  by  haps : 
Some  Cupid  kills  with  arrows,  some  with  traps. 

[Exeunt  Hero  and  Ursula. 

Beatrice  advances. 
Beat.  What  fire  is  in  mine  ears  ?  Can  this  be  true  ? 

Stand  I  condeinn'd  for  pride  and  scorn  so  much? 
Contempt,  farewell !  and  maidsn  pride,  adieu ! 

No  glory  lives  behind  the  back  of  such. 
And,  Benedick,  love  on,  I  will  requite  thee  : 

Taming  my  wild  heart  to  thy  loving  hand  ; 
If  thou  dost  love,  my  kindness  shall  incite  thee 

To  bind  our  loves  up  in  a  holy  band : 
For  others  say,  thou  dost  deserve ;  and  I 
Believe  it  better  than  reportingly.  [Exit, 

SCE^E  H. — wJ  room  inj^eona.to'a  hmise.    Enter 
Don  Pedro,  Claudio,  Benedick,  and  Leonato. 

D.  Pedro.  I  do  but  stay  till  your  marriage  be 
consummate,  and  then  I  go  toward  Arratron. 

Claud.  I'll  bring  you  thither,  my  iord,lf  you'll 
vouchsafe  me. 

D.  Pedro.  Nay,  that  would  be  as  great  a  soil  in 
the  new  gloss  of  your  marriage,  as  to  show  a  child 
his  new  coat,  and  forbid  him  to  wear  it.  I  will  only 
be  bold  with  Benedick  for  his  company ;  for,  from 
the  crown  of  his  head  to  the  sole  of  his  foot,  he  is 
all  mirth ;  he  hath  twice  or  thrice  cut  Cupid's  bow- 
string, and  the  little  hangman  dares  not  shoot  at 
him :  he  hath  a  heart  as  sound  as  a  bell,  and  his 
tongue  is  the  clapper ;  for  what  his  heart  thinks,  his 
tongue  sjjeak?. 

Bene.  Gallants,  I  am  not  as  I  have  been. 

Leon.  So  say  I ;  methinks,  you  are  sadder. 

Claud.  I  hope,  he  be  in  love. 

D.  Pedro.  Hang  him,  truant ;  there's  no  true 
drop  of  blood  in  him,  to  be  truly  touch'd  with  love : 
if  he  be  sad,  he  wants  money. 

Bene.  I  have  the  tooth-ach. 

D.  Pedro.  Draw  it. 

Bene.  Hang  it ! 

Claud.  You  must  hang  it  first,  and  draw  it  a(l«r« 
wards. 

V.  Pedro.  What  7  sigh  for  the  tooth-ach  7 

(6)  Ensnar'4  with  birdUn«. 


128 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


jietm. 


Leon.  Where  is  but  a  humour,  or  a  worm? 

Bene.  Woll,  every  one  can  master  a  grief,  but 
he  that  has  it. 

Claud.  Yet  say  I,  he  is  in  love. 

D.  Pedro.  There  is  no  appearance  of  fancy  in 
him,  unless  it  be  a  fancy  that  he  hath  to  st  rantre  dis- 
guises; as,  to  be  a  Dutchman  to-day;  aFrenchman 
to-morrow ;  or  in  the  shape  of  two  countries  at 
once,  as  a  German  from  the  waist  downward,  all 
slop;'  and  a  Spaniard  from  the  hip  upward,  no 
doublet :  unless  he  have  a  fancy  to  this  foolery,  as 
it  appears  he  hath,  he  is  no  fool  for  fancy,  as  you 
would  have  it  appear  he  is. 

Claud.  If  he  be  not  in  love  with  some  woman, 
there  is  no  believing  old  signs :  he  brushes  his  hat 
o'mornings ;  %vhat  should  that  bode  ? 

D.  Pedro.  Hath  any  man  seen  him  at  the  barber's  ? 

Claud.  No,  but  the  barber's  man  hath  been  seen 
with  him ;  and  the  old  ornament  of  his  cheek  hath 
already  stuffed  tennis-balls. 

Leon.  Indeed,  he  looks  younger  than  he  did,  by 
the  loss  of  a  beard. 

D.  Pedro.  Nay,  he  rubs  himself  with  civet :  can 
you  smell  him  out  by  that  ? 

Claud.  That's  as  much  as  to  say,  the  sweet 
youth's  in  love. 

D.  Pedro.  The  greatest  note  of  it  is  his  melan- 
cholr. 

Claud.  And  when  was  he  wont  to  wash  his  face  ? 

D.  Pedro.  Yea,  or  to  paint  himself?  for  the 
which,  I  hear  what  they  say  of  him. 

Claud.  Nay,  but  his  jesting  spirit ;  which  is  now 
crept  into  a  lutestring,  and  now  governed  by  stops. 

D.  Pedro.  Indeed,  that  tells  a  heavy  tale  fpr  him  : 
conclude,  conclude,  he  is  in  love. 

Claud.  Nav,  but  I  know  who  loves  him. 

D.  Pedro.  That  would  I  know  too ;  I  warrant, 
one  that  knows  him  not. 

Claud.  Yes,  and  his  ill  conditions ;  and,  in  de- 
spite of  all,  dies  for  him. 

D.  Pedro.  She  shall  be  buried  with  her  face  up- 
■wards. 

Bene.  Yet  is  this  no  charm  for  the  tooth-ach. — 
Old  sfgnior,  walk  aside  with  me :  I  have  studied 
eight  or  nine  wise  words  to  speak  to  you,  ivhich 
these  hobby-horses  must  not  hpar. 

[Exctcnt  Benedick  oni  Leonato. 

D.  Pedro.  For  my  life,  to  break  with  him  about 
Beatrice. 

Claud.  'Tis  even  so :  Hero  and  Margaret  have 
by  this  played  their  parts  with  Beatrice  ;  and  then 
the  two  bears  will  not  bite  one  another,  when  they 
meet. 

Enter  Don  John. 

D.  John.  My  lord  and  brother,  God  save  you. 

D.  Pedro.  Good  den,  brother. 

D.  John.  If  your  Icbure  served,  I  would  speak 
with  you. 

D.  Pedro.  In  private  ? 

D.  John.  If  it  please  you ; — yet  count  Claudio 
may  hear ;  for  what  I  would  speak  of  concerns  him. 

D.  Pedro.  What's  the  matter  ? 

D.  John.  Means  your  lordship  to  be  married  to- 
morrow? [To  Claudio. 

D.  Pedro.  You  know  he  does. 

D.  John.  I  know  not  that,  when  he  knows  what 
I  know. 

Claud.  If  there  be  any  impediment,  I  pray  you 
discover  it. 

D.  John.  You  may  think  I  love  you  not;  let 
that  appear  hereafter,  and  aim  better  at  me  by  that 
I  now  will  manifest :  for  my  brother,  I  think,  he 

(1)  Large  loose  breeches. 


holds  you  well ;  and  in  deamess  of  heart  hath  holp 
to  effect  your  ensuing  marriage:  surely,  suit  ill 
spent,  and  labour  ill  bestowed ! 

D.  Pedro.  Why,  what's  the  matter? 

D.  John.  I  came  hither  to  tell  you ;  and,  cir- 
cumstances shortened,  (for  she  hatn  been  too  long 
a  talking  of,)  the  lady  is  disloyal. 

Claud.  Who?  Hero? 

D.  John.  Even  she ;  Leonato's  Hero,  your  Hero, 
every  man's  Heio. 

Ctaud.  Disloyal? 

D.  John.  The  word  is  too  good  to  paint  cut  her 
wickedness ;  I  could  say,  she  were  worse ;  think 
you  of  a  worse  title,  and  I  will  fit  her  to  it.  Won- 
der not  till  further  warrant :  go  but  with  me  to- 
night, you  shall  see  her  chamber-window  entered  ; 
even  the  night  before  her  wedding-day :  if  you  love 
her  then,  to-morrow  wed  her;  but  it  would  better 
fit  your  honour  to  change  your  mind. 

Claud.  May  this  be  so  1 

D.  Pedro.  I  will  not  think  it. 

D.  John.  If  you  dare  not  trust  that  you  see,  con- 
fess not  that  you  know :  if  you  will  follow  me,  I 
will  show  vou  enough ;  and  when  you  have  s«en 
more,  and  heard  more,  proceed  accordingly. 

Claud.  If  I  see  any  thing  to-night  why  I  should 
not  marry  her  to-morrow ;  in  the  congregation, 
where  I  should  wed,  there  will  I  shame  her. 

D.  Pedro.  And,  as  I  wooed  for  thee  to  obtain 
her,  I  will  join  with  thee  to  disgrace  her. 

D.  John.  I  will  disparage  her  no  farther,  till  you 
are  my  witnesses  :  bear  it  coldly  but  till  midnight, 
and  let  the  issue  show  itself. 

D.  Pedro.  O  day  ilntowardly  turned  ! 

Claud.  O  mischief  strann;ely  thwarting ! 

D.  John.  0  plague  right  well  prevented ! 
So  will  you  say,  w^hen  you  have  seen  the  sequel. 

[£xetm(. 

SCEJ^E  in.—Jl  street.     Enter  Dogberry  and 
Verges,  with  the  Watch. 

Dngb.  Are  you  good  men  and  true  7 

Vcrg.  Yea,  or  else  it  were  pity  but  they  should 
suffer  salvation,  body  and  soul. 

Dogb.  Nay,  that  were  a  punishment  too  cood  for 
Ihem,  if  they  should  have  any  allegiance  m  them, 
being  chosen  for  the  prince's  watch. 

Verg.  Well,  give  them  their  charge,  neighbour 
Doo-berry. 

Dogb.  First,  who  think  you  the  most  desartless 
man  to  be  constable. 

1  Watch.  Hugh  Oatcake,  sir,  or  George  Seacoal ; 
for  they  can  write  and  read. 

Dogh.  Come  hither,  neighbour  Seacoal.  God 
hath  blessed  you  with  a  good  name :  to  be  a  well- 
favoured  man  is  the  gift  of  fortune ;  but  to  write 
and  read  comes  by  nature. 

2  Waich.  Both  which,  master  constable, ■ 

Dogb.  You  have  ;  I  knew  it  would  be  your  an- 
swer. Well,  for  your  favour,  sir,  why,  give  God 
thanks,  and  make  no  boast  of  it ;  and  for  your 
writing  and  reading,  let  that  appear  when  there  is 
no  need  of  such  vanity.  You  are  thought  here  to 
be  the  most  senseless  and  fit  man  for  the  constable 
of  the  watch  ;  therefore  bear  you  the  lantern :  this 
is  your  charge  ;  you  shall  comprehend  all  vagrom 
men :  you  are  to  bid  any  man  stand,  in  the  prince's 
name. 

2  Watch.  How  if  he  will  not  stand  ? 

Dogb.  Why  then,  take  no  note  of  him,  but  let 
him  go ;  and  presently  call  the  rest  of  the  watch 
together,  and  thank  God  you  are  rid  of  a  knave. 

Verg.  If  he  will  not  stand  when  he  is  bidden,  bt 
is  none  of  the  prince's  subjucta. 


stent  in. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


Dogh.  True,  andf  they  are  to  meddle  with  none  I  now  forward  with  thy  tale, 
but  the  prince's  subjects : — ^you  shall  aho  make  no|     Bora.  Stand  thee  close  then  underllus  penthouse, 
noise  in  the  streets ;  lor,  for  the  watch  to  babble  and  lor  it  drizzles  rain ;  and  I  will,  like  a  true  drunkard, 


talk,  is  most  tolerable,  and  not  to  be  endured. 

2  IValcli.  We  will  ratiier  sleep  than  talk ;  we 
know  what  belongs  to  a  watch. 

Dogb.  Why,  you  speak  like  an  ancient  and  most 
quiet  watchman  ;  for  I  cannot  see  how  sleeping 
should  offend :  only,  have  a  care  that  your  bills'  be 
not  stolen: — Well,  you  are  to  call  at  all  the  ale- 
houses, and  bid  those  that  are  drunk  gel  them  to  bed. 

2  IVatdi.  How  if  they  will  not? 

Dogb.  Why  then,  let  them  alone  till  they  are  so- 
bo.r ;  if  they  make  you  not  then  the  better  answer, 
you  may  say,  tliey  are  not  the  men  you  took  them  for. 

2  Watch.  Well,  sir. 

Dogb.  Ifyou  meet  a  thief,  you  may  suspect  him, 
by  virtue  of  your  office,  to  be  no  true  man  :  and, 
for  such  kind  of  men,  the  less  you  meddle  or  make 
with  them,  wliy,  the  more  is  for  your  honesty. 

2  Walck,  If  we  know  him  to  be  a  tliief,  shall  we 
not  lay  hands  on  him  ? 

Dogb.  Truly,  by  your  office,  you  may ;  btit  I 
think,  they  that  touch  pitch  will  be  dehled :  the 
most  peaceable  way  for  you,  ifyou  do  take  a  thief, 
is,  to  let  him  show  himself  what  he  is,  and  steal  out 
of  your  company. 

Verg.  You  have  been  always  called  a  merciful 
man,  partner. 

Dogb.  Truly,  I  would  not  hang  a  dog  by  my  will ; 
much  more  a  man  who  hath  any  honesty  in  hun. 

Verg.  If  you  hear  a  child  cry  in  the  night,  you 
must  call  to  the  nurse,  and  bid  her  still  it. 

2  Watcli.  How  if  the  nurse  be  asleep,  and  will 
not  hear  us  ? 

Dogb.  Why  then,  depart  in  peace,  and  let  the 
child  wake  her  with  cryin? ;  for  the  ewe  that  will 
not  hear  her  lamb  when  it  baes,  will  never  answer 
a  calf  when  he  bleats. 

Ferffv  'Tis  very  true. 

Dogb.  This  is  {he  end  of  the  charge.  You,  con- 
stable, are  to  present  the  prince's  own  person  ;  if 
yon  meet  the  prince  in  the  night,  you  may  stay  him. 

Verg.  Nay,  by'r  lady,  that  I  think  he  cannot. 

Dogb.  Five  shillings  to  one  on't,  with  any  man 
that  knows  the  statues,  he  may  stay  him  :  marry, 


utter  all  to  thee. 

Walch.  [^1side.\  Some  treason,  masters;  yet 
stand  close. 

Bora.  Therefore  know,  I  have  earned  of  Don 
John  a  thousand  ducats. 

Con.  Is  it  possible  that  any  villany  should  bo  so 
dear? 

Bora.  Thou  should'st  rather  ask,  if  it  n-ere  pos- 
sible any  villany  should  be  so  rich  j  for  when  such 
villains  have  need  of  poor  ones,  pcor  ones  may 
make  what  price  they  will. 

Con.  I  wonder  at  it. 

Bora.  Thai,  shows  thou  art  unconfirmed  ;*  thou 
knowest,  that  the  fashion  of  a  doublet,  or  a  hat,  or 
a  cloak,  is  nothing  to  a  man. 

Con.  Yes,  it  is  apparel. 

Bora.  I  mean  the  fashion. 

Con.  Yes,  the  fashion  is  the  fashion. 

Bora.  Tush !  I  may  as  well  say,  the  fool's  the 
Tool.  B  'it  scest  thou  not  what  a  deformed  thief  this 
fuFhion  is? 

Walch.  I  know  that  Deformed ;  he  has  been  a 
vile  thief  this  seven  year ;  he  goes  up  and  down 
lik^  a  gentleman  :  I  remember  his  name. 

Bora.  Didst  thou  not  hear  somebody? 

Con.  No  ;  'twas  the  wine  on  the  house. 

Bora.  Scest  thou  not,  I  say,  what  a  deformed 
fhief  this  fashion  is?  how  giddily  he  turns  about 
all  the  hot  bloods,  between  fourteen  and  five  and 
thirty?  sometime,  fashioning  them  like  Pharaoh's 
soldiers  in  the  reechy'  painting;  sometime,  like  god 
Bel's  priests  in  the  old  church  window  ;  sometime, 
like  the  shaven  Hercules  in  the  smirched*  worm- 
ealen  tapestry,  where  his  cod-piece  seems  as  massy 
as  his  club  ? 

Con.  All  this  I  sec ;  and  see,  that  the  fashion 
wears  out  more  apparel  than  the  man  :  but  art  not 
thou  thyself  giddy  with  the  fashion  too,  that  thou 
hast  shifted  oat  of  thy  tale  to  tell  me  of  the 
fashion  ? 

Bora.  Not  «o  neither :  but  know,  that  I  have  to- 
night wooed  Margaret,  the  lady  Hero's  gentlewo- 
man, by  the  name  of  Hero:  she  leans  me  out  at 
not  without  the  prince  be  willing:  for,  indeed,  the  her  mistress' chamber- window,  bids  me  a  thousand 


watch  ought  to  offend  no  man  ;  and  it  is  an  offence 
to  stay  a  man  against  his  will. 

Vtrg.  By'r  lady,  I  think,  it  be  so. 

Dogb.  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  Well,  masters,  good  nicht : 
an  there  be  any  matter  of  weight  chances,  call  up 
me:  keep  your  fellows'  counsels  and  your  own, 
and  trood  night. — Come,  neighbour. 

2  Walch.  Well,  masters,  we  hear  our  charge: 
let  us  go  sit  here  upon  the  church-bench  till  two, 
and  then  all  to  bed. 

Dogb.  One  word  more,  honest  neighbours:  1 
pray  you,  watch  about  signior  Leonato's  door  ;  for 
the  wedding  bein<r  there  to-morrow,  there  is  a  great 
coil  to-night:  adieu,  be  vigilant,  I  beseech  yon. 

{Exeiini  Dogberry  and  Verges. 


Enter  Borachio  and  Conrade. 

Bvra.  What!  Conrade, — 

Walch.  Peace,  stir  not. 

Bora.  Conrade,  1  say  ! 

C(m.  Here  man,  I  am  at  thy  elbow. 


{Aside. 


times  good  night, — I  fell  this  tale  vilely: — I  should 
first  tell  thee,  how  the  prince,  Claudio,  and  my 
master,  olanted  and  placed,  and  possessed  by  m^ 
master  Don  John,  saw  afar  off  in  the  orchard  this 
amiable  encounter. 

Con.  And  thought  they,  Margaret  was  Hero  ? 

Bora.  Two  of  them  did,  the  prince  and  Claudio; 
but  the  devil  mv  master  knew  she  was  Margaret ; 
and  partly  by  his  oaths,  which  first  possessed  them, 
partly  by  the  dark  nieht,  which  did  deceive  them, 
but  chiefly  bv  my  villany,  which  did  confirm  any 
slander  that  Don  John  had  made,  away  went  Clau- 
dio enraged:  swore  he  would  meet  her  as  he  was 
appointed,  ne.^t  morning  at  the  temple,  and  there, 
before  the  whole  congregation,  shame  her  with 
what  he  saw  over-night  and  send  i.ei  nome  again 
without  a  husband. 

1  WcUch.  We  charge  you  in  the  prince's  name, 
stand. 

2  Watch.  Call  up  the  right  master  constable: 
we  have  here  recovered  the  most  dangerous  piece 


Bora.  Mass,  and  my  elbow  itched;  I  thought  of  lechery  that  ever  was  known  in  the  common- 
there  would  a  scab  follow.  I  wealth. 

Con,  I  will  owe  thee  an  answer  for  that;  and|     I  Walch.  And  one  Deformed  is  one  of  them ;  I 

know  him,  he  wears  a  lock. 

il)  Weapons  ofthe  watchmen. 
2)  Unpractised  in  the  ways  ofUic  world.  I  (3)  Smoked.  (A)  SoiIed4 


v» 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


^t  HI, 


Cort.  Masters,  masters. 

2  Watch.  You'll  be  made  bring  Deformed  forth, 
I  warrant  you. 

Con.  Masters, — 

1  Walch.  Never  speak ;  we  charge  you,  let  us 
obey  you  to  go  with  us. 

Bora.  We  are  like  to  prove  a  goodly  commodity, 
bein^  taken  up  of  these  men's  bills. 

Con.  A  commodity  ia  question,  I  warrant  you. 
Come,  we'll  obey  you.  [Exeunt. 


SCEJ^E  IV .i  room  in  Leonato's  house.    En- 
ter Hero,  Margaret,  and  Ursula. 

Hero.  Good  Ursula,  wake  my  cousin  Beatrice, 
and  desire  her  to  rise. 

Urs.  I  will,  ladv. 

Hero.  And  bid  Ker  come  hillier. 

Ura.  Well.  [Exit  Ursula, 

Marg.  Troth,  I  think,  your  other  rabato'  were 
better. 

Hero.  No,  pray  thee,  good  Meg,  I'll  wear  this. 

JSarg.  By  my  trotli,  it's  not  so  good ;  and  I  war- 
rant, your  cousin  will  say  so. 

Hero.  My  cousin's  a  fool,  and  thou  art  another 
I'll  wear  none  but  this. 

Marg.  I  like  the  new  tire"  within  excellently, 
if  the  hair  were  a  thought  browner :  and  your 
ffown's  a  most  rare  fashion,  i'faith.  I  saw  the 
ouchess  of  Milan's  gown,  that  they  praise  so. 

Hero.  O,  that  exceeds,  they  say. 

Jtforg-.  By  my  troth  it's  but  a  night-gown  in  re 
spect  of  yours :  Cloth  of  gold,  and  cuts,  and  laced 
•with  silver ;  set  with  pearls,  down  sleeves,  side- 
sleeves,'  and  skirts  round,  underborne  with  a  bluish 
tinsel :  but  for  a  fine,  quaint,  graceful,  and  excel- 
lent fashion,  your's  is  worth  ten  on't. 

Hero.  God  give  me  joy  to  wear  it,  for  my  heart 
is  exceeding  heavy ! 

Marg.  'Twill  be  heavier  soon,  by  the  weight  of 
a  man. 

Hero.  Fie  upon  thee  !  art  not  ashamed  ? 

Marg.  Of  wnat,  lady  ?  of  speaking  honourably  ? 
Is  not  marriage  honourable  in  a  beggar  ?  Is  not 
your  lord  honourable  without  marriage  ?  I  think 
you  would  have  me  say,  saving  your  reverence, — 
a  husband:  an  bad  thinking-  do  not  wrest  true 
speaking,  I'll  oflend  nobody :  Is  there  any  harm  in — 
the  heavier  for  a  husband  ?  None,  I  think,  an  if 
it  be  the  right  husband,  and  the  right  wife  ;  other- 
wise, 'tis  light,  and  not  heavy- :  Ask  my  lady  Bea 
trice  else,  Gere  she  comes. 

Enter  Beatrice. 

Hero.  Good  morrow,  coz. 

Beat.  Good  morrow,  sweet  Hero. 

Hero,  W^hy,  how  now !  do  you  speak  in  the  sick 
tune  ? 

Beat.  I  am  out  of  all  other  tune,  methinks. 

Marg.  Clap  us  into — Light  o'  love ;  that  goes 
irithout  a  burden  ;  do  you  smg  it,  and  I'll  dance  it. 

Beat.  Yea,  Light  o'  love,  with  your  heels  I — 
then  if  your  husband  have  stables  enough,  you'll 
see  he  shall  lack  no  barns. 

Marg.  O  illegitimate  construction !  I  scorn  that 
■with  my  heels. 

Beat.  'Tis  almost  five  o'clock,  cousin  ;  'tis  time 
you  were  ready.  By  my  troth  I  am  exceeding  ill ; — 
bey  ho ! 

Marg.  For  a  hawk,  a  horse,  or  a  husband  ? 

£eat.  For  the  letter  that  begins  them  all,  H.* 

(1)  A  kind  of  ruff.        (2)  Head-dress. 

(9)  LoPi^^I«eT«9.    (4)  i.  (,  for  Ml  ff«Ac  or  pain. 


Marg.  Well,  an  you  be  not  turned  Turk,  there's 
no  more  sailing  by  the  star. 

Beat.  What  means  the  fool,  trow? 

J*farg.  Nothing  I  ;  but  God  send  every  on» 
their  heart's  desire! 

Hero.  These  gloves  the  count  sent  me,  they  tan 
an  excellent  perfume. 

Beat.  I  am  stuffed,  cousin,  I  cannot  smell. 

Marg.  A  maid,  and  stuffed  !  there's  goodly 
catching  of  cold. 

Beat.  0,  God  help  me  !  God  help  me !  how 
long  have  Vou  profess'd  apprehension  ? 

Marg.  Ever  since  you  left  it :  doth  not  my  wit 
become  me  rarely  ? 

Beat.  It  is  not  seen  enough,  you  should  wear 
it  in  your  cap. — By  my  trotli,  I  am  sick. 

Marg.  Get  you  some  of  this  distilled  Carduus 
Benediftus,  and  lay  it  to  your  heart ;  it  is  the  only. 
thin»  for  a  qualm. 

Hero.  There  thou  prick'st  her  with  a  thistle. 

Beat.  Beuedictus !  why  Bencdictus  ?  you  have 
some  moraP  in  this  Beneclictus. 

Marg.  Moral?  no,  by  my  troth,  I  have  no  moral 
meaning;  I  meant,  plain  holy  thistle.  You  may 
think,  perchance,  that  I  think  you  are  in  love: 
nay,  by'r  lady,  I  am  not  such  a  fool  to  think  what 
I  list ;  "nor  I  list  not  to  think  w  hat  I  can  ;  nor,  in- 
deed, I  cannot  tJdnk,  if  I  would  think  my  heart 
out  of  thinking,  that  you  are  in  love,  or  that  you 
will  be  in  love,  or  tliat  you  can  be  in  love :  yet 
Benedick  was  such  another,  and  now  is  he  become 
a  man :  he  swore  he  would  never  marry  ;  and  yet 
now,  in  despite  of  his  heart,  he  eats  his  meat  with- 
out grudzinsr :  and  how  you  may  be  converted,  I 
know  nof ;  but  mcthinks,  you  look  with  your  eyes 
as  other  women  do. 

Beat.  What  pace  is  this  that  thy  tongue  keeps  ? 

Marg.  Not  a  false  gallop. 


Re-enter  Ursula. 

Urs.  Madam,  withdraw ;  t!ie  prince,  the  count, 
ignior  Benedick,  Don  John,  and  all  the  gallants 
of  the  town,  are  come  to  fetch  you  to  church. 

Hero.  Help  to  dress  me,  good  coz,  good  Meg, 
good  Ursula.  [Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E    V. — Another  room  in  Leonato's  house. 
Enter  Leonato,  with  Dogberry  and  Verges. 

Leon.  AVhat  would  you  with  me,  honest  neigh- 
bour ? 

Dogb.  Marry,  sir,  I  would  have  some  confi- 
dence with  you,  that  decerns  you  nearly. 

Leon.  Brief,  I  pray  you ;  for  you  see,  'tfa  a  busy 
time  with  me. 

Dogb.  Marrv",  this  it  is,  sir, 

Vei-g.  Yes,  in  tnith  it  is,  sir. 

Leon.  What  is  it,  my  good  friends  ? 

Dogb.  Goodman  Verges,  sir,  speaks  a  little  ofl' 
the  matter :  an  old  man,  sir,  :iiid  his  wits  are  not 
so  blunt,  as,  God  help,  I  would  desire  they  were  ; 
but,  in  faith,  honest,  as  the  skin  between  his  brows. 

Ffr.ir.  1  es,  I  thank  God,  I  am  as  honest  as  any 
man  living,  that  is  an  old  man,  and  no  honester 
than  I. 

Dogb.  Comparisons  are  odorous :  palabras, 
neighbour  Verges. 

Leon.  Neighbours,  you  are  tedious. 

Dogb.  It  pleases  your  worship  to  sav  so,  but  we 
are  tlie  poor  duke's  officers  ;  but,  truly,  for  mine 
own  part,  if  I  were  as  tedious  as  a  king,  I  could 
find  in  my  heart  to  bestow  it  all  of  your  worship. 

Leon.  All  thy  tediousness  on  me !  ha ! 

(5)  Hi^d«n  m«M)jnc. 


Seme  I. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOCT  NOTHING. 


131 


Dozb.  Yea,  and  'twere  a  tliousand  times  morel    Lton.  I  dare  make  his  answer,  none, 
than  'lis  :  for  I  hear  as  good  e^cclamation  on  your      Claud.  O,  Avhat  men  dare  do !  what  men  mar  do ! 
worship,  as  of  any  man  in  the  city ;  and  though  1 1  what  men  daily  do  !  not  knowing  what  they  dio  ! 


Bene.   How  now  !   interjections  ?    Why,  then 
soniR  be  of  lau^hincr,  as,  ha !  ha !  he  ! 
Claud.  Stand  thee  by,  friar : — Father,  by  your 
leave ; 


be  but  a  poor  man,  I  am  glad  to  hear  it. 

Verg.  And  so  am  I. 

Leoii.  I  would  fain  know  what  you  have  to  say. 

Terg.  Marry,  sir,  our  watch  to-nisht,  except- 
ing your  worship's  presence,  have  ta'en  a  couple!  Will  you  with  free  and  unconstrained  soul 
of  as'  arrant  knaves  as  any  in  Messina.  Give  me  tiiis  maid,  your  daug^hter  ? 

Dogb.  A  good  old  man,  sir ;  he  will  be  talking  ;      Leon.  As  frcelv,  son,  as  God  did  pive  her  me. 
as  they  say.  When  the  as'e  is  in,  the  wit  is  oiit ;  I     Claud.  And  what  have  I  to  give  you  back,  whose 
God  help  us!  it  is  a  world  to  see!' — Well  said.l  worth, 

i'faith,  neighbour  Vcr'ies  : — well,   God's  a   good; May  counterpoise  this  rich  and  precious  gift. 


man  ;  an  two  men  ride  of  a  horse,  one  must  ride 
behind : — an  honest  soul,  i'faith,  sir  ;  bv  my  troth 
he  is,  as  ever  broke  bread  :  hut,  God  is  to  be  wor- 
shipped :  all  men  are  not  alike  ;  alas,  good  neigh- 
bour ! 

Leon.  Indeed,  neighbour,  he  comes  too  short  of 
you. 

Dogb.  GifU,  tliat  God  gives. 

Leon.  1  must  leave  you. 

Dogb.  One  word,  sir :  our  watch,  sir,  have,  in- 
de«-d,  comprehended  two  auspiciou^i  persons,  and 


I).  Pedro.  Nothing,  unless  yoii  render  her  again. 

Claud.  Sweet  prince,  you  learn  me  noble  tluuik* 
fulness. — 
There,  Leonato,  take  her  back  again ; 
Give  not  this  rotten  orange  to  your  friend  ; 
She's  but  the  sifjn  and  semblance  of  her  honour  :— 
Behold,  how  like  a  maid  she  blushes  here : 
0,  what  authority  and  show  cf  truth 
Can  cunriin?  sincover  itself  withal ! 
Comes  not  that  blood,  as  modest  evidence. 
To  witness  simple  virtue  ?    Would  you  not  swear, 


we  would  have  them  this  morning  examined  before' All  you  that  see  her,  that  she  were  a  maid, 

your  worship.  j  By  these  exterior  shows  ?    But  she  is  none 

Leon.  Take  their  examination  yourself,  and  bring  i  She  kno%vs  the  heat  of  a  luxurious*  bed : 


it  me  ;  I  am  now  in  great  haste,  as  it  may  appear 
unto  you. 

Dogb.  It  shall  be  suffigance. 

Leon.  Drink  some  wine  ere  you  go :  fare  you  well. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 


^less.  My  lord,  they  stay  for  you  to  give  your 
daughter  to  her  husband. 

Lton.  I  will  wait  upon  them  ;  I  am  ready. 

[Exeunt  Leonato  and  Mesr-enger. 

Dogb.  Go,  eoo<l  partner,  go ;  get  vou  to  F'':»">'isi'^-'p"£'pQj^^jQ 
Seacol,  bid  lum  bring  his  pen  and  inkhorn  to  thel  J  „^^.„r  tempted  her  with  word  too  large :' 
gaol ;  we  are  now  to  cxarmnation  these  men.  U„t  ^^  ^  brother  to  his  sister,  show'd 

r  err.  And  we  must  do  It  wisfly.  i_     j  .  .    .        .  .  . '. 


Her  blush  is  guiltiness,  not  modestj'. 

Lton.  AVhat  do  you  mean,  my  lord  ? 

Claud.  "Not  to  be  married. 

Not  knit  my  soul  to  an  approved  wanton. 

Leon.  Dear  my  lord,  if^  you,  in  your  own  proof 
Have  vanquish'd  the  resistance  of  her  youth. 
And  made  defeat  of  her  virginity, 

Claut'.  I  know  what  you  would  say ;  If  I  haT« 
known  her. 
You'll  say,  she  did  embrace  me  as  a  husband. 
And  so  extenuate  the  'forehand  sin : 


^erg.  And  we  musi  ao  ii  w,st.,y  ,  g^^j^j-^j  ,:„c„jt     ^^ ^  p„^e,,.  j^..^^ 

Dogb.\\  e  wdl  spare  for  no  wit,  I  warrant  vou  ;      ^^^„_  ^^^  ,^-^,j  ,  ^^^^  otherwise  to  you  ? 
here's  that  [Touching  his  forekeatl.]  shall  drive      ar«».'.  Out  on  thv  seeming  II  will  write  againstit: 
«ome  of  them  t^  a  no«_cm.-i^  j>n!y  get  thelean^^^^^  seem  to  me  ai  Dian  in  her  orb  ;  ^  ""     " 

A":  chaste  as  in  the  bud  ere  it  be  blown  ; 


writer  to  set  down  our  excommunication,  and  meet 
roe  at  the  goat  [Exeunt. 


ACT  IV 


5C£.V£  L—The  inside  of  a  church.  Enfer  Don 
Pedro,  Don  John,  Leonato,  Friar,  Claudio, 
Benedick,  Hero,  and  Beatrice,  &c. 

Leon.  Come,  friar  Francis,  be  brief;  only  to  the 
plain  form  of  marriage,  and  you  shall  recount  their 
particular  duties  afterwards. 

Friar.  You  co.tic  hither,  my  lord,  to  marr^'  this 
ladv  ? 

Claud.  No. 

Leon.  To  be  married  to  her,  friar ;  you  come  to 
marrv  her. 

friar.  Ladv,  you  come  hither  to  be  married  toils  this  face  Hero's  ?    Are  our  eyes  our  own  ? 
this  count  ?    '    '  '  i     Leon.  All  this  is  so  ;  but  what  cf  this,  my  lord  ? 

Hero.  I  do.  Claud,  Let  me  but  move  one  question  to  your 

Friar.  If  either  of  you  know  any  inward  impedi-  ^  daughter  ; 

mentwhy  you  should  not  be  conjoined,  IcbargcjAnd,  by  that  fatherly  and  kindly  power 

That  you  have  in  her,  bid  her  answer  truly. 
Leon.  I  charsre  thee  do  so,  as  thou  art  my  child. 
Hero.  O  God  defend  me  !  how  am  1  beset ! — 
What  kind  of  catechizing  call  you  this  ? 
Claud.  To  make  you  answer  truly  to  your  nam9. 


Bat  you  arc  more  intemperate  in  your  blood 
Than  Venus,  or  those  pamper'd  animals 
That  rage  in  savage  sensuality. 

Ileiv.ls.  my  lord  well,  that  he  doth  speak  so 
^ride  '.'* 

Leon.  Sweet  prince,  why  speak  not  vou  ? 

D.  Pedro.  What  should  I  speak  ? 

I  stand  dishcnour'd,  that  have  gone  about 
To  Ihik  my  dear  friend  to  a  common  stale. 

Ijton.  Are  these  things  spoken  ?  or  do  I  but  dream  7 

D.  John.  Sir,  they  are  spoken,  and  these  things 
arc  true. 

Bene.  This  looks  not  like  a  nuptial. 

Hero.  True,  O  God  » 

Claud.  Leonato,  stand  I  here  ? 
Is  this  the  prince  ?  Is  this  the  prince's  brother? 


you,  on  your  souls,  to  utter  it. 
Claiid.  Know  you  any,  Hero? 
Hero.  None,  my  lord. 
Friar.  Know  you  any,  count  ? 


(11  It  is  worth  seeing. 
(S)  Licentious. 


(2)  Lascivious. 


(4)  Remote  from  the  business  in  hand, 


in 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


Jcl  /K. 


Hero.  Is  it  not' Hero?   Who  can  bjot  that  name 
With  any  just  reproach? 

Claud.  Marr;^,  that  can  Hero  ; 

Hero  itself  can  blot  out  Hero's  virtue. 
WTjat  man  was  he  talk'd  with  you  yesterni;^ht 
Out  at  your  window,  betnixt  twelve  and  one  ? 
Now,  if  you  are  a  maid,  answer  to  thi?. 

Hero.  I  talk'd  with  no  man  at  that  hour,  ray  lord. 

D.  Pedro.   WTiy,   then  are  you  no  maiden. 
Leonato, 
1  am  sorry  you  must  hear ;  upon  mine  honour. 
Myself,  my  brother,  and  this  crrieved  count. 
Did  see  her,  hear  her,  at  that  hour  last  nio-ht. 
Talk  with  a  ruffian  at  her  chamber-window  ; 
AVho  hath,  indeed,  most  like  a  liberal'  villain, 
Confess'd  tlie  vile  encounters  they  have  had 
A  thousand  times  in  secret. 

D.  John.  Fie,  fie !  they  are 

Not  to  be  nam'd,  my  lord,  not  to  be  spoke'of  j 
There  is  not  chastity  enouprh  in  language, ' 
Without  offence,  to  uJter  them  :  thus,  pretty  lady, 
1  am  sorry  for  thy  much  niistrovcrnnieiil. 

Claud.  O  Hero !  what  a  Hero  ha4st  thou  been, 
If  half  thy  outward  iCTaces  had  been  placed 
About  thy  thoughts,  and  counsels  of  thy  heart ! 
But,  fare  thee  well,  most  foul,  most  fair !  fareweU, 
Thou  pure  impiety,  and  impious  purity  ! 
For  Uiee  I'll  lock  up  all  iJie  gales  of  love, 
And  on  my  eye-lids  sliall  conjecture  lianj^, 
To  turn  all  beauty  into  Ihouf^iits  of  harm, 
And  never  shall  it  more  be  gracious.* 

Leon,  Hath  no  man's  dagger  here  a  point  for 
me?  [Hero  .'looojw. 

Beat.  Why,  how  now,  cousin?  wherefore  slnlv 
you  down  ? 

D.  John.  Come,  let  us  go:  tliesc  things,  come 
thus  to  light. 
Smother  her  spirits  up. 

[Exeunt  Don  Pcdr.o,  Don  John,  and  Claudio. 

Bene.  How  doth  thA  lady  ? 

Beat,  Dead,  I  think  ; — help,  uncle  ; — 

Hero !  why,  Hero ! — Uncle ! — Signior  Benedick ! — 
friar ! 

Leon.  O  fate,  take  not  awav  tliy  heavy  hand ! 
Death  is  the  fairest  cover  for  fier  shame. 
That  may  be  wish'd  for. 

Beat.  How  now,  cousin  Hero  ? 

Friar.  Have  comfort,  lady. 

Leon.  Dost  thou  look  up  ? 

Friar.  Yea ;  wherefore  should  she  not  ? 

Leon.  Wherefore  ?  Why,  doth  not  every  earthly 
thing 
Cry  shame  upon  her?    Could  she  here  deny 
The  story  that  is  printed  in  her  blood  ? — 
Do  not  live.  Hero ;  do  not  ope  thine  eyes : 
For  did  I  think  thou  would'st  not  quickly  die, 
Thought  I  thy  spiritswere  stronirer  than  thy  shames, 
Mvself  would,  on  t'lv-  rearward  6C  reproaches, 
Strike  at  thv  life.     Grifv'd  I,  I  had  but  one  ? 
Chid  I  for  that  at  frugal  nature's  frame  7' 
O,  one  too  much  by  thee !    Why  bad  I  one  ? 
Why  ever  wast  thou  lovely  |n  my  ej  es  ? 
Whv  had  I  not,  with  charitable  haiid. 
Took  up  a  beggar's  isp'.ie  at  my  pfates ; 
Who  smirched-  thus,  and  mired  ivith  infamy, 
I  might  have  said,  Js''o  part  of  it  ft  viine, 
Thtjs  shame  derives  itself  from  unknown  loins  7 
But  mine,  and  mine  I  lov'd,  and  mine  I  prais'd, 
And  mine  that  I  was  proud  on ;  mine  so  much. 
That  I  myself  was  to  myself  not  mine, 
Valuing  of  her ;  why,  she— 0,  she  is  fallen 


il)  Too  free  of  tongue. 
3)  Disposition  of  things. 


(2)  Attractive. 


Into  a  pit  of  ink !  that  the  wide  sea 
Hath  drops  too  few  to  wash  her  clean  again  ; 
And  salt  too  little,  which  may  season  give 
To  her  foul  tainted  flesh ! 

Bene.  Sir,  sir,  be  patient : 

For  my  part,  I  am  so  attir'd  in  wonder, 
I  know  not  what  to  sav. 

Beat.  O,  on  my  soul,  mv  cousin  is  belied ! 

Bene.  Lady,  were  you  her  bedfellow  last  ni^t  ? 

Beat.  No,  truk,  not :  although,  until  last  night, 
I  have  this  twelvemonth  been  her  bedfellow. 

Leon.  Confirm'd,  confirm'd!  O,  that  is  stronger 
made. 
Which  was  before  barr'd  up  with  ribs  of  iron ! 
Would  the  two  princes  lie  7  and  Claudio  lie  ? 
Who  lov'd  her  so,  that,  speaking  of  her  foulnes!»j 
Wash'd  it  with  tears  ?  Hence  from  her ;  let  her  die. 

Friar.  Hear  me  a  little ; 
For  I  have  only  been  silent  so  lone, 
And  given  way  unto  this  course  of  fortune, 
By  noting  of  the  lady :  I  have  mark'd 
A  thousand  blushing  apparitions  start 
Into  her  face  ;  a  thousand  innocent  shames 
In  angel  whiteness  bear  away  those  blushes  ; 
And  in  her  eye  there  hath  appear'd  a  fire. 
To  burn  tJbe  errors  that  these  princes  hold 
Against  her  maiden  truth ; — Call  me  a  fool ; 
Trust  not  my  readinpr,  nor  my  observations, 
Wliicli  with  experimental  seal  doth  warrant 
The  tenor  of  my  book ;  trust  not  mj-  age, 
My  reverence,  calling,  nor  divinity. 
If  this  sweet  lady  lie  not  guiltless'hcre 
Under  some  biting  error. 

Leon.  .  Friar,  it  cannot  be: 

Thnu  seost,  that  all  the  grace  that  she  liath  left, 
Is,  that  she  will  not  add  to  her  damnation 
A  sin  of  perjury ;  she  not  denies  it : 
Why  seek'st  thou  Uien  to  cover  with  excuse 
That  which  appears  in  proper  nakedness  ? 

Friar.  Lady,  what  man  is  he  you  are  accused  of? 

Hew.  They  know  tijal  do  accuse  me ;  I  know 
none: 
If  I  know  more  of  anr  man  alive, 
Than  that  which  maiden  modesty  doth  warrant. 
Let  all  my  sins  lack  mercy ! — O  my  father. 
Prove  you  that  any  man  with  me  convers'd 
.\t  hours  unmeet,  or  that  I  yesternight 
Maintain'd  the  change  of  words  with  any  creature, 
Rrfuse  me,  hate  me,  torture  me  to  death. 

Friar.  There  is  son^e  strange  misprision'  in  the 
princes. 

Bene.  Two  of  them  have  the  very  bent  of  honour ; 
And  if  their  wisdoms  be  misled  in  this, 
The  practice  of  it  lives  in  John  the  bastard, 
^(V'hose  spirits  toil  in  frame  of  villanios. 

Leon.  I  know  not;  if  they  speak  but  truth  of  her. 
These  hands  shall  tear  her;   if  they  wrong  her 

honour. 
The  proudest  of  them  shall  well  hear  of  it. 
Time  hath  not  yet  so  dried  this^  blood  of  mine, 
Nor  age  so  cat  up  my  invention. 
Nor  fortune  made  such  havoc  of  my  means. 
Nor  my  bud  life  reft  me  so  much  of  friends, 
But  they  shall  f'lid,  awak'd  in  such  a  kind, 
BoiJi  strength  cf  limb,  and  policy  of  mind. 
Ability  in  means,  and  choice  of  friends. 
To  qiut  me  of  them  thoroughly. 

Friar.  Pause  a  while. 

And  let  my  counsel  sway  you  in  this  case. 
Your  dauphter  here  the  "princes  left  for  dead ; 
Let  her  a  while  be  secrelly  kept  in. 
And  publish  it,  that  she  is' dead  indeed* 


(4)  Sullied, 


(5)  Misconception* 


Scene/. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


133 


Maintain  a  mourning  ostentation ; 
And  on  your  family's  old  monument 
Hang  mournful  epitaphs,  and  do  all  rites 
That  appertain  unto  a  burial. 

Leon.   What  shall  become  of  this?  What  will 
this  do  ? 

Fiiar.    Marry,  this,  well  carried,  shall  on  her 
behalf 
Change  slander  to  remorse ;  that  is  some  good : 
But  not  for  that  dream  I  on  tliis  strange  course. 
But  on  this  travail  look  for  greater  birth. 
She  dying,  as  it  must -be  so  maintain'd, 
Upon  the  instant  that  she  was  accus'd, 
Shall  be  lamented,  pitied,  and  cxciis'd, 
Of  every  hearer :  for  it  so  falls  oul, 
That  what  we  hare  we  prize  not  to  the  worth. 
Whiles'  we  enjoy  it ;  but  being  lack'd  and  lost. 
Why,  then  we  rack-  the  value  ;  then  we  find 
The  virtue,  that  possession  would  not  show  us 
Whiles  it  was  ours : — So  will  it  fare  %vith  Clau- 

dio :  " 

When  he  shall  hear  she  died  upon'  his  words, 
The  idea  of  her  life  shall  sweetly  creep 
Into  his  study  of  imagination  ; 
And  every  lovely  organ  of  her  life 
Shall  come  apparell'd  in  more  precious  habit. 
More  moving-delicate,  and  full  of  life, 
Into  the  eye  and  prospect  of  his  soul, 
Than  when  she  liv'd  indeed : — then  shall  he  mourn 
(If  ever  love  had  interest  in  his  liver,) 
And  wish  he  had  not  so  accused  her ; 
No,  though  he  thought  his  accusation  true. 
Let  this  be  so,  and  doubt  not  but  success 
^Vill  fashion  tlie  event  in  better  shape 
Than  I  can  lay  it  down  in  likelihood. 
But  if  all  aim" but  this  be  Icvell'd  false. 
The  supposition  of  the  lady's  death 
W'ill  (juench  the  wonder  of  her  infamy: 
And,  if  it  sort  not  well,  you  may  conceal  her 
f  As  best  befits  her  wounded  reputation,) 
In  some  reclusive  and  religious  life. 
Out  of  all  eyes,  tonguts,  minds,  and  injuries. 

Bene.  Signior  Leonato,  let  the  friar  advise  you: 
And  though  you  know  my  inwardness*  and  loie 
Is  very  much  unto  the  prince  and  Claudio, 
Yet,  by  mine  honour,  I  will  deal  in  this 
.\3  secretly,  and  justlv,  as  your  soul 
Should  with  your  body. 

Leo7i.  Beinsr  that  I  flow  in  grief, 

The  smallest  twine  may  lead  me. 

Friar.  'Tis  well  consented  ;  presently  awav ; 
For  to  strange  sores  strangely  they  strain  the 
cure. — 
Come,  lady,  die  to  live :  this  wedding  dav. 

Perhaps,  is  but  proionfr'd  :  have  patfcnce,  and 


Beat.  As  strange  as  the  thine  I  knoir  not:  it 
were  as  possible  Tor  me  to  say,  I  loved  nothing  so 
well  as  you:  but  believe  me  not;  and  yet  I  lie  not; 
I  confess  nothing,  nor  I  deny  nothing: — I  am  sorry 
for  my  cousin. 

Bene.  By  my  sword,  Beatrice,  thou  lovest  me. 

Beat.  Do  not  swear  by  it,  and  eat  it. 

Bene.  I  will  swear  by  it,  that  you  love  me ; 
and  I  will  make  him  eat  it,  that  says,  I  love  not 
you. 

Beat.  Will  you  not  eat  your  word  ? 

Bene.  W'ith  no  sauce  that  can  be  devised  to  it  • 
I  protest  I  love  thee. 

Beat.  Why  then,  God  forgive  me ! 

Bene.  What  offence,  sweet  Beatrice  7 

Beat.  You  have  staid  me  in  a  happy  hour;  I 
was  about  to  protest  I  loved  you. 

Bene.  And  do  it  with  all  thy  heart. 

Beat.  I  love  you  with  so  much  of  my  heart,  that 
none  is  left  to  protest. 

Bene.  Come,  bid  me  do  any  tiling  for  thee. 

Beat.  Kill  Ciaudio. 

Bene.  Ha !  not  for  the  wide  world. 

Beat.  You  kill  me  to  deny  it :  farewell. 

Bene.  Tarry,  sweet  Beatrice. 

Beat.  I  apa  gone,  though  I  am  here ; — there  ifl 
no  love  in  you : — nay,  I  pray  you,  let  me  go. 

Bent.  Beatrice,' 


Beat.  In  faith  I  will  go. 
Bene.  We'll  be  friends  I 


first. 

Beat.  You  dare  easier  be  friends  with  me,  than 
fight  with  mine  enemy. 

Bene.  Is  Claudio  thine  enemy? 

Beat.  Is  he  not  approv'd  in  the  height  a  villain, 
that  hath  slandered,  scorned,  dishonoured  my  kins- 
woman?— O,  that  I  were  a  man! — ^What!  bear 
her  in  haml*  until  they  come  to  take  hands;  and 
then  with  public  accusation,  uncovered  slander, 
unniitiprated  rancour, — O  God,  that  I  were  a  man ! 
1  would  eat  his  heart  in  the  market-place. 

Bene.  Hear  me,  Beatrice ; — 

Beat.  Talk  wiin  a  man  out  at  a  window  ?  a 
proper  savinj? ! 

Bene.  Js'ay  but,  Beatrice ; — 

Beat.  Sweet  Hero! — she  is  wronged,  she  is 
slandered,  she  is  undone. 

Bene.  Beat — 

Beat.  Princes,  and  counties!'  Surely  a  princely 
testimony,  a  poodly  count-confect ;'  a  sweet  gal- 
lant, surely !  O  that  I  were  a  man  for  his  sake  !  or 
that  I  had  any  friend  would  be  a  man  for  my  sake ! 
But  manhood  is  melted  into  courtesies,*  valour  into 
compliment,  end  men  are  only  turned  into  tongue, 
and  trim  ones  too :  he  is  now  as  valiant  as  Hercu- 
les, that  only  tells  a  lie,  and  swears  it  :-.-I  cannot 


endure.      [Exe.  Friar,  Hero,  and  Leon,  i be  a  man  with  wishing,  therefore  I  will  die  a  wo 
Bene.    Lady  Beatrice,   have  you  wept  all  this  man  witligrieving. 


while  ? 

Beat.  Yea,  and  I  will  weep  a  while  longer. 

Bene.  I  will  not  desire  that. 

Beat.  You  have  no  reason,  I  do  it  freely. 

Bene.  Surely,  I  do  believe  your  fair  cousin  is 
wrong'd. 

Be<U.  Ah,  how  much  might  the  man  deserve  of 
me,  that  would  right  her ! 

Bene.  Is  there  any  way  to  show  such  friendship? 

Beat.  A  very  even  way,  but  no  such  friend. 

Bene.  May  a  man  do  it  ? 

Beat.  It  is  a  man's  oifice,  but  not  yours. 

Bene,  I  do  love  nothing  in  the  world  so  well  as 
fou ;  is  not  that  strange  ? 


H)  While. 
'4)  Intimacy. 


(2)  Over-rate.        (3)  By. 
(5)  Delude  her  with  hopes. 


Bene.  Tarry,  good  Beatrice:  by  this  hand  I  love 
thee. 

Beat.  Use  it  for  my  love  some  other  way  than 
swearing  by  it. 

Bene.  Think  vou  in  your  soul  the  count  Claudio 
hath  wronged  Hero  ? 

Beat.  Yea,  as  sure  as  I  have  a  thought,  or  a 
soul. 

Bene.  Enough,  I  am  engaged,  I  will  challenge 
him ;  I  will  kiss  your  hand,  and  so  leave  you  :  by 
this  hand,  Claudio  shall  render  me  a  dear  account': 
as  you  hear  of  me,  so  think  of  me.  Go,  comfort 
your  cousin:  I  must  say,  she  is  dead ;  and  so  fare- 
well. [Exeunt. 

(6)  Noblemen.  (7)  A  nobleman  made  out  of  sugar 
(8)  Ceremony. 


m 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


^dV, 


SCEJ^E  II.— *3  prison.-  Enter  Dogberry,  Ver- 
ges, and  Sexton,  in  gowns;  and  the  VVatch, 

■tcith  Conrade  and  Borachio. 

Dogb.  Is  our  whole  dissembly  appeared  ? 

Verg.  O,  a  stool  and  a  cushion  for  the  sexton! 

Sexton.  Which  be  the  malefactors  ? 

Dogb,  Marry,  that  am  I  and  my  partner. 

Verg.  Nay,' that's  certain;  we  have  tiie  exhibi- 
tion to  examine. 

Sexton.  But  which  are  the  offenders  that  are  to  be 
examined  ?  let  them  come  before  master  constable. 

Dogb.  Yea,  marry,  let  them  come  before  me.— 
What  is  your  name,"  friend  ? 

Bora.  Borachio. 

Dogb.  Pray  write  down— Borachio. Yours, 

sirrah  ? 


Verg.  Let  them  be  in  band.* 

Con.  Off,  coxcomb ! 

Dogb.  God's  my  life  !  where's  the  sexton  ?  let 
him  write  dov.n — the  prince's  ollicer,  coxcomb. — 
Come,  bind  them : Thou  naughty  varlet ! 

Con.  Away  '  you  are  an  ass,  you  are  an  ass. 

Dogb.  Dost  tliou  not  suspect  my  place  7  Dost 
thou  not  suspect  my  years  ? — O  that  he  were  here 
to  write  me  down — an  ass ! — but,  masters,  remem- 
ber, tiiat  1  am  an  ass ;  though  it  be  not  written 
down,  yet  forget  not  that  I  am  an  ass  : — No,  thou 
villain,  thou  art  full  of  piety,  as  shall  be  proved 
upon  thee  by  good  witness.  I  am  a  wise  fellow  ; 
and,  which  is  nsore,  an  olHcer ;  and,  which  is  more, 
a  householder:  and,  which  is  more,  as  pretty  a 
piece  of  flesh  as  any  is  in  Messina ;  nnd  one  that 


"Con:  I  am  a  gentleman,  sir,  and  my  name  is|bn«;vs  the  law    go  to;  and  a  lich  fellow  enouph, 
p"!.,.  ISO  to;  and  a  fellow  that  hath  had  losses ;  and  one 


that  hath  two  (rowns,  and  every  thing  handsome 
about  him: — Bring  him  away.  0,  that  I  had  been 
writ  down — an  ass.  [Exeunt. 


Enter 


Dogb.  Write  down— master  gentleman  Con- 
rade.— Masters,  do  you  serve  Goa  ? 

Con.  Bora.  Yea,  sir,  we  hope. 

Dogb.  Write  down — that  they  hope  they  serve 
God: — and  write  God  first;  for  God  defend  but 
God  should  go  before  such  villains ! — Masters,  it  is 
proved  already  that  you  are  little  better  than  false 
knaves ;  and  it  will  go  near  to  be  thought  so  shortly. 
How  answer  you  for  yourselves? 

Co7i.  Marry,  sir.  we  say  we  are  none. 

Dogb.  A  marvellous  wittv  fellow,  I  assarn  you  ; 
but  I  will  go  about  with  him. — Come  you  hither, 
sirrah ;  a  word  in  your  ear,  sir ;  I  say  to  you,  it  is 
thought  you  are  false  knaves. 

Bora.  Sir,  I  say  to  you,  we  arc  none. 

Dos^b.  Well,  stand  aside. — 'Fore  God,  they  are 
fioth  in  a  tale :  have  you  writ  down — that  tiiey  are 
none? 

Seartoi.  Master  constable,  YOU  cro  not  the  way  to,  .        „,     ■.  ,    ,     j  ,-, 

examine:  you  must  call  forth  the  watch  that  arciy^oy^Jfy."'  her  is  overwhelm  d  like  mine, 
their  accusers.  And  bid  him  speak  of  patience  : 

Dogb.  Yea,"  marry,  that's  the  eftest  way  :—LetM^'^-'""""e  his  wo  the  length  and  breadth  of  mine, 
the  watch  come  forth :— Masters,  I  charge' vou,  in  7""  J"^'  »'  answer  every  strain  for  strain  ; 
the  prince's  name,  accuse  these  men.  "  li^s  thus  for  thus,  and  such  a  grief  for  such. 


ACT  V. 

^CEJ^'E    I. — Before    Leonato's    house. 
Leonato  and  Antonio.  ' 

.Int.  If  you  go  on  thus,  you  will  kill  yourself; 
And  'tis  not  wisdom,  thus  to  second  grief 
Against  yourself. 

Leon.  I  pray  thee,  cease  thy  counsel, 

Which  falls  into  mine  ears  as  profitless 
As  water  ia  a  sieve :  give  not  me  counsel ; 
Nor  let  no  comforter  delijrht  mine  ear. 
But  such  a  one  whose  wrong's  do  suit  with  mine. 
Briii<r  me  a  father,  that  so  lov'd  liis  rhild, 


1  Watch.  This  man  said,  sir,  that  Don  John, 
the  prince's  brother,  was  a  villain. 

Dogb.  Write  down — prince  John  a  villain. — 
Why  this  is  flat  perjury,  to  call  a  prince's  brother — 
villain. 

Bora.  Master  constable,— 

Dogb.  Pray  thee,  fellow,  peace ;  I  do  not  like 
thy  look,  I  promise  thee. 

Sexton.  What  heard  you  him  say  else  ? 

2  Watch.  Marry,  that  he  had  received  a  thou- 
sand ducats  of  Don  John,  for  accusing  the  lady 
Hero  wrongfully. 

Dogb.  Flat  burglary,  as  ever  was  committed.      j 
Verg.  Yea,  by  the  mass,  that.it  is. 
Sexton.  What  else,  fellow  ? 

1  Watch.  And  that  Count  Claudio  did  mean, 
upon  his  words,  to  disgrace  Hero  before  the  whole 
assembly,  and  not  marry  her. 

Dogb.  O  villain !  thou  wilt  be  condemned  into 
everlasting  redemption  for  tliis. 
Sexton.  What  else? 

2  Watch.  This  is  all. 

Sexton.  And  this  is  more,  masters,  than  you  can 
deny.    Prince  John  is  this  morning  secretly  stolen 


In  ever)'  lineament,  branch,  shape,  and  form  : 
If  such  a  one  will  smile,  and  stroke  his  beard  ; 
Cry — sorrow, wag!  and  hem,when  he  should  groan , 
Patch  grief  with  proverbs ;  make  misfortunes  drunk 
With  candle-wasters ;  bring  him  yet  to  me. 
And  I  of  hiiii  will  gather  patience. 
But  there  is  no  such  man  :  For,  brother,  men 
Can  counsel,  and  speak  comfort  to  that  grief 
Which  they  themselves  not  feel ;  but,  tasting  it. 
Their  coimsel  turns  to  passion,  whioh  before 
Would  give  preceptia!  medicine  to  rage,      ^ 
Fetter  strong  madness  in  a  silken  thread, 
Charm  ache  with  air,  and  agony  with  words  : 
No,  no ;  'tis  all  men's  ollice  to 'speak  patience 
To  those  that  wring  under  the  load  of  sorrow ; 
But  no  man's  virtue,  nor  sufficiency. 
To  be  so  moral,  when  he  shall  endure 
The  like  himself:  therefore  give  me  no  counsel : 
My  griefs  cry  louder  than  advertisement. ^ 

,flnt.  Therein  do  men  from  children  nothing  differ. 

Lewi.   I  pray  thee,  peace :  I  will  be  flesh  and 
blood  ; 
For  there  was  never  yet  philosopher, 
That  could  endure  the  tooth-ach  patiently ; 


away;  Hero  was  in  this  manneraccused,'  in  this|  However  they  have  writ  the  style  of  gods. 


very  manner  refused,  and  upon  the  irrief  of  this,  ^"^1  "^ade  a  pish  at  chance  and  sufferance, 
suddenly  died.— Master  constable,  let  these  raenL/^,"'-  /et  bend  not  aU  the  harm  upon  yourself: 
be  bound,  and  brought  to  Leonato's;  I  will  poP^'i'^e  ^"ose,  that  do  offend  you,  suffer  too 
before,  and  show  him  their  examination.      [Exi<  '     '^"'    ^'^"'•'"  '^"•'  •"»"'''«*  —• ""  •  "•■ 
Dogb.  Come,  let  them  be  opinioned. 

(1)  Bond.  (2)  Admonition. 


nay,  I  will 


Leon.  There  thou  speak'st  reason ; 
I  do  so. 

'My  soul  doth  tell  me.  Hero  is  belied  ; 
'And  that  shdl  Claudio  know,  so  shall  the  prince, 


Seoul. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


13S 


And  all  of  them,  that  thus  dbshonour  her. 

Enter  Don  Pedro  and  Claudio. 

Jnt.  Here  comes  the  prince,  and  Claudio,  hastily. 
D.  Pedro.  Good  den,  good  den 


Leon.  But,  brother  Antosy,— 
>^nt.  Come,  'tis  no  matter ; 

Do  not  you  meddle,  let  me  deal  ip  this, 
D.  Pedro.  Gentlemen  both,  we  will  not  wake 
your  patience. 


Claud. 


Good  duv  to  both  of  vou.  I^^J'  heart  is  sorr>-  Ibr  your  daughter's  death  ; 


Leon.  Hear  you  mv  lords, — 

D.  Pedro,    '        We  have  some  haste,  Leonato. 

Leon.   Some  haste,  my  lord  I — well,   fare  you 
well,  my  lord  : — 
Are  you  so  hasty  now  ? — well,  all  is  one. 

Dl  Pedro.  Nay,  do  not  quarrel ^  with  us,  good 
old  man. 

,int.  If  he  could  rieht  himself  with  quarrelling, 
Some  of  us  would  lie  low. 

Clavd.  Who  wrongs  him  ? 

Leon.  Marry, 

Thou,  thou  dost  wrong  me ;  thou  dissembler,  thou : 
Nay,  never  lay  thy  hand  upon  thy  sword, 
I  fear  thee  noL 

Clavd.  Marry,  beshrew  my  hand. 

If  it  should  »ive  your  a'j»;  such  cause  of  fear  : 
In  faith,  my  hand" meant  nothing  to  my  sword. 

Leon.  Tush,  tusli,  man,  never  tleer  anil  jest  at  me: 
I  speak  not  like  a  dotard,  nor  a  fool ; 
As,  under  nri>  ilegc  of  a^e,  to  brag 
What  I  have  done  bting  youncr,  or  what  would  do, 
Were  I  not  old:  Know,  Claudio,  to  thy  head, 
Thou  hast  so  wrong'd  mine  innocent  cliild  and  me, 
That  I  arn  forc'd  to  lay  my  reverence  by  ; 
And,  »vith  gray  hairs,  and  bruise  of  many  days, 
Do  challenge  thee  to  trial  of  a  man. 
I  say,  thou  hast  belied  mine  innocent  child  ; 
Thy  slander  hath  gone  tin  ough  and  through  her 

iieart, 
And  she  lies  buried  with  her  ancestors : 
O  !  in  a  tomb  where  never  scandal  slept, 
Save  this  of  her's  framed  by  Uiv  viilany. 

Clmid.  My  viilany  ! 

Leon.  '   Thine,  C!a»idio ;  thine  I  say. 

D.  Pedro.  You  say  not  right,  old  man. 

Leon.  '  My  lord,  my  lord, 

I'll  prove  it  on  his  body,  if  he  dan- ; 
Despite  his  nice  fence,  and  his  active  practice,* 
His  May  of  youth,  and  bloom  of  lustyhooil. 

Claud.  Away,  I  will  not  have  to  do  willi  you. 

Leon.  Canst  thou  so  daff  me .'  Thou  hast  kill'd 
my  child ; 
If  thou  kill'st  me,  boy,  then  shalt  kill  a  man. 

.int.  He  shall  kill  two  of  us,  and  men  indeed : 
But  that's  no  matter ;  let  him  kill  one  first : — 
Win  me  and  wear  me, — let  him  answer  me, — 
Come,  follow  me,  bay ;  come,  boy,  follow  me  : — 
Sir  boy,  I'll  whip  you  from  your  ibining'  fence  ; 
Nav,  as  I  am  a  gentleman,  I  wilL 

Leon.  Brother, — 

.int.  Content  yourself:  God  knows,  I  lov'd  my 
niece ; 
And  she  is  dead,  slander'd  to  death  by  villains  ; 
That  dare  as  well  answer  a  man,  indeed, 
As  I  dare  take  a  serpent  by  the  tongue : 
Boys,  apes,  braggarts.  Jacks,  milksops ! — 

Leon.  Brother  .\nlony, — 

.JnL  Hold  you  content;  What,  man!  I  know 
them,  yea, 
And  what  they  weigh,  even  to  the  utmost  STrnple  : 
Scrambling,  out-facing,  fashion-mong'ring  bovs. 
That  lie,  and  cog,  and  flout,  deprave  and  slander, 
Go  anticly,  and  shew  outward  hideousness. 
And  speak  ofl'  half  a  dozen  danrerous  words, 
How  they  night  hurt  tiicir  cnemie?,  if  tJiey  datst. 
And  this  is  all. 

(I)  Skill  in  fencing.     _    (2)  Tlirusting. 


But,  on  my  honour,  ^he  was  charg'd  with  nothiog 
But  what  was  true,  and  very  full  of  proof. 

Leon.  My  lord,  my  lord, — 

D.  Pedro.  I  will  not  hear  vou, 

Leon.  No  7^ 

Brother,  away :— I  will  be  heard ; — 

.int.  And  shall, 

Or  some  of  us  will  smart  for  iL 

[ExewU  Leonato  and  Antonio. 

Enter  Benedick. 

D.  Pedro.  See,  see,  here  comes  the  man  we  weal 
to  seek. 

Claud.  Now,  signior!  what  news? 

Bene.  Good  day,  my  lord. 

D.  Pedro.  Welcome,  signior :  You  arc  almost 
come  to  part  almost  a  fray. 

Claud.  We  had  like  to  have  had  our  two  noec« 
snaijped  off  with  two  old  men  without  teeth. 

I).  Pedro.  Leonato  and  his  brother :  What 
think'st  thou  ?  Had  we  fought,  I  doubt,  we  should 
have  been  too  young  for  them. 

Bene.  In  a  false  quarrel  there  is  no  true  valour. 
I  came  to  seek  you  both. 

Claud.  We  have  been  up  and  down  to  seek  thee  ; 
for  we  are  higli-proof  melancholy,  and  would  fain 
have  it  beaten  away  :  Wilt  thou  "use  thy  wit  ? 

Bene.  It  is  in  my  seabbard  ;  shall  I  dtaw  it  ? 

X>.  Pedro.  Dost  thou  wear  thy  wit  by  thy  side  7 

Claud.  Never  any  did  so,  though  very  many 
have  been  beside  their  wit. — I  will  bid  thee  draw 
as  ^ve  do  the  minstrels  ;  draw,  to  pleasure  us. 

D.  Pedro.  As  I  am  an  honest  man,  he  looks  pale  : 
Art  thou  sick  or  angry  ? 

Claud.  What !  courage,  man !  What  though  care 
killed  a  cat,  thou  hast  mettle  enough  in  thee  to  kill 
care. 

Bene.  Sir,  I  shall  meet  your  wit  in  the  career,  an 
you  charge  it  against  me : — I  pray  you,  choose 
another  subject. 

Claud.  Nay,  then  give  him  another  staff;  this 
last  was  broke  cross. 

D.  Pedro.  By  this  light,  he  changes  more  and 
more :  I  think,  he  be  angry  indeed. 

Claud.  If  he  be,  he  knows  how  to  turn  his  girdle.* 

Bene.  Shall  I  speak  a  word  in  your  ear  ? 

Claud.  God  bless  me  from  a  challenge  ! 

Be^ie.  You  are  a  villain ;  I  jest  not :— I  will  make 
it  good  how  you  dare,  with  what  you  dare,  and 
when  you  dare : — Do  me  right,  or  I  will  protest 
your  cowardice.  You  have  killed  a  sweet  lady, 
and  her  death  shall  fall  heavy  on  you :  Let  me  hear 
'  from  you. 

Claud.  Well,  I  will  meet  you,  so  I  may  have  good 
cheer. 

D.  Pedro.  WTiat,  a  feast  ?  a  feast  ? 

Claud.  I'faith,  I  thank  him  ;  he  hath  bid*  me  to 
a  calPs-head  and  a  capon ;  the  which  if  I  do  not 
carve  most  curiously,  sav,  my  knife's  naugnt. — 
Shall  I  not  find  a  woodcoclv  too  ? 

Bene.  Sir,  your  w-it  ambles  well ;  it  goes  easily. 

D.  Pedro.  I'll  tell  thee  how  Beatrice  praised  thy 
wit  the  other  day :  I  said,  thou  hadst  a  fine  wit ; 
True,  says  she,  a'fine  little  one  :  Ao,  said  I,  a  great 
wit ;  Right,  says  she,  a  great  gross  one :  S'ay,  said 
I,  a  good  viii:  Just,  said  she,  it  hurts  nobody: 

(3)  To  give  a  challenge.    _    (4)  Invited. 


430 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


JletF. 


J^ay,  said  I,  the  gentleman  is  wise;  Certain,  saidlkill  me.  I  have  deceived  even  your  very  eyee: 
she,  a  wise  gentleman  :  JVaj/,  said  I,  he  hath  thelwhai  your  wisdoms  could  not  discoverj  these  shal- 
ton^(es ;  That  1  believe,  said  she,  for  he  sioore  a  low  fools  have  brought  to  light ;  who,  in  the  night, 
•   ■•       I''  •   •     J-  overheard  me  confessing  to  this  man,  how  Don 

John  your  brother  incensed^  me  to  slander  the  lady 
Hero ;  how  you  were  brought  into  the  orchard, 
and  saw  me  court  Margaret  in  Hero's  garments  ; 
how  you  disgraced  her,  when  you  should  marry 
her :  my  villany  they  have  upon  record  ;  which  "I 
had  ratiier  seal  with  my  death,  than  repeat  over  to 
my  shame :  the  lady  is  dead  upon  mine  and  my 
master's  false  accusation  ;  and,  briefly,  I  desire 
nothing  but  the  reward  of  a  villain. 

Z>.  Pedro.  Runs  not  this  speech  like  iron  through 
your  blood? 

Claud.  I  have  drunk  poison  whiles  he  utter'd  it. 

1>.  Pedro.  But  did  my  brother  set  thee  on  to  this  ? 

Boi-a.  Yea,  ana  paid  me  richly  for  the  practice 
ofit. 

jD.  Pedro.  He  is  compps'd  and  fram'd  of  trea- 
chery:— 
And  fled  he  is  upon  this  villany. 

Claud.  Sweet  Hero !  now  thy  image  doth  appear 
In  the  rare  semblance  that  I  lov'd  it  first. 

Dogb.  Come,  bring  away  the  plaintiffs ;  by  this 
time  our  Sexton  hath  reformed  signior  Leonato  of 
the  matter :  and  masters,  do  not  forget  to  specify, 
when  time  and  place  shall  serve,  that  I  am  an  ass. 

Verg.  Here,  here  comes  master  signior  Leonato, 
and  the  Sexton  too. 

Re-enter  Leonato  and  Antonio,  with  the  Sexton. 

Leon.  Which  is  the  villain  ?  Let  me  see  his  eyes ; 
That  when  1  note  another  man  like  him, 
I  may  avoid  him:  Which  of  these  is  he? 

Bora.  If  you  would  know  your  wronger,  look  on 
me- 

Leon.  Art  thou  the  slave,  that  with  thy  breath 
hast  kill'd 
Mine  innocent  child  ? 

Bora.  Yea,  even  I  alone. 

Leon.  No,  not  so,  villain  ,  thou  bely'st  thyself; 
Here  stand  a  pair  of  honourable  men, 
A  third  is  fled,  that  had  a  hand  in  it : — 
I  thank  you,  princes,  for  my  daughter's  death  ; 
Record  it  with  your  high  and  worthy  deeds  ^ 
'Twas  bravely  clone,  if  you  bethink  you  of  it. 

Claud.  I  know  not  how  to  pray  your  patience. 
Yet  I  must  speak :  Choose  your  revenge  yourself ; 
Impose'  me  to  what  penance  your  invention 
Can  lay  upon  my  sin :  yet  sinn'd  I  not, 
But  in  mistaking. 

D.  Pedro.  By  my  soul,  nor  I ; 

And  yet,  to  satisfy  this  good  old  man, 
I  would  bend  under  any  heavy  weight 
That  he'll  enjoin  me  to. 

Leon.  I  cannot  bid  you  bid  my  daughter  live, 
That  were  impossible  ;  but,  I  pray  you  both, 
Possess*  the  people  in  Messina  here 
How  innocent  she  died  :  and,  if  your  love 
Can  labour  ougjit  in  sad  invention. 
Hang  her  an  epitaph  upon  her  tomo. 
And  sing  it  to  her  bones ;  sing  it  to-night  :— 
To-morrow  morning  come  you  to  my  house  ; 
And  since  you  could  not  be  my  son-in-law. 
Be  yet  my  nephew :  my  brother  hal.h  a  daughter, 
Almost  llie  copy  of  my  child  that's  dead. 
And  she  alone  is  heir  to  both  of  us  j 
Give  her  the  right  you  should  have  given  her  cousin, 
And  so  dies  my  revenge. 

Claud.  O,  noble  sir, 

Your  over-kindness  doth  wring  tears  from  me  i 


thing  to  me  on  J\Iondaij  night,  which  he  forswore 
'tn  Tuesday  morning;  there's  a  double  tongue; 
there^s  tioo  tongues.  Thus  did  she,  an  hour  toge- 
ther, trans-shape  thy  particular  virtues ;  yet,  at 
last,  she  concluded  with  a  sigh,  thou  wast  the  pro- 
perest  man  in  Italy. 

Claud.  For  the  which  she  wept  heartily,  and 
said,  she  cared  not. 

D.  Pedro.  Yea,  that  she  did ;  but  yet,  for  all 
that,  an  if  she  did  not  hate  him  deadly,  she  would 
love  him  dearly :  the  old  man's  daughter  told  us  all. 

Claud.  All,  all ;  and  moreover,  God  saw  him 
when  he  toas  hid  in  the  garden. 

D.  Pedro.  But  when  shall  we  set  the  savage 
bull's  horns  on  the  sensible  Benedick's  head  ? 

Claud.  Yea,  and  text  underneath,  Here  dwells 
Benedick  the  married  man. 

Bene.  Fare  you  well,  boy ;  you  Iniow  my  mind ; 
I  will  leave  you  now  to  your  gossip-like  humour : 
you  break  jests  as  braggarts  do  their  blades,  which, 
God  be  thanked,  hurt  not. — My  lord,  for  your  many 
courtesies  I  thank  you:  I  must  discontinue  your 
company ;  your  brother,  the  bastard,  is  fled  from 
Messina :  you  have,  among  you,  killed  a  sweet  and 
innocent  lady :  for  my  lord  Lack-beard,  there,  he 
and  I  shall  meet ;  and  till  then,  peace  be  with  him 
[Exit  Benedick 
,     D.  Pedro.  He  is  in  earnest. 

Claud.  In  most  profound  earnest ;  and,  I'll  war- 
rant you,  for  the  love  of  Beatrice. 

D.  Pedro.  And  hath  challenged  thee? 

Claud.  Most  sincerely. 

D.  Pedro.  What  a  pretty  thing  man  is,  when  he 
goes  in  his  doublet  and  hose,  and  leaves  on  his  wit  I 

Ent^r  Dogberry,  Verges,  and  the  Watch,  with 
Conrade  and  Boracliio. 

Claud'.  He  is  then  a  giant  to  an  ape :  but  then  is 
an  ape  a  doctor  to  such  a  man. 

D.  Pedro.  But,  soft  you,  let  be  ;  pluck  up,  my 
heart,  and  be  sad ! '  Did  he  not  say  my  brother  Was 
fled? 

Dogb,  Come,  you,  sir ;  if  justice  cannot  tame 
you,  she  shall  ne'er  weigh  more  reasons  in  her  ba- 
lance ;  nay,  an  vou  be  a  cursing  hypocrite  once, 
you  must  be  looKed  to. 

D.  Pedro.  How  no^v,  two  of  my  brother's  men 
bound  •  Borachio,  one  ! 

Claud.  Hearken  to  their  ofl^ence,  my  lord  ! 

D.  Pedro.  Officers,  what  oH'ence  have  these  men 
done  ? 

Dogb.  Marry,  sir,  they  have  committed  false  re- 
port ;  moreover,  they  have  spoken  untruths ;  se- 
condarily, they  arc  slanders  ;  sixth  and  lastly,  they 
have  belied  a  lady ;  thirdly,  they  have  verified  un- 
just things  :  and,  toconclude,  they  are  lying  knaves. 

D.  Pedro.  First,  I  ask  iheo  what  they  have  done : 
thirdly,  1  ask  thee  what's  their  oflence  ;  sixth  and 
lastly,  why  they  are  committed  ;  and,  to  conclude, 
what  you  lay  to  their  charge? 

Claud,  Rightly  reasoned,  and  in  his  own  divi- 
■  sion  ;  and,  by  my  troth,  there's  one  meaning  well 
suited. 

D,  Pedro.  Whom  have  you  oflTended,  masters, 
that  you  are  thus  bound  to  your  ansv.-er?  this 
learned  constable  is  too  cunning  to  be  understood: 
What's  your  oflence? 

Bora.  Sweet  prince,  let  me  go  no  further  to 
'  n)ine  answer ;  do  you  hear  me,  and  let  this  count 


'1)  Serious. 


(2)  Incited. 


(3)  Commajn;?,, 


(4)  Acquaint. 


Scene  11. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


187 


ISinging.] 


I  do  embrace  rour  offer ;  and  dispose 
For  henceforth  of  poor  Claudio. 

Leon.  To-morrow  then  I  will  expect  your  coming ; 
To-iiieht  I  take  my  leave.— Tliis  naughty  raan 
Shall  lace  to  face  te  brought  to  Margaret, 
Who,  I  believe,  was  pack'd  in  all  this  wronj, 
Hir'd  to  it  by  your  brother. 

Bora.  No,  by  my  soul,  she  was  not ;  ?o°«  swimmer,  x  runus  u.u  »:rai  cu.pioj cr  m  i,.-iii. 

Nor  knew  not  what  she  did,  w^en  she  spoke  to  me    ^ars,  and  a  wnorc  book  full  of  these  quondam  car- 
But  always  hath  been  just  and  virtuous, 
In  any  thing  that  I  do  know  by  her. 

Do^b.  Moreover,  sir,  (which,  indeed,  is  not  un- 


Bene.  And  therefore  vrWY  came. 
The  {;oU  of  love, 
That  sits  above, 
^nd  knoxci  me,  aud  knows  me, 
How  pitifiU  I  deserve, — 

I  mean,  in  singing ;  but  in  loving, — Leander  the 
ocd  swimmer,  Troilus  the  first  employer  of  pan- 


pcc-mongers,  whose  names  yet  run  smoothly  in  the 
even  road  of  a  blank  verse,  why,  they  were  never 
so  truly  turned  over  and  over  as  my  poor  self,  in 
love :  Marry,  I  cannot  show  it  in  rhyme :  I  have 
tried  ;  I  can  find  out  no  rhyme  to  lady  but  oaby,  an 
innocent  rhyme  ;  for  scorn,  kom,  a  hard  rhyme  ; 


for  school,  J'ool,  a  babbling  rhyme  ;  very  ominous 
endings :   No,  I  w  as  not  born  under  a  rhyming 


der  w-hite  and  black,)  this  plaintiff  here,  the  offen 
der,  did  call  me  ass :  I  beseech  you,  let  it  be  re- 
membered in  his  punishment:  and  also,  the  watch 
heard  them  talk  of  one  Deformed :  they  say,  he 
wears  a  key  in  his  ear,  and  a  lock  hangmg  by  it ; 
and  borrows  money  in  God's  name ;  tiie  which  he 
hath  used  so  long,  and  never  paid,  that  now  men 
grow  hard-hearted,  and  will  lend  nothing  for  God's 
sake :  pray  you,  examine  him  upon  that  point. 

Leon.  I  thank  thee  for  thy  care  and  honest  pains. 

Dogb.  Your  worship  speaks  like  a  most  thankful 
and  reverend  youth ;  and  I  praise  God  for  you. 

Leon.  There's  for  thy  pains. 

Dogb.  God  save  the  foundation ! 

Leoiu  Go,  I  discharge  thee  of  thy  prisoner,  and 
I  thank  thee. 

Dogb.  I  leave  an  arrant  knave  with  your  -wor- 
ship ;  which,  I  beseech  your  worship    to  correct^  ^^„,_  r  om  woras  is  cut  loui  wma,  i 
yourself,  for  the  example  ofothers.    God  keep  youjif^  but  foul  breath,  and  foul  breath 
worship  ;      wish  your  worship  we  1 ;  God  restore  therefore  I  will  depart  unkissed. 
to  health :  I  humbly  give  you  leave  to  depart ; 


you  I  .  _       . 

and  if  a  merry  meeting  may  be  wished,  God  prohi- 
bit it — Come,  neighbour. 

[Exeunt  Dogberry,  Verges,  and  Watch 

Leon.  Until  to-morrow  morning,  lords,  farewell 

.int.  Farewell,  my  lords  ;  we  look  for  you  to- 
morrow. 

D.  Pedro.  We  will  not  fail.    • 

Claud.  To-ni^ht  I'll  mourn  with  Hero. 

[Exeunt  Don  Pedro  and  Claudio. 

Leon.  Brinsr  you  these  fellows  on;   we'll  talk 
with  Margaret, 
How  her  acquaintance  grew  with  this  lewd'  fellow. 

[Exeunt. 
SCE^E  77.— Leonato's  Garden.     Enter  Bene- 
dick and  Margaret,  mcelinsc. 

Bene.  Pray  thee,  sweet  mistress  Marrarct,  de- 
serve well  at  my  hand.*;,  by  helping  me  to  the  speech 
of  Beatrice. 

Marg.  Will  you  then  wriie  me  a  sennet  in  praise 
of  my  Beauty  ? 

Bene.  In  so  high  a  style,  Margaret,  that  no  man 
living  shall  come  over  it ;  for,  in  most  comely  truth, 
thou  deservest  it. 

^Ictrg.  To  have  no  man  come  over  me?  why, 
shall  I  aJways  keep  below  stairs? 

Bene.  Thy  wit  is  as  quick  as  the  greyhound's 
mouih,  it  catches. 

Mars:.  And  your's  as  blunt  as  the  fencer's  foils, 
which  hit,  but  hurt  not. 

Bene.  A  most  manly  wit,  Margaret,  it  will  net 
hurt  a  woman  ;  an"d  so  I  pray  thee,  call  Beatrice  : 
I  give  thee  the  bucklers. 

Marg.  Give  us  the  sv/ords,  we  have  bucklers  of 
our  own. 

Bene.  If  you  use  them,  Marcraref,  you  must  pu'' 
in  the  pikes  wj'.h  a  vice  ;  and  they  are  dangerous 
weapons  for  maids. 

JMarg.  Well,  I  will  call  Beatrice  to  yoji,  who,  I 
Ihink,  hath  legs.  [Exit  Margaret. 

(I )  Ignorant.         (2)  Holiday  Dhrases. 


planet,  nor  I  cannot  woo  in  festival  terms.* — 

Enter  Beatrice. 
Sweet  Beatrice,  would'st  thou  come  when  I  called 
thee? 

Beat.  Yea,  signior,  and  depart  when  you  bid  me. 

Bene.  O.  stay  but  till  then ! 

Beat.  Then,  is  spoken  ;  fare  you  well  now : — 
and  yet,  ere  1  fo,  let  me  go  with  that  I  came  for, 
which  is,  with  knowing  what  hath  passed  between 
you  and  Claudio. 

Bene.  Only  foai  yvords ;  and  thereupon,  I  will 
kiss  thee, 
i^  Beat.  Foul  words  is  but  foul  ^vind,  and  foul  wind 

■    ■   "    ■  '     ath,  and  foul  breath  is  noisome; 
depart  I 

Bene.  Thou  hast  frighted  the  word  out  of  his 
right  sense,  so  forcible  is  thy  wit:  But,  I  must  tell 
thee  plainlv,  Claudio  undergoes'  my  challenge  ; 
and  cither  I  must  shortly  hear  from  him,  or  I  will 
subscribe  him  a  coward.  And,  1  pray  thee  now, 
tell  mc,  for  which  of  my  bad  parts  didst  thou  first 
fall  in  love  with  me  ? 

Beat.  For  Ihem  all  together  ;  which  maintained 
so  poliiic  a  stale  of  evil,  that  they  w  ill  not  admit 
any  good  part  to  intermingle  with  them.  But  for 
which  of  my  good  parts  did  you  first  suffer  love 
for  me  ? 

Bene.  Suffer  Icve ;  a  good  epithet !  I  do  suffer 
lov«,  indeccCfcr  I  love  thee  against  my  will. 

Beat.  In  spite  of  your  heart,  1  think  ;  alas  !  poor 
heart!  If  you  spite  it  for  my  sake ;  I  will  spite  it 
for  yours;  for  I  will  never  love  that  which  my 
friend  hates. 

Bene.  Thou  and  I  are  too  xvise  to  woo  pesrcably. 

Beat.  It  appeals  not  in  this  confession:  there's 
not  one  wise  man  among  twenty  that  will  praise 
himself.- 

Bene.  An  old,  an  old  inst^^nce,  Beatrice,  that  lived 
in  the  time  of  good  nci£;hbours  :  if  a  man  do  not 
erect  in  this  age  his  own  tomb  ere  he  dies,  he  shall 
live  no  longer  ia  monument,  than  the  bell  rings, 
and  the  widow  weeps. 

Beat.  And  how  long  is  that,  think  you  ? 

Bene.  Question  ?—^Vhv,  an  hour  in  clamour, 
and  a  quarter  in  rheum  :  Therefore,  i*.  is  most  expe? 
dient  for  the  wise  (if  Don  Worm,  his  conscience, 
lind  no  impediment  to  the  contrary,)'  to  be  the 
trumpet  of  Ivs  own  virtues,  as  I  am  to  myself:  So 
much  for  praising  myself  (who,  I  mj'self  will  bear 
witness,  is  praiseworthy,)  and  now  tell  me.  How 
doth  your  cousin? 

Beat.  Very  jll. 

Bene.  And  how  do  ycu  7 

Beat.  Very  ill  too. 

Bene.  Serve  God,  love  mc,  and  mcnd:  iiitt% 


(3)  U  subject  to. 

S       . 


138 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHINO. 


Jlet  r. 


will  I  leave  jeu  too,  for  here  comes  one  in  haste. 
Enter  Ursula. 
Urs.  Madam,  you  must  come  to  your  uncle; 


^9nl.  Well,  I  am  glad  that  all  things  sort  so  well. 
Bene,  And  so  am  I,  being  else  by  faith  enforc'd 
To  call  young  Claudio  to  a  reckoning  for  '\t. 
Leon.  Wefi,  daughter,  and  you  gentlewomen  all, 


Tonder's  old  coil'  at  home:  it  is  proved  my  lady  j  Withdraw  into  a  chamber  by  yourselves; 
Hero  hath  been  falsely  accused,  the  prince  and!  And  when  I  send  for  you,  come  hither  mask'd  : 
Claudio   mightily  abused;  and   Don  John  is  the  j  The  prince  and  Claudio  promis'd  by  this  hour 

will  you  come  To  visit  me : — You  know  your  otiice,  brother ; 
You  nmst  be  father  to  your  brother's  daughter. 
And  give  her  to  young  Claudio.     [Exeunt  Ladies, 
tint.  Wiuch  I  will  do  with  confirm'd  countenance. 
Bene.  Friar,  I  must  entreat  your  pains,  I  think. 
Friar.  To  do  what,  signior  ? 
Bene.  To  bind  me,  or  undo  me,  one  of  them. — 
Signior  Leonato,  truth  it  is,  good  signior, 
Your  niece  regards  me  with  an  eye  of  favour. 
Leon.  That  eye  my  daughter  lent  her ;  'Tis  most 

true. 
Bene.  And  I  do  with  an  eye  of  love  requite  her. 
Leon.  The  sight  whereof,  I  think,  you  had  from 
me, 
From  Claudio,  and  the  prince ;  But  what's  your 
will? 
Bene.  Your  answer,  sir,  is  enigmatical : 
But,  for  my  will,  my  will  is,  your  good  will 
May  stand  whh  ours,  this  day  to  be  conjoin'd 
In  the  estate  of  honourable  marriage  ; — 
In  wlxich,  eood  friar,  I  shall  desire  your  help. 
Leon.  My  heart  is  with  your  liking. 
Friar.     '  '  And  my  help. 

Now,  music,  sound,  axid  Sing  your  solemn  hymi*  Here  comes  the  prince,  and  Claudio. 


author  of  all,  who  is  fled  and 
presently  ? 

Beat.  Will  vou  go  hear  tliis  news,  signior  ? 

Bene.  I  will  live  in  thy  heart,  die  in  thy  lap,  and 
be  buried  in  thy  eyes ;  and,  moreover,  I  will  go 
with  thee  to  thy  uncle's.  {Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E  IIL—The  inside  of  a  church.  Enter 
Don  Pedro,  Claudio,  and  attendants  with  music 
and  tapers. 

Claud.  Is  this  the  monument  of  Leonato? 
bitten.  It  is,  my  lord. 
Claud.  [Reads  from  a  scroll.] 

Done  to  death  by  slandermis  tongueSf 

Was  the  Hero  that  here  lies  : 
_  Death,  in  guerdmi"^  of  her  wrongs, 

Gives  her  fame  wHich  never  dies  : 
So  the  life,  that  died  with  shame. 
Lives  in  death  with  glorious  fame. 


Hang  thou  there  upon  the  tomb. 
Praising  her  when  I  am  dumb.— 


[Afiixing  it, 


SONG. 

Pardon,  Goddess  of  the  night, 
Those  that  slew  thy  virgin  knight ; 
For  the  which,  with  son^s  of  wo. 
Round  about  her  tomb  they  go.  ^ 

Midnight,  assist  our  moan  ; 
Help  us  to  sigh  and  groan. 

Heavily,  heavily  : 
Graves,  yawn,  and  yield  your  dead. 
Till  death,  be  uttered, 
Heavily,  heavily. 
Clcaid.  Now,  unto  thy  bones  good  night ! 

Yearly  will  I  do  this  rite. 
D.  Pedro.   "Good  morrow,  masters  ;    put  your 
torches  out: 
The  wolves  have  prey'd ;  and  look,  the  gen 
tic  day, 
Before  the  wheels  of  Phoebus,  round  about 
Dapples  the  drowsy  east  with  spots  of  gray : 
Thanks  to  vou  all,  and  leave  us  ;  fare  you  ^vell. 
Claud.  Good  morrow,  masters  ;  each  his  several 

way. 
D.  Pedro.  Come,  let  us  hence,  and  put  on  other 
weeds : 
And  then  to  Leonato's  wc  will  go. 

Claud.   And,  Hymen,  now  with  luckier  issue 
speeds, 
Than  this,  for  whom  we  render'd  up  this  wo ! 

[Exeunt. 

SCE^^E  W. — A  room  in  Leonato's  house.  En- 
ter Leonato,  Antonio,  Benedick,  Beatrice,  Ur- 
sula, Friar  and  Hero. 

Friar.  Did  I  not  tell  you  she  was  innocent  ? 

Eton.  So  are  the  prince  and  Claudio,  who  accus'd 
her. 
Upon  the  error  that  you  heard  debated  : 
But  Margaret  was  in  some  fault  for  this ; 
Although  against  her  will,  as  it  appears 
In  the  Uue  course  of  all  tlie  question. 


(I)  Stir 


(2)  Reward. 


Enter  Don  Pedro  and  Claudio  with  atteyidants. 

D.  Pedro.  Good  morrow  to  this  fair  assembly. 

Leon.    Good  morrow,  prince  ;     good  morrow, 
Claudio ; 
We  here  attend  you  :  arc  vou  5'et  determin'd 
To-day  to  marry  Avitli  my  brother's  daughter  ? 

Claud.  I'll  hoM  my  mind,  were  she  an  Ethiope. 

Leon.   Call  her  forth,  brother,  here'.<  the  friar 
readv.  [Exit  Antonio. 

D.  Pedro.  Good  morrow.  Benedick:  Why,  what's 
the  matter, 
That  you  have  such  a  February  face. 
So  full  of  frost,  of  storm,  and  cloudiness  ? 

Claud.  I  think,  he  thinks  upon  the  savage  bull : — 
Tush,  fear  not,  man,  we'll  tip  thy  horns  with  gold, 
And  all  Europa  shall  rejoice  at  thee  ; 
As  once  Europa  did  at  lusty  Jove, 
When  he  would  play  the  noble  be;ist  in  love.  \ 

Bene.  Bull  Jove,  sir,  hud  an  amiable  low  ; 
And  some  such  strange  bull  leap'd  your  father's 

cow, 

And^ot  a  calf  in  that  same  noble  feat. 
Much  like  to  you,  for  you  have  just  his  bleat. 

Re-enter  Antonio,  toith  the  Ladies  masK'd, 

Claud.   For  this  I  owe  you:   here  come  other 
reckonings. 
Which  is  the  lady  i  must  seize  upon  ? 

Ant.  This  same  is  she,  and  I  do  give  you  her. 

Claud.  Why,  then  she's  mine :  Sweet,  let  me  se© 
your  "face. 

Leon.  No,  that  you  shall  not,  till  you  take  her  hand 
Before  tlus  friar,  and  swear  to  marry  her. 

Claud.  Give  me  vour  hand  before  this  holy  friar ; 
I  am  your  husband,  if  you  like  of  me. 

Hero.  And  when  I  lived,  I  was  your  other  wife : 

[  Unmasking. 

And  when  you  loved,  you  were  my  other  husband. 

Claud.  Another  Hero  ? 

Hero.  Nothing  certa'mer  , 

One  Hero  died  defil'd  ;  but  I  do  live, 
And,  surely  as  I  live,  I  &m  a  maid. 


SettuIT. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


130 


D.  Pedro.  The  former  Hero !  Hero  that  is  dead  ! 

Leon.  She  died,  my  lord,  but  wliiles  her  slander 
liv'd. 

Friar.  All  this  amazement  can  I  qualify  ; 
When  after  that  the  holy  rites  are  ended, 
I'll  tell  you  largely  of  fair  Hero's  death  : 
Mean  time,  let  wonder  seem  familiar. 
And  to  the  chapel  let  us  presently. 

Bene.  Soft  and  fair,  friar. — Which  U  Beatrice  ? 

Beat.  I  answer  to  that  name  ;         [Uuma^kins. 
What  is  your  will  ? 

Bene.  Do  not  you  love  me  ? 

Beat.  No,  no  more  than  reason. 

Bene.    WIjv,  then  your  uncle,  and  the  prince, 
and  Claudio, 
Have  been  deceived ;  for  they  swore  you  did. 

Beat.  Do  not  you  love  me  / 

Bene.  No,  no  more  than  reason. 

Beat.    Why  tiien,  my  cousin,  Margaret,  and 
L'rsula, 
Are  much  deceiv'd  ;  for  they  did  swear  you  did.  ^ 

Bene.  They  swore  tiiat  you  were  almost  sick  for 
me. 

Beat.  They  swore  that  you  were  well-nigh  dead 
for  me. 

Bene.  'Tis  no  such  matter : — Then,  you  do  not 
love  me  ? 

Beat.  No,  truly,  but  in  friendly  recompense. 

Leon.  Come,  cousin,  I  am  sure  you  love  the 
gentleman. 

Claud.  And  I'll  be  sworn  upon't,  that  he  loves 
her; 
For  here's  a  paper,  written  in  his  hand, 
A  halting  sonnet  of  his  own  pure  brain, 
Fashiou'd  to  Beatrice. 

Hero.  And  here's  another, 

Writ  in  my  cousin's  liand,  stolen  from  her  pocket, 
Containin;,'  her  affection  unto  Benedick. 

Dune.  A  miracle  !  here's  our  own  hands  acrainst 
our  hearts ! — Come,  I  will  have  thee  ;  but,  by  this 
li^rht,  1  take  tliee  for  pity. 

Beat.  I  would  not  deny  you  5 — ^but,  by  this  (rood 
day,  I  yield  upon  great  persuasion ;  and,  partly,  to 
eave  your  life,  for  I  was  told  you  were  in  a  consump- 
tion. 

Bene.  Peace,  I  will  stop  your  mouth. — 

[Kissins^  her. , 

D.  Pedro.  How  dost  thou.  Benedick  the  married 
man? 

Bene.  I'll  tell  thee  what,  prince ;  a  college  of  wit- 
erackers  cannot  flout  me  out  of  my  humour :  dost 
thou  think,  I  care  for  a  satire,  or  an  epigram  ;  No  : 
if  a  man  will  be  beaten  with  brains,  he  snail  wear 
nothing  handsome  about  him  :  In  brief,  since  I  do 
propose  to  marry,  I  will  think'  nothing  to  any  pur- 
pose that  the  world  can  say  against  it ;  and  "there- 
fore never  flout  at  me  for  what  I  have  said  against 

(I)  Because. 


it ;  for  man  is  a  giddy  tiling,  and  this  is  my  conclu- 
sion.— For  thv  part,  Claudio,  I  did  think  to  hare 
beaten  thee ;  "but  in  that'  thou  art  like  to  be  my 
kinsman,  live  unbruiscd,  and  love  my  cousin. 

Claud.  I  had  well  hoped,  thou  vvou'ld'st  hare  de- 
nied Beatrice,  that  I  might  have  cudgelled  thee  out 
of  thv  single  life,  to  make  thee  a  double  dealer  ; 
which,  out  of  question,  thou  wilt  be,  if  my  cousin 
do  not  look  exceeding  narrowly  to  thee. 

Bene.  Come,  come,  we  are  friends  : — let's  have 
a  dance  ere  we  are  married,  that  we  may  lighten 
our  hearts,  and  our  wives'  heels. 

Leon.  We'll  have  dancmg  afterwards. 

Bene.  First,  o'  my  word ;  therefore,  plav,  mu- 
sic.— Prince,  thou  art  sad;  get  thee  a  wife,  get 
thee  a  »viJe :  there  is  no  stalf  more  reverend  tmui 
one  tipped  witli  horn. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

JtfM*.  Mv  lord,  vour  brother  Jolm  is  ta'en  in 
flight. 
And  brought  with  armed  men  back  to  Messina. 

Bene.  Think  not  on  him  till  to-morrow ;  I'll  de 
vise  thee  brave  punislunents  for  him. — Strike  up, 
pipers.  [Dance. 

[Ejcetint. 


This  play  may  be  justly ,said  to  contain  two  of 
the  most  sprightly  characters  that  Shakspeare  ever 
drew.  Tne  wit^  the  humourist,  the  gentleman, 
and  the  soldier,  are  combined  in  Benediclc.  It  is  to 
be  lamented,  indeed,  that  the  first  and  most  splen- 
did of  these  distinctions,  is  disgraced  b}'  unneces- 
sary profaneness  ;  for  the  gootlness  of  his  heart  is 
hardly  sufficient  to  atone  for  the  license  of  his 
tonjruV.  Tiie  too  sarcastic  levity,  which  flashes,  out 
in  the  conversation  of  Beatrice,  may  be  excused 
on  account  of  the  steadiness  and  friendship  so  ap- 
parent in  her  behaviour,  when  she  urges  her  lover 
to  risk  his  life  by  a  challenge  to  Claudio.  In  the 
conduct  of  the  fable,  however,  there  is  an  imper- 
fection similar  to  that  which  Dr.  Johnson  has  point- 
ed out  in  The  J\Ierry  Wives  of  Windsor: — the 
second  contrivance  is  leas  ingenious  than  the  first : — 
or,  to  speak  more  plainly,  the  same  incident  is  be- 
come stale  by  repetition .  I  wish  some  other  method 
had  been  Ibund  to  entrap  Beatrice,  than  that  very 
one  wiiich  before  had  been  successfully  practised  on 
Benedick. 

Jiluck  j]do  ..Qbmtt  Ao/At?7g  (as  I  understand 
from  one  of  Mr.  Vertue's  MSS. )  formerly  passed 
under  the  title  of  Benedick  and  Beatrix.  Heming 
the  player  received,  on  the  20th  of  May,  1613,  the 
sum  of  forty  pounds,  and  twenty  pounds  more  as 
his  majesty's  gratuity,  for  exhibiting  six  plays  at 
Hampton  Court,  among  which  was  this  comedy. 
6TEEVENS. 


(    140    ] 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED, 


Theseus,  duke  o/Mhens. 
Egeus,  father  to  Hermia. 

Philostrate,  master  of  the  revelt  to  Theseus. 

Quince,  the  carptnter. 

Snug',  the  Joiner. 

Bottom,  the  weaver. 

Flute,  the  belloxos-mender. 

Snout,  the  tinker. 

Starveling,  the  tailor. 

Hippolyta,  queen  of  the  .Amazons,  betrothed  to 

Theseus. 
Hermia,  daughter  to  Egeus,  in  kve  with  Lysander. 
Helena,  in  love  with  Demetrius. 


Oberon,  JHng  of  the  fairies. 

Titania,  mieen  of  the  fidries. 

Puck,  or  Robin  Good-fellow,  a  fairy. 

PeJis-Blossoni,  ^ 

Cobiveb,  f  f„--. 

Moth,  Waines. 

Mustard-seed,  ) 
Pjiramus,     '\ 

Wall  *"'         >  C^''""'"c/f  J's  "I   the  interlude,  per» 
MomUine,  C     >™«'''  ^2/  '*«  C^'""'"*- 
Lion,  J 

Other  faries  attending  their  ki7ig  and  queen. 

Mlendants  on  Theseus  and  Hippolyta. 
Scene,  Athens,  and  a  wood  not  far  from  it. 


ACT  I. 

SCE-zYE  I.— Athens.  A  room  in  the  palace  oj 
Theseus.  Enter  Theseus,  Hippplyta,  I'liilos- 
trate,  and  attendants. 

Theseus. 

1\  OW,  fair  Hippolyta,  our  nuptial  hour 
Draws  on  apace ;  four  happy  days  bring  in 
Another  moon  :  but,  oh,  inethinks,  how  slow 
This  old  moon  wanes  !  she  lingers  my  desires, 
Like  to  a  step-damc,  or  a  dowafrer. 
Lon^  witherine  out  a  voun<r  inan'a  revenue. 

Hip.  Four  days  will  quicltly  steep  themselves  in 
nights : 
Four  nights  will  quickly  dream  away  the  time ; 
And  then  the  moon,  like  to  a  silver  bow 
New  bent  in  heaven,  shall  behold  tlie  night 
Of  our  solemnities. 

The.  Go,  Philostrate, 

Stir  up  the  Athenian  youth  to  merriments  ; 
Awake  the  pert  and  nimble  spirit  of  mirth  ; 
Turn  melancholy  forth  to  funerals, 
The  pale  companion  is  not  for  ouv  jiomp. — 

[Exit  I'iiilostralc. 
Hippolyta,  I  woo'd  thee  with  my  sword, 
And  won  thy  love,  doing-  thee  injuries ; 
But  I  will  wed  thee  in  another  key. 
With  pomp,  with  triumph,'  and  with  revcllin;;. 

Enter  Egeus,  Hermia,  Lysander,  and  Demetrius. 

Eee.  Happy  be  Theseus,  our  renowned  duke  ! 

The.  Thanks,  good  Egcus :    what's  ^e  news 
with  thee  ? 

Ege.  Full  of  vexation  come  I,  with  complaint 
Ai^ainst  my  child,  my  dausrhter  Hermia. — 
Stand  forth,  Demetrius  ;  My  noble  lord. 
This  man  hath  my  consent  to  marry  her: — 
Stand  forth,  Lysander ; — and,  my  gracious  duke. 
This  hath  bewitch'd  the  bosom  of  my  child : 
Thou,  thou,  Lysander,  thou  hast  given  her  rhymes, 

(1)  Shows. 


And  interchang'd  love-tokens  with  my  child  : 

Thou  hast  by  moon-light  at  her  wirtdow  sung, 

With  feigning  voice,  verses  of  feigning  love  ; 

And  stoni  the  impression  of  her  fantasy 

With  bracelets  di  thy  hair,  rings,  ga^  ds,''  conceits, 

Knacks,  trifles, nosegays,  swecl-meats;  messengers. 

Of  strong  prevaihneat  in  unharden'd  youth  : 

With  cunning  hast  thou  tileh'd  my  daughter's  heart; 

Turn'd  her  obedience,  which  is  due  to  me. 

To  stubborn  harshness  : — and,  my  gracious  duke, 

Be  it  so  she  will  not  lierc  before  your  grace 

Consent  to  marry  willi  Demetrius, 

I  be^  the  ancient  privilege  of  Athens; 

As  she  is  mine,  I  iiiay  dr>^;)'ji.c  of  her : 

Which  shall  be  either  to  this  gentleman, 

Or  to  her  death ;  ajCcordincj  to  our  law, 

Immediately  provided  in  that  case. 

2'Ae.  Wiiatsay you,  Hermia?  be advis'd,  fairmaid: 
To  you  your  father  should  be  as  a  god ; 
One  that  compos'd  your  beauties ;  yea,  and  one 
To  whom  you  are  but  as  a  lonn  in  was, 
By  him  imprinted,  and  within  his  power 
To.  leave  the  figure,  or  dis(i;rure  it. 
Demetrius  is  a  worthy  gentleman. 

Her.  So  is  Lysander. 

The.  *  In  himself  he  is: 

But,  in  this  kind,  wanting  your  father's  voice, 
The  other  must  be  held  the  worthier. 

Her.  I  would  my  father  look'd  but  with  my  eyes. 

The.  Rather  vour  eyes  must  with  his  judgment 
looR. 

Her.  I  do  entreat  your  grace  to  pnrdon  me. 
I  know  not  by  what  power  I  am  made  bold ; 
Nor  how  it  may  concern  my  modesty, 
In  such  a  presence  here,  to  plead  my  thoughts : 
But  I  beseech  your  ffTaee  that  I  ma v  know 
The  worst  that  mav  oefal  me  in  thi?  case, 
If  I  refuse  to  wed  Demetrius. 

The.  Either  to  die  the  death,  or  to  abjure 
For  ever  the  society  of  men. 
Therelorc,  fair  Hermia,  question  vour  desires. 
Know  of  your  youth,  examine  well  your  blood. 
Whether,  if  you  yield  not  to  your  father's  choice, 

(2)  Baubles. 


MID.SUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM. 
Act  IV. — Scene  1. 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

Act  IV.— Scene  2. 


Scene  /. 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


You  can  endure  the  lirery  of  a  nun  ; 

For  aye'  to  be  in  shady  cloister  mew'd, 

To  live  a  barren  sister  all  your  life, 

Chanting  taint  hymns  to  the  cold  fruitless  moon. 

'fhrice  blessed  they,  that  master  so  their  blood, 

To  undergo  such  maiden  pilgrimage : 

But  earthlier  happy  is  iJie  rose  distiil'd, 

Than  that,  which,  withering  on  the  virgin  thoni. 

Grows,  lives,  antl  dies,  in  single  blessedness. 

Htr.  So  will  i  grow,  so  live,  so  die,  my  lord. 
Ere  I  will  yield  my  virgin  patent  up 
Unto  his  lordsliip,  whose  unwished  yoke 
My  soul  consents  not  to  give  sovereignly. 

rhe.  Take  time  to  pause :  and,  by  the  next  now 
moon 
(The  sealing-dav  betwixt  my  lore  and  me, 
For  everlasting  bond  of  fellowship,) 
Upon  that  day  either  prepare  to  die,  . 

For  disobedience  to  your  father's  wUl ; 
Or  else,  to  wed  Demetrius,  as  he  would: 
Or  on  Diana's  altar  to  protest. 
For  aye  austerity  and  single  life. 

Dein.  Relsnt,'sweet  Hermia  ;^And,  Lysander, 
yield 
Thy  crazed  title  to  my  certain  right 

Lys.  You  have  her  father's  love,  Demetrius ; 
Let  me  have  Hermia's :  do  you  marrv  him. 

Ege.  Scornful  Lysander !  true,  he  fiath  my  love ; 
And  what  is  mine  uiy  love  shall  render  him ; 
And  siie  is  mine ;  and  all  my  right  of  her 
I  do  estate  unto  Demetrius. 

Lys.  I  am,  my  lord,  as  -weW  deriv'd  as  he. 
As  well  possess''d ;  my  love  is  more  than  his  ; 
My  fortunes  every  way  as  fairly  rank'd, 
If  iriot  with  vantage,  as  Demetrius' ; 
And,  which  is  more  than  all  these  boasts  can  be, 
I  am  belov'd  of  bcauffious  Hermia : ' 
Why  shou!d  not  I  tiien  prosecute  my  right  ? 
Demetrius,  I'll  avouch  it  to  his  head. 
Made  love  to  Nedar's  daugrhter,  Helena, 
And  won  her  soul ;  and  slie.  sweet  lady,  dotes^ 
Devoutly  dotes,  dotes  in  idolatry. 
Upon  this  spotted*  and  inconstant  man. 

Tht.  I  must  confess,  that  1  have  heard  so  much. 
And  with  Demetrius  thought  to  have  spoke  thereof; 
But,  bein;^  over-full  of  ?clf-aflhirs, 
My  mind  did  lose  it. — But,  Demetrius,  come ; 
And  come,  Etcus  ;  you  shall  pro  Avjth  me, 
I  have  some  private  schooling  for  you  both. — 
For  you,  fair  Hermia,  look  you  arm  jourself 
To  fit  your  fancies  to  your  father's  will ; 
Or  else  the  law  of  Athens  yield  yoa  up 
(U'hich  by  no  means  we  may  extenuate,) 
To  death,  or  to  a  vow  of  sin;;le  life. — 
Come,  my  Hipnolvta  ;  what  cheer,  my  love  ? 
Demetrius,  and  Egeus,  go  alonar  : 
I  must  employ  you  in  some  business 
Against  our  nuptial ;  and  confer  with  you 
Of  something-  nearly  that  concerns  yourselves. 

Ege.  With  duty  and  df  sire  we  follow  you. 

[Exeunt  "Thes.  Hip.  E?e.  Dem.  and  train. 

Lys.  How  now,  my  love  ?  Why  is  your  cheek 
so  pale  ? 
How  chance  theToses  (here  do  fade  ?o  fast  ? 

Her.  Belike  for  want  of  rain  ;  w  hich  I  could  well 
Betecm  them'  from  the  tempest  of  mine  eves. 

Lvs.  Ah  me  !  for  aught  that  ever  I  could  read, 
Could  ever  hear  by  tale  or  history. 
The  course  of  true  lore  never  did  run  smooth: 
But,  either  it  was  difterent  in  blood  ; 

HeVi  O  cross  !  too  high  to  be  enthrall'd  to  low ! 


iJi 


Ever. 
Black. 


(2)  Wicked. 


Lovers. 


(3)  Give,  bestow. 
(6)  Pole-stars. 


Lys.  Or  else  misgraffed,  in  respect  of  yeirs ; 

Her.  0  spite !  too  old  to  be  engag'd  to  young  I 

Lvs.  Or  else  it  stood  upon  the  choice  of  frienok . 

Her.  O  hell !  to  choose  love  by  another's  eye ! 

Lys.  Or,  if  there  were  a  sympathy  in  choice. 
War,  death,  or  sickness  did  lay  siege  to  it ; 
Making  it  momentary  as  a  sound, 
Swift  as  a  shadow,  short  as  any  dream  ; 
Brief  as  the  ligiitning  in  the  co'llied*  night. 
That,  in  a  spleen,  unfolds  botii  heaven  and  eirth, 
And  ere  a  man  hath  power  to  say, — Behold ! 
The  ja'.vs  of  darkness  do  devour  it  up : 
So  quick  bright  things  come  to  confusion. 

Her.  If  then  true  lovers  have  been  ever  eross'd, 
It  stands  as  an  edict  in  destiny  : 
Then  let  us  teach  our  trial  patience, 
Because  it  is  a  customary  cross ; 
As  due  to  love,  as  thoughts,  and  dreasu,  and 

sighs. 
Wishes,  and  tears,  pOor  fancy's'  followers. 

Lys.  A  good  persuasion ;   therefore,  bear  me, 
Hermia. 
I  have  a  widow  aunt,  a  dowager 
Of  great  revenue,  and  she  hath  no  child  : 
From  Athens  is  her  house  remote  seven  league! ; 
And  she  respects  me  as  her  only  son. 
There,  gentle  Hermia,  may  I  marry  thee ; 
And  to  that  place  the  sharp  Athenian  law 
Cannot  pursue  us  :  if  thou  lor'st  me  then, 
Steal  forth  thy  father's  house  to-morrow  night ; 
And  in  the  wood,  a  league  without  the  town, 
Where  I  did  meet  thee  once  with  Helena, 
To  do  observance  to  a  morn  of  May, 
There  will  I  stay  for  thee. 

Her.  My  good  Lysander : 

I  swear  to  thee,  by  Cupid's  strongest  bow ; 
By  his  best  arrow  with  tiie  golden  head ; 
By  the  simplicity  of  Venus'  doves ; 
By  that  which  kiiitteth  souls,  and  prospers  lores ; 
And  by  that  fire  which  burn'd  the  Carthage  queen, 
When  the  false  Trojan  under  sail  was  seen ; 
By  all  the  tows  thiit  ever  men  have  broke, 
In  number  more  than  ever  women  spoke  ; — 
In  that  same  place  thou  hast  appointed  me, 
To-morrow  truly  will  I  meet  with  thee. 

Lys.    Keep  promise,   love:   look,   here  comes 
Keleiia- 

Enlzr  Helena. 

Htr.  Godspeed  fair  Helena!  Whither  a  way? 

Htl.  Call  you  mc  f^ir  ?  that  ftiir  ajrain  unsay. 
Demetrius  loves  vour  fair :  O  happy  fair  ! 
Your  eyes  are  lode-stars  ;*  and  your'tongue's  sweet 

air 
More  tuneable  than  Urk  to  shepherd's  car, 
When  wheat  is  green,  when  hawthorn  buds  appear. 
Sirkness  is  catching ;  O  were  favour'  so ! 
Yours  would  I  catch,  fair  Hermia,  ere  I  go ; 
My  car  should  catch  your  Toice,  my  eye  your  eye. 
My  tongue  should  catch  vour  tongue's  sweet  melody. 
Were  the  world  mine,  Demetrius  beins  bated, 
The  rest  I'll  cive  to  be  to  you  translated. 
O,  teach  me  how  you  look ;  and  with  what  art 
Yoii  sway  the  motion  of  Demetrius'  heart. 

Her.  I  frown  upon  him,  yet  he  loves  me  still. 

Hel.  O,  that  your  frowns  would  teach  my  smiles 
such  skill ! 

Her.  I  give  him  curSes,  yet  he  eives  me  love. 

Hel.  O,  that  my  prayers  could  such  afTection 
move ! 

Her.  The  more  I  hate,  the  more  he  follows  me. 

Hel.  The  more  I  love,  the  more  he  hateth  me, 

(7)  Countenance, 


14» 


MIDSUMMER^NIGHT'S  DftEAM. 


•wCl 


Htr.  HU  folly,  Helena,  is  no  fault  of  mine. 
Jid.  None,  but  your  beauty ;  'would  that  fault 

were  mine ! 
Her.  Take  comfort;  he  no  more  shall  see  my 
face ; 
Lysander  and  myself  will  fly  this  place.— 
Before  the  time  I  did  I.ysaiidcr  s&c, 
Seem'd  Athens  as  a  paradise  to  me : 

0  then,  what  graces  in  my  love  do  dwell, 
That  he  hath  turn'd  a  heaven  unto  hell ! 

Lys.  Helen,  to  you  our  minds  v,e  will  unfold : 
To-morrow  night  when  Phal^  doih  behold 
Her  silver  visaee  in  the  wat'ry  plass, 
Decking  with  liquid  pearl  the  bladed  grass 
(A  time  that  lovers'  flicjhts  doth  stili  conceal,) 
Through  Athens'  s;atcs  have  we  devis'd  to  steal. 

Htr.  And  in  the  wood,  where  oAnn  you  and  I 
Upon  faint  primrose-beds  were  wont  to  lie. 
Emptying  our  bosoms  of  their  counsel  sweet: 
There  my  Lysander  and  myself  shall  meet: 
And  thence,  from  Athens,  turn  away  our  eyes, 
To  seek  new  friends  and  stranger  companies. 
Farewell,  sweet  playfellow  ;  prav  thou  for  us, 
And  good  luck  grant  thee  thy  Demetrius ! 
Keep  word,  Lvsander :  we  must  starve  our  sight 
From  lovers'  food,  till  morrow  deep  midniorht. 

[Exit  Hermia. 

Lys.  I  will,  my  Hermia. — Helena,  adieu : 
Aa  you  on  him,  Demetrius  dote  on  vou ! 

[Exit  Lysander. 

Hel.  How  happy  some,  o'er  other  some  can  be ! 
Through  Athens  I  am  thought  as  fair  as  she. 
But  what  of  that  ?  Demetrius  thinks  not  so ; 
He  will  not  know  what  all  but  he  do  know. 
And  as  he  errs,  doting  on  Hermia's  eyes, 
So  I,  adniirinpt.  of  his  qualities. 
Things  base  and  vile,  holdin;j  no  fjuantify, 
Love  can  transpose  to  form  and  dig'nity. 
Love  looks  not  with  the  eves,  hut  wHh  the  mind ; 
And  therefore  is  wingad  Cupid  painted  blind : 
Nor  hath  love's  minJof  any  judgment  taste ; 
Wings,  and  no  eyes,  figure  unheedy  haste : 
And  therefore  is  love  said  to  be  a  child. 
Because  in  choice  he  is  so  ofl  beguird. 
As  waggish  boys  in  game'  themselves  forswear. 
So  the  boy  love  is  perjur'd  every  where: 
For  ere  Demetrius  look'd  on  Hermia's  eyne,* 
He  hail'd  do«  n  oatlis,  tl>at  he  was  only  mine ; 
And  when  this  hail  some  heat  from  Hermia  felt. 
So  he  dissolv'd,  and  showers  of  oaths  did  nielU 

1  will  go  tell  him  of  fair  Hermia's  flight: 
Ti>en  to  the  wood  will  he,  to-morrow  night, 
Pur.<ueh(r;  and  for  this  intelligence 

If  I  hare  thanks,  it  is  a  dear  expense: 
But  herein  mean  I  to  enrich  my  pain. 
To  have  his  sight  thither,  and  oack  again.     [Exit. 

fiCEJVT  IT.— The  same.  .?  room  in  a  Collage. 
Enter  Snug,  Bottom,  Flute,  Snout,  Quince,  and 
Starveling. 

Qmn.  Ts  all  our  company  here  ? 

Bot.  You  were  best  to  call  them  generally,  man 
by  man,  according  to  the  scrip. 

'  Quirt.  Here  is  the  scroll  of  every  man's  name, 
which  is  thought  fit,  through  all  Athens,  to  play  in 
our  interlude  before  the  duke  and  duchess,  on  his 
Tfeddine-day  at  niprht. 

Bot.  "First,  good  Peter  Quince,  sav  what  the 
play  treats  on  ;  then  read  the  names  of  the  actors ; 
9iia  so  grow  to  a  point. 

(luitu  Marry,  our  play  is — The  most  lamcnta- 

^1)  S^        (S)  Eye*,         (3)  As  if. 


Ible  comedy,  and  most  cruel  death  of  Pyramus  and 

Thisby.    ' 

Bot.  A  very  good  piece  of  work,  I  assure  you, 
'and  a  merry.— Now,  good  Peter  Quince,  call  forth 
your  actors  by  the  scroll :  Masters,  spread  your- 
selves. 

(Inin.  Answer,  as  I  call  you. — Nick  Bottom, 
the  weaver. 

Bol,  Ready:  name  what  part  I  am  for,  and  pto- 
ceed. 

Qujn.  You,  Nick  Bottom,  are  set  down  for  Py 
ramus. 

Bot.  What  is  Pj-ramus  ?  a  lover,  or  a  tyrant? 

Q,uin.  A  lover,  that  kills  himself  most  gallantly 
for  love. 

Bot.  That  will  ask  some  tears  in  the  true  per- 
forming of  it :  If  I  do  it,  let  the  audience  look  to 
their  eyt  s ;  I  will  move  storms,  I  will  condole  in 
some  measure.  To  the  rest,: — Yet  my  chief  hu- 
mour is  for  a  tyrant;  I  could  play  Ercles  rarely, 
or  a  part  to  tear  a  cat  in,  to  make  all  split. 
"  The  raging  rocks, 

"  With  shivering  shocks,  • 

"  Shall  break  tlie  locks 

"  Of  prison-gates : 
"  And  Phibbus'  car 
"  Shall  shine  from  far, 
"  And  make  and  mar 
"  The  foolish  fates." 
This  was  lolly ! — Now  name  the  rest  of  the  play- 
ers.— This  is  Ercles' vein;  a  tyrant's  vein ;  a  lovar 
is  more  condoling. 

Quiji.  Francis  Flute,  the  bellows-mender. 

Hit.  Here,  Peter  Quince. 

Qwtn.  You  must  take  Thisby  on  you. 

i^u.  What  is  Thisby  ?  a  wandering  knight  7 

Qidn.  It  is  the  lady  that  Pyramus  must  love. 

Fm.  Nay,  faith,  let  me  not  play  a  woman;  1 
have  a  bcnrd  coming. 

Q,vin.  That's  all  one ;  you  shall  jday  it  in  a 
mask,  and  you  may  speak  as  small  as  you  will. 

Bot.  An  I  may  liide  my  lace,  let  me  play  Thisby 
too :  I'll  speak  in  a  monstrous  little  voice ; — This- 
ne.  Thisne,—M,  Pyramtis,  my  lover  dear;  thy 
Thisby  dear  !  and  lady  dear  ! 

Qiiin.  No,  no ;  you  must  play  Pyramus,  and. 
Flute,  you  Thisby. 

^o^'Well,  proceed. 

Q.uiii.  Robin  Starveling,  the  tailor. 

.Star.  Herej  Peter  Quince. 

Q.uin.  Robm  Starveling,  you  must  play  Thisby'B 
mother. — Tom  Snout,  the  tmker. 

Snout.  Here,  Peter  Quince. 

X[nin.  You,  Pyramus's  lather ;  myself,  Thisby's 
fatlier  ;— Snug,  the  joiner,  you,  thelion's  part;— 
and,  I  hope,  here  is  a  plav  fitted. 

.S?i»<.g.  Have  you  the  lion's  part  written  ?  prar 
you,  if  it  be,  give  it  me,  for  I  am  slow  of  study. 

QutJi.  Y<ju  may  do  it  extempore,  for  it  is  nothing 
but  roaring. 

Bot.  Let  me  play  the  lion  too :  I  will  roar,  that 
I  will  do  any  man's  heart  good  to  hear  me  ;  I  will 
roar,  that  I  will  make  the  duke  say,  Let  him  roar 
again,  L',t  him  roar  again. 

Qtd'n.  ^\n  you  should  do  it  too  terribly,  you 
would  fright  {he  duchess  and  the  ladies,  that  thev 
would  shriek :  and  that  were  enough  to  hang  us  all. 

.^U.  That  would  hana  us  every  mother's  son. 

Bot.  I  prant  you,  friends,  if  that  you  should 
fright  the  ladies  out  of  their  wits,  they  wtuld  have 
no  more  discretion  but  to  hang  us :  but  I  will  ag- 
gravate my  voice  so,  that  I  will  roar  you  as  sently 
as  any  sucking  dove ;  \  will  rsa?  you  »n»  'twwf 
any  qigbtjngale. 


Bteiieh 


MIDSUMMER^NIGHTS  DREAM. 


148 


Quin,  You  can  play  no  part  but  Pyramus :  for 
Pyramus  is  a  sweet-faced  man ;  a  proper  man,  as 
one  shall  see  in  a  summer's  day ;  a  most  lovelv, 
gentleman-like  man ;  therefore  you  must  neeis 
play  Pyramus. 

Bot.  Weil,  I  will  undertake  it.  What  beard 
were  I  best  to  play  it  in  7 

Qufn.  Why,  wiiat  you  will. 

Bot.  1  will  discharge  it  in  either  TOur  straw- 
coloured  beard,  your  orange-tawny  beard,  your 
f>urple-in-grain  beard,  or  vour  French-crown-co- 
our  beard,  your  perfect  yellow. 

Quin.  Some  of  your  French  crowns  have  no  hair 
at  all,  and  then  you  will  play  bare-faced. — But, 
masters,  here  are  your  parts  :  and  I  am  to  entreat 
you,  request  you, "and  desire  you,  to  con  them  bv 
to-morrow  night:  and  meet  me  in  the  palace  wood, 
a  mile  without  the  tor.  n,  by  moon-light ;  there  will 
we  rehearse  :  for  if  we  meet  in  the  cit)-,  we  shall 
be  dogg'd  with  company,  and  our  devices  known. 
In  the  mean  time  I  will  5raw  a  bill  of  properties,' 
such  as  our  play  wants.    I  pray  you,  fail  me  not. 

Bot.  We  will  meet ;  and  there  we  may  rehesu'se 
more  obscenelv,  and  courageously.  Take  pains ; 
be  perfect ;  adieu. 

Q,uin.  At  the  duke's  oak  we  meet. 

Bot.  Enough ;  Hold,  or  cut  bow-strings.*  [Exe. 


ACT  II. 


SCD.VJE  I.—^i  wood  near  .ilhens.   Enter  a  Fa.iry 
at  one  door,  and  Puck  at  a)iotke>: 

Puck.  How  now,  spirit !  whither  wander  you  7 
fai.  0\eT  hill,  over  dale, 

Thorough  hush,  tjiorough  brier. 
Over  park,  over  pale. 

Thorough  flood,  tliorough  fire, 
I  do  wander  every  where, 
Swifter  than  the  moones  sphere  ; 
And  I  serve  the  fairy  queen, 
To  dew  her  orbs'  upon  llie  p-een  : 
The  cowslips  tall  her  pensioners  be ; 
In  their  gold  coats  spots  you  see  ; 
Those  be  rubies,  fairy  favours. 
In  those  freckles  live  their  savours : 
I  must  go  seek  some  dev\ -drops  here. 
And  hang  a  pearl  in  every  cowslip's  ear. 
Farewell,  thou  lob'  of  spirits,  Fli  be  gone; 
Our  queen  and  all  her  elves  come  here  anon. 

Puck.  The  king  doth  keep  his  revels  here  to-night; 
Takr  heed,  the  queen  come  not  within  his  sight. 
For  Oberon  is  passing  fell  and  wrath, 
Because  that  she,  as  her  attendant,  hath 
A  lovely  boy,  stol'n  from  an  Indian  king  ; 
She  never  had  so  sweet  a  chancreling': 
And  jealous  Oberon  wotilJ  have  the  child 
Knight  of  his  train,  to  trace  the  forests  wild  : 
But  she,  perforce,  w  ithholds  the  loved  hoy. 
Crowns  liim  with  flowers,  and  makes  him  all  her 

jov: 
And  now  they  never  meet  in  prove,  or  green, 
By  fountain  clear,  or  spangled  star-light  sheen,* 
But  they  do  square  ;'  that  all  their  elves,  for  fear. 
Creep  into  acorn  cups,  and  hide  them  there, 
fat.  Either  I  mistake  your  shape  and  making 
quite. 
Or  else  you  are  that  shrewd  and  knavish  sprite, 

(1)  Articles  required  in  performing  a  play. 
it)  At  all  cTents.  (S)  Circles. 

^4)  /L  tens  of  conUmpt,         (iS)  Shining. 


I  Call'd  Robin  Good-fellow :  are  you  not  be, 
jThat  fright  the  maidens  of  the  viUagery ; 
I  Skim  milk ;  and  sometimes  labour  in  tne  quern,* 
j  And  bootless  make  the  breathless  housewife  churn , 
I  And  sometime  make  the  drink  to  bear  no  barm  ;• 
Mislead  night- wanderers,  laughing  at  tiieir  harm ; 
Those  that  Hobgoblin  call  you,  ana  sweet  Puck, 
Yh)u  do  their  work,  and  they  shall  have  good  luck  • 
Are  not  you  he? 

Puck.  Thou  speak'st  aright ; 

I  am  that  merry  w^anderer  of  .the  ni^ht. 
I  jest  to  Oberon,  and  make  him  smile, 
When  I  a  fat  and  bean-fed  horse  beguHe, 
Neighing  in  likeness  of  a  filly  foal : 
And  sometime  lurk  I  in  a  gossip's  bowl. 
In  very  likeness  of  a  roasted  crab  ;' 
And,  when  she  drinks,  against  her  lips  I  bob, 
And  on  her  wither'd  dew -lap  pour  the  ale. 
The  wisest  aunt,  telling  the  ssiddest  tale. 
Sometime  for  three-foot  stool  mistaketh  me : 
Then  slip  I  from  her  bum,  down  topples  she, 
And  tailor  cries,  and  falls  into  a  cough ; 
And  tlien  the  whole  quire  hold  their  hips,  and  loffe  j 
And  waxen  in  their  mirth,  and  neeze,  and  swear 
A  merrier  hour  was  never  wasted  there. — 
But  room.  Faery,  here  comes  Oberon. 

FaL  And  here  my  mistress: — 'Would  that  he 
were  gone ! 

SCEXE  II.— Enter  Oberon,  at  me  door,  vith  his 
train,  and  Titania,  at  another,  with  hers. 

Obe.  Ill  met  by  moon-light,  proud  Titania. 
Tita.  WTiat,  jealous  Oberon  7  Fairy,  skip  hence ; 
I  have  forsworn  his  bed  and  company. 

Obe.  Tarrv,  rash  wanton  ;  Am  no't  I  thv  lord? 
Tita.  Tiicii  1  must  be  thy  lady :  But  I  know 
\Mien  thou  hast  stol'n  away  from  feiry  land. 
And  in  the  shape  of  Corin  sat  all  dayj 
Playing  on  pines  of  com,  and  versing  love 
To  amorous  thillida.    Why  art  thou  here. 
Come  from  the  farthest  steep  of  India  ? 
But  that  forsooth,  the  bouncing  Amazon, 
Vour  buskin'd  mistress,  and  your  warrior  lore, 
To  Theseus  must  be  wedded ;  and  you  come 
To  ffive  their  bed  joy  and  prosperity. 

Obe.  How  canst  ihou  thii«,  for  shame,  Titania, 
i  Glance  at  my  credit  w  ith  Hippolyta, 
j  Know  ing  I  know  thv  love  to  Theseus  ? 
Didst  thou  not  lead,  him  through  the  glimmering 
I  night 

From  Perieenia,  whom  he  ratished? 
I  And  make  him  with  fair  JEz]€  break  his  faith. 
With  Ariadne,  and  Antiopa? 
i     Tita.  Thc?e  arc  the  forgeries  of  jealousy : 
jAnd  never,  since  the  middle  summer's  spring, 
j  Met  we  on  hill,  in  dale,  forest,  or  mead, 
j  By  paved  fountain,  or  by  rushv  brook, 
jOr  on  the  beached  marzent  of  the  sea, 
[To  dance  our  ringlets  to  the  whistling  wind, 
(But  with  thy  brawls  thou  hast  disturb'd  our  sport  > 
I  Therefore  the  winds,  piping  to  iis  in  rain. 
As  in  revenge,  have  suck'd  up  from  the  sea 
;  Contagious  fogs ;  which  falling  in  the  land, 
j  Have  everv-  pelting'**  river  made  so  proud, 
[That  they  have  overborne  their  continents.:' 
The  ox  hath  therefore  stretch'd  his  voke  in  vain, 
;The  ploughman  lost  his  sweat;  and  the  green  com 
Hath  rotted,  ere  his  youth  attain'd  a  beard ; 
The  fold  stands  empty  in  the  drowned  field. 
And  crows  are  fatted  with  the  murrain  flock ; 


(6)  Quarrel.  (7)  Mill. 

(9)  Wild  apple.         (10)  Petty. 
(11)  Sanks  which  coqtaifi  Htm, 


{9}  YnsU 


14^ 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


JetH 


The  nine  men's  morris'  is  fill'd  up  with  mud  ; 
And  the  quaint  mazes  in  the  wanton  green 
For  lai;k  of  tread,  are  undistinguishatle  : 
The  human  mortals  v/ant  their  winter  here  ; 
No  night  is  now  with  l-.yran  or  carol  blest : — 

fhereiore  the  moon,  the  jroverriessol"  floods, 
ale  in  her  anger,  washss  all  the  air, 
That  rheumatic  diseases  do  abound : 
And  thorough  this  distemperature,  we  sea 
The  seasons  alter:  hoarv-h3ad;id  frosts 
Fall  in  the  fresh  lap  of  the  crimson  rose ; 
And  on  old  Hyems'  chin,  an  icy  crown, 
An  odorous  chaplct  of  sweet  summer  buds 
Is,  as  in  mockery,  set :  The  sprin?,  the  summer, 
The  childing^  autumn,  an^y  winter,  change 
Their  wonted  liveries;  and  the  'mazed  world, 
By  their  increase,'  now  knows  not  which  is  which : 
And  this  same  propieny  of  evils  comes 
From  our  debate,  from  our  dissension  ; 
We  are  their  parents  and  original. 

Obe.  Do  you  amend  it  then  ;  it  lies  in  you : 
Why  should  Titania  cross  her  O heron  ? 
I  do  but  beg  a  little  changeling  boy, 
To  be  my  henchman.* 

Tita.  Set  your  heart  at  rest, 

The  fairy  land  buys  not  the  child  of  me. 
His  mother  was  a  vot-ress  of  my  order : 
And,  in  the  spiced  Indian  air,  by  nitrht, 
Full  often  hath  she  gossip'd  by;  my  side ; 
And  sat  with  me  on  Neptune's  yellow  sands. 
Marking'  the  embarked  traders  on  the  flood  ; 
When  we  nave  laujh'd  to  see  the  sails  conceive, 
And  prow  big-bellied,  with  the  wanton  wind  : 
Which  she,  wuth  prettv  and  with  swimming  <rait 
(Following  her  womb,  then  rich  with  my  young 

'squire,) 
Would  imitate  ;  and  sail  upon  the  land. 
To  fetch  me  trifles,  and  return  again. 
As  from  a  voyage,  rich  with  merchandise. 
But  she,  being  mortal,  of  that  boy  did  die  ; 
And,  for  her  sake,  1  do  rear  up  Ser  boy  : 
And,  for  her  sake,  I  will  not  part  with  him. 

Obe.  How  long  within  this  wood  intend  you  stay? 
Tila.  Perchance,  till  after  Theseus'  wedding-day 
If  you  will  patiently  dmce  in  our  round. 
And  see  our  moon-light  revel?,  po  wiih  us  ^ 
If  not,  shun  me,  and  I  will  spare  your  haunts. 
Obe.  Give  me  that  bay,  and  I  ivill  go  with  thee. 
Tita.  Not  for  thy  kinVdoni. — Fairies,  away : 
We  shall  chide  downrioht,  if  I  longer  stay. 

[Exeunt  Tiiania  one/  her  trrin. 
Obe.  Well,  go  thy  way :  tliou  shall  not  from  this 
grove, 
Till  I  torment  thee  for  this  injury. — 
My  gentle  Puck,  come  hither :  Thou  remembor'st 
Since  once  I  sat  upon  a  promontory. 
And  heard  a  mermaid,  on  a  dolphm's  back, 
Uttering  such  dulcet  and  harmonious  breath. 
That  the  rude  sea  grew  civil  at  her  song ; 
And  certain  stars  shot  madly  from  their  spheres. 
To  hear  the  sea-maid's  music. 
Pitck.  I  remen>ber. 

Obe.  That  very  timel  saw  (but  thou  could'lt  not,) 
Flying  between  the  cold  moon  and  the  earth, 
Ciipid  all  arm'd :  a  certain  aim  he  took 
At  a  fair  vestal,  throned  by  the  west ; 
And  loos'd  his  love-shafl  smartly  from  his  bow. 
As  it  should  pierce  a  hundred  thousand  hearts  : 
But  I  might  see  young  Cupid's  fie'y  shaft 
Quench'd  in  the  cliasfe  beams  of  the  wat'ry  moon ; 
And  the  imperial  vot'ress  passed  on, 

il)  A  game  played  by  boys, 
S)  Autumn  producing  flowers  iinseasonably. 


In  maiden  meditation,  fancy-free.' 

Yet  niark'd  1  where  the  bolt  of  Cupid  fell: 

It  fell  upon  a  little  western  flower, — 

Before,    milk-white ;    noiv    purple    with    lovc'i 
wound, — 

And  maidens  call  it,  love-in-idleness. 

Fetch  me  that  flower ;  the  herb  I  show'd  thee  tae<; 

The  juice  of  it  on  sleeping  eyelids  laid. 

Will  maice  or  man  or  woman  madly  dote 

Upon  the  next  live  creature  that  it  sees. 

Fetch  me  this  herb  :  and  be  thou  here  again, 

Ere  the  leviathan  can  s-.vim  a  leasrue. 
Puck.  I'll  put  a  girdle  round  ahout  the  earth 

In  forty  minutes.  [Exit  Fuck. 

Obe.  Having  once  this  juice, 

I'll  watch  Titania  when  she  is  asleep. 

And  drop  the  liquor  of  it  in  her  eyes  : 

The  next  thing  then  she  waking  looks  upon 
Be  it  on  lion,  bear,  or  wolf,  or  bull, 
)n  meddling  monkey,  or  on  busy  ape,) 

She  shall  pursue  it  with  the  soul  of  lore. 

And  ere  I  take  this  charm  off  from  her  Sight 

(As  I  can  take  it,  with  another  herb,) 

I'll  make  her  rendei'  up  her  page  lo  me. 

But  who  comes  here  ?  I  am  invisible  ; 

•And  I  will  over-hear  their  conference. 

Eiiler  Demetrius,  Helena  following  him. 

Dem.  I  love  thee  not,  therefore  pursue  me  not. 
Where  is  Lysander,  and  fair  Hermia  ? 
The  one  I'll  slay,  the  other  slayeth  me. 
Thou  told'st  me,  they  were  stol'n  into  this  wood. 
And  here  am  I,  and  wood'  within  this  wood, 
Because  I  cannot  meet  with  Hermia. 
Hence,  sret  thee  gone,  aijd  follov,-  me  no  more. 

Hd.  You  draw  me,  you  hard-hearted  adamant; 
But  yet  you  draw  not  iron,  tor  my  heart 
Is  true  as  steel :  leave  you  your  power  to  draw. 
And  I  shall  have  no  power' to  follow  you. 

Dem.  Do  I  entice  you  ?  Do  I  speak  you  fair? 
Or  rather,  do  I  not  in  plainest  truth 
Tell  vow — I  do  not,  nor  I  cannot  love  you  ? 

He).  And  even  for  that  do  I  love  you  the  more. 
I  am  your  spaniel ;  and,  Demetrius, 
The  more  you  beat  me,  I  will  fawn  on  you  : 
Use  me  but  as  your  spaniel,  spurn  me,  "strike  me. 
Neglect  me,  lose  me  ;  only  givc  rne  leave. 
Unworthy  as  I  am,  to  follow'  you. 
What  worser  place  can  I  beg  m  your  lore 
(And  yet  a  place  of  high  respect  with  me,) 
Than  to  be  used  as  you  use  your  dop  ? 

Dem.  Tempt  not  too  much  the  hatred  of  my  spirit; 
For  I  am  sick,  when  I  do  look  on  thee, 

Hel.  And  I  am  sick  Avhcn  I  look  not  on  you. 

Dem.  You  do  impeach'  your  modesty  too  much. 
To  leave  the  city,  and  commit  yourself 
Into  the  hands  of  one  that  loves  you  not ; 
To  trust  the  opportunity  of  night, 
And  the  ill  counsel  of  a  desert  place. 
With  the  rich  worth  of  your  virginity. 

Hel.  Your  virtue  is  my  privilege  for  that. 
It  is  not  night,  when  I  do  see  your  face. 
Therefore  I  think  I  am  not  in  ihe  night; 
N  r  doth  this  wood  lack  worlds  of  company ; 
For  you,  in  my  respect,  are  all  the  world : 
T'len  how  can  it  be  said,  I  am  alone, 
Wh'?n  all  the  w^orld  is  here  to  look  on  me  ? 

Dem.  I'll  run  from  thee,  and  h'de  me  in  the  brakei, 
And  leave  thee  to  the  mercy  of  wild  beasts. 

Hel.  The  wildest  h«th  not  such  a  heart  as  you. 
Run  when  you  will,  the  story  shall  be  chang'd  ; 

(3)  Produce.      (4)  Page.     (5)  Exempt  from  Iot4 
(6)  Mad,  raving.  (7)  Bring  in  question. 


Betne  111. 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHPS  DREAM. 


Ml 


Apollo  flies,  and  Daphne  holds  the  chase  ; 
The  dove  pursues  tlis  grilfin  ;  the  mild  hind 
Makes  speed  to  catch  the  tiger:  bootless  speed ! 
When  cowardice  pursues,  and  valour  Hies. 

Dem.  I  will  not  slay  thy  questions ;  let  me  go  : 
Or,  if  thou  follow  me,  do  not  believe 
But  I  shall  do  thee  misciiief  in  the  wood. 

Hel.  Ay,  in  the  temple,  in  the  town,  the  field, 
You  do  me  mischief.    Fie,  Demetrius ! 
Your  wrongs  do  set  a  scandal  on  my  sex : 
We  cannot  light  for  love,  as  men  may  do  ; 
We  should  be  woo'd,  and  were  not  made  to  woo. 
I'll  follow  thee,  and  make  a  heaven  of  hell, 
To  die  upon'  the  hand  I  love  so  well. 

[Exeunt  Dem.  and  Hel. 

Obe.  Fare  thee  well,  nymph:  ere  he  do  leave 
this  grove. 
Thou  shalt  tly  him,  and  he  shall  seek  thy  love. — 

Re-enUr  Puck. 

Hast  thou  the  flower  there  ?   Welcome,  wanderer. 

Puck.  Ay,  there  it  is. 

Obe.  I  pray  thee,  give  it  me, 

I  know  a  bank  whereon  the  wild  thymj  blows. 
Where  ox-lips"  and  the  nodding;  violet  grows  ; 
Quite  over-canopied  with  lush'  woodbine, 
With  sweet  musk-roses,  and  with  eglantine  : 
There  sleepi  Titania,  some  time  of  the  night, 
Lull'd  in  these  flowers  with  dances  and  delight ; 
And  there  the  snake  throws  h»r  enamell'd  skin 
Weed  wide  enough  to  wrap  a  fairy  in  : 
And  with  the  juice  of  this  I'll  streak  her  eyes, 
And  make  her  full  of  hateful  fantasies. 
Take  thou  some  of  it,  and  seek  through  this  grove : 
A  sweet  Athenian  lady  is  in  love 
With  a  disdainful  youth  :  anoint  his  eyes  ; 
do  it,  when  the  next  thing  he  espies 
be  the  lady :  thou  shall  know  the  man 
h    the  Athenian  garments  he  hath  on. 
Effect  it  with  some  care  ;  that  he  may  prove 
More  fond  on  her,  than  she  upon  her  love  : 
And  look  thou  meet  me  ere  the  first  cock  crow. 

Puck.  Fear  not,  my  lord,  your  servant  shall  do 
so.  [Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E  III.— Another  part  of  the  wood.    Enter 
Titania,  with  her  train. 

Tita.  Come,  now  a  roundel,'  and  a  fairy  song ; 

Then,  for  the  third  part  of  a  minute,  hence  ; 

Some,  to  kill  cankers  in  the  musk-rose  buds  ; 

Some,  war  with  rear-mice*  for  their  leathern  wings, 

To  make  my  small  elves  coals:  and  some,  keep 
back  '         ^ 

The  clamorous  owl,  that  nightly  hoots,  and  won- 
ders 

At  our  quaint  spirits  :*  sing  me  now  asleep ; 

Then  to  your  otiices,  and  let  me  rest. 

SONG. 

I  Fai.      Yon  spotted  snakes,  with  double  tongue, 
Thorny  hed^e-hogs,  be  not  seen  ; 
J^ewls,"  and  blind-ioorms,"  do  no  wrong ; 
Come  not  near  our  fairy  queeu  ; 

Chorui.     Philomel,  with  melody, 

Sing  in  our  stoeet  lullaby  ; 
LuUa,  lulla,  lullaby ;  ItUla,  lulla,  lullaby : 
J^ever  harm,  nor  spell,  nor  charm, 
Come  our  lovely  lady  nii^h  ; 
So,  good  night,  with  luUaby. 

(1)  By.    (2)  The  greater  cowslip.    (3)  Vigorous. 
(4)  A  kind  or  dance.       (5)  Bats,      '"^Sports. 


11. 


2  Fai.     Weaving  spiders,  come  not  htr«  ; 

Hence,  you  long-legged  spbmtrs,  hence  : 
Beetles  black,  approach  not  near  ; 
f^'orm,  nor  snail,  do  no  offence. 
Chorus.    Philomel,  with  melody,  ^c. 
1  Fai.   Hence,  away ;  now  all  is  well : 
One,  aloof,  stand  sentinel. 

[Exeunt  Fairies.    TitanU  slttps. 

Enter  Oberon. 
Obe.  What  thou  seest,  when  thou  dost  wake, 

[Hqueczes  the  floioer  oti  Titania's  eye'lids. 
Do  it  for  thy  true  love  take : 
Love,  and  languish  for  his  sake: 
Be  it  ounce,"  or  cat,  or  bear, 
Pard,  or  boar  with  bristled  nair, 
In  thy  eye  that  shall  appear 
When  thou  wak'st,  it  is  thy  dear ; 
Wake,  when  some  vile  thing  i$  near.  [ExU, 

^Enlcr  Lysandcr  and  Hermia. 

Lys.  Fair  love,  you  faint  with  wandering  in  tbl 

wood ; 
And  to  speak  truth,  I  have  forgot  pur  way ; 
We'll  rest  us,  Hermia,  if  you  think  it  good, 
And  tarry  lor  the  comfort  of  the  day. 
Her.  Be  it  so,  Lysander :  find  you  out  a  bed, 
For  1  upon  this  bank  will  rest  mv  head. 

Lys.  One  turf  shall  serve  as  pillow  for  us  both; 
One  heart,  one  becL  two  bosoms,  and  one  troth. 

Her.  Nay,  ffood  Lysander ;  for  my  sake,  my  dear. 
Lie  further  off  yet,  do  not  lie  so  near. 

Lys.  O,  take  the  sense,  sweet,  of  my  innocence ; 
Love  takes  the  meaning,  in  love's  conference. 
I  mean,  that  my  heart  unto  yours  b  knit, 
So  that  but  one  heart  we  can  make'of  it: 
Two  bosoms  interchained  Avith  an  oath ; 
So  then,  two  bosoms,  and  a  single  troth. 
Then,  by  your  side  no  bed-room  me  deny ; 
For,  lying  so,  Hermia,  I  do  not  lie. 

Her.  Lysander  riddles  very  prettily : — 
Now  much  beshrew  my  manners  and  my  pride, 
If  Ilermia  meant  to  sav,  Lysander  lied. 
But,  gentle  friend,  for  love  and  courtesy 
Lie  further  oflT;  in  human  modesty 
Such  separation,  as,  may  well  be  said. 
Becomes  a  virtuous  bachelor  and  a  maid : 
So  far  be  distant ;  and  good  night,  sweet  friend : 
Thy  love  ne'er  alter,  tilfthy  sweet  life  end ! 

Lijs.  Amen,  amen,  to  that  fair  prayer,  say  I ; 
\nd  then  end  life,  when  I  end  loyalty  ! 
Here  is  my  bed :  sleep  give  thee  all  his  rest ! 
Her.  With  half  that  wbh  the  wisher's  eyes  be 
press'd !  [Thty  sletp. 

Enter  Puck. 
Puck.  Throueh  the  forest  ha^e  I  gone, 
But  Athenian  found  I  none, 
On  whose  eyes  I  mi<;ht  approve 
This  flower's  force  m  stirring  love. 
Night  and  silence  !  who  is  here  ? 
Weeds  of  Athens  he  doth  wear : 
This  is  he,  my  master  said. 
Despised  the  Athenian  maid  ; 
And  here  the  maiden,  sleeping  sound, 
On  the  dank  and  dirty  ground. 
Pretty  soul !  she  durst  not  lie 
Near  this  lack-love,  kill-courtcsy. 
Churl,  upon  thy  eyes  I  throw 
All  the  power  this  charm  doth  owe':  '• 

(7)  Eds.    (8)  Slow.worms.    (9)  The  small  tizcr, 
(10)  Possess.  ^ 

T 


m 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


itet  III, 


When  thou  wak'st,  let  lore  Torbid 

Sleep  his  seat  on  thy  eyelid. 

So  awake,  when  I  am  gone ; 

For  I  must  now  to  Oberon.  [Exit. 

Enter  Demetrius  and  Helena,  running. 

Htl.  Stay,  tliough  thou  kill  me,  sweet  Demetrius. 

l)t:m.  I  charge  thee,  hence,  and  do  not  haunt 
me  thus. 

Hel.  0,  wilt  thou  darkling'  Icare  me  ?  do  not  so. 

Dem.  Stay,  on  thy  peril ;  I  alone  will  go. 

[Exit  Demetrius. 

Hel.  O,  I  am  out  of  breath  in  this  fond  chase ! 
Tiie  more  my  prayer,  the  lesser  is  my  grace. 
Happy  is  Hermia,  wheresoe'er  she  lies ; 
For  she  hath  blessed  and  attractive  eyes. 
How  came  her  eyes  so  bright  ?  Not  with  salt  tears : 
If  so,  my  eyes  are  oftencr'wash'd  than  hers. 
No,  no,  I  am  as  ugly  as  a  bear ; 
For  beasts  that  meet  me,  run  away  for  fear : 
Therefore,  no  marvel,  though  Demetrius 
Do,  as  a  monster,  fly  my  presence  thus. 
What  wicked  and  dissembling  glass  of  mine 
Made  me  compare  with  Hermia's  sphery  eyne? 
But  who  is  here  ? — Lysander !  on  the  ground ! 
Dead  ?  or  asleep  ?  I  see  no  blood,  no  wound : — 
Lysander,  if  you  live,  good  sir,  awake. 

Lys.  And  run  through  fire  I  will,  for  thy  sweet 
sake.  [  Waking. 

Transparent  Helena !  Nature  here  shows  art. 
That  tJirough  thy  bosom  makes  me  see  thy  heart. 
Where  is  Demetrius  ?  O,  how  fit  a  word 
Is  that  vile  name,  to  perish  on  my  sword ! 

Hel.  Do  not  sav  so,  Lysander ;  say  not  so  : 
What  though  he  love  your  Hermia?  Lord,  what 

though? 
Yet  Hermia  still  loves  you :  then  be  content. 

Lys.  Content  with  Hermia  ?  No  :  I  do  repent 
The  tedious  minutes  I  with  her  have  spent. 
Not  Hermia,  but  Helena  I  love : 
Who  will  not  change  a  raven  for  a  dove  ? 
The  will  of  man  is  by  his  reason  sway'd ; 
And  reason  says  you  are  the  worthier  maid. 
Things  growing  are  not  ripe  until  their  season : 
So  I,  bem^  young,  till  now  ripe  not  to  reason ; 
And  touchmg  now  the  point  of  human  skill. 
Reason  becomes  the  marshal  to  my  will. 
And  leads  me  to  your  eyes ;  wjiere  I  o'erlook 
Love's  stories  written  in  love's  richest  book. 

Hel.  Wherefore  was  I  to  this  keen  mockery  born  ? 
When,  at  your  hands,  did  I  deserve  this  scorn  ? 
Ii't  not  enough,  is't  not  enough,  young  man. 
That  I  did  never,  no,  nor  never  can, 
Deserve  a  sweet  look  from  Demetrius'  eye, 
But  you  must  flout  my  insufficiency  ? 
Good  troth,  you  do  me  wrong,  good  sooth,  you  do, 
In  such  disdainful  manner  me  to  woo. 
But  fare  you  well :  perforce  I  must  confess, 
1  thought  you  lord  of  more  true  gentleness. 
O,  that  a  lady,  of  one  man  refus'd. 
Should,  of  another,  therefore  be  abus'd  !        [Exit. 

Lys.  She  sees  not  Hermia : — Hermia,  sleep  thou 
there; 
And  never  may'st  thou  come  Lysander  near ! 
For,  as  a  surfeit  of  the  sweetest  things 
The  deepest  loathing  to  the  stomach  brings ; 
Or,  as  the  heresies,  that  men  do  leave. 
Are  hated  most  of  those  they  did  deceive ; 
So  thou,  my  surfeit,  and  my  heresy. 
Of  all  be  hated  ;  but  the  most  of  me ! 
And  all  my  powers,  address  your  love  and  misht. 
To  honour  Helen,  and  to  be  her  knight !        [JExtt. 

(1 )  In  the  dark,  ^2)  Bj  all  tb&t  is  dear. 


Her.  [Starting.]  Help  me,  Lysander,  help  me ) 
do  thy  bestj 
To  pluck  this  crawhng  serpent  from  my  breast ! 
Ah  me,  for  pity ! — what  a  dream  was  here ! 
Lysander,  look,  how  I  do  quake  with  fear: 
Methought  a  serpent  eat  my  heart  away, 
And  you  sat  smiling  at  his  cruel  prey  : — 
Lysander !  what,  remov'd  ?  Lysander !  lord ! 
What,  out  of  hearing?  gone?  no  sound,  no  word? 
Alack,  where  are  you  ?  speak,  an  if  you  hear ; 
Speak,  of  all  loves ;"  I  swoon  almost  with  fear. 
No  ? — then  I  well  perceive  you  are  not  nigh : 
Either  death,  or  you,  I'll  find  immediately.    [Exit. 


ACT  IIL 

SCEJ^E  L—The  same.  The  quten  of  fairies 
lying  asleep.  Enter  Quince,  Snug,  Bottom, 
flute,  Snout,  and  Starveling. 

Bot.  Are  we  all  met  ? 

Qut/i.  Pat,  pat;  and  here's  a  marvellous  con- 
venient place  for  our  rehearsal :  this  green  plot  shall 
be  our  stafje,  this  hawthorn  brake  our  tvring-house ; 
and  we  will  do  it  in  action,  as  we  wil(  do  it  before 
the  duke. 

Bot.  Peter  Quince, — 

Quin.  What  say'st  thou,  bully  Bottom  ? 

Bot.  There  are  things  in  this  comedy  of  Pyramus 
and  Tliisby,  that  will  never  please.  First,  Pyramus 
must  draw  a  sword  to  kill  himself;  which  the  ladies 
cannot  abide.    How  answer  you  that  ? 

Snout.  By'rlakin,'  a  parlous*  fear. 

Star.  I  believe,  wc  must  leave  the  killing  out, 
when  all  is  done. 

Bot.  Not  a  whit ;  I  have  a  device  to  make  all 
well.  Write  me  a  prologue :  and  let  the  prologue 
seem  to  say,  we  will  do  no  harm  with  our  swords  : 
and  that  Pyramus  is  not  killed  indeed :  and,  for  the 
more  better  assurance,  tell  them,  that  I,  Pyramus 
am  not  Pyramus,  but  Bottom  the  weaver :  this  will 
put  them  out  of  fear. 

Q,uin.  VVell,  we  will  have  such  a  prologue ;  and 
it  shall  be  written  in  eight  and  six. 

Bot.  No,  make  it  two  more ;  let  it  be  written  in 
eight  and  eight. 

Snout.  WiW  not  the  ladies  be  afeard  of  the  lion  ? 

Star.  I  fear  it,  I  promise  you. 

Bot.  Masters,  you  ought  to  consider  with  your- 
selves :  to  bring  in,  God  shield  us  !  a  lion  among 
ladies,  is  a  most  dreadful  thing ;  for  there  is  not  a 
more  fearful'  wild-fowl  than  your  lion,  living ;  and 
we  ought  to  look  to  it. 

Snout.  Therefore,  another  prologue  must  tell  he 
is  not  a  lion. 

Bot.  Nay,  you  must  name  his  name,  and  half  his 
face  must  be  seen  through  the  lion's  neck  ;  and  he 
himself  must  speak  through,  saying  thus,  or  to  the 
same  defect, — Ladies,  or  fair  ladies,  I  would  wish 
you,  or,  I  would  request  you,  or,  I  would  entreat 
Vou,  not  to  fear,  not  to  tremble:  my  life  for  yours. 
If  you  think  I  come  hither  as  a  lion,  it  were  pity  of 
my  life :  no,  I  am  no  such  thing ;  I  am  a  man  as 
other  men  are : — and  there,  indeed,  let  him  name  his 
name  ;  and  tell  them  plainly,  he  is  Snug  the  joiner. 

Qutn.  Well,  it  shall  be  so.  But  there  is  two 
hard  things :  that  is,  to  bring  the  moon-li^ht  into  a 
chamber:  for  you  know,  Pyramus  and  Thisby 
meet  by  moon-light. 

Snug.  Doth  the  moon  shine,  that  night  we  play 
oiir  play  ? 

(3)  By  9ur  ladykin,  (4)  Dangerow,  (&)  Terriblef 


Scene  /. 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


w 


Bot.  A  calendar,  a  calendar !  look  in  the  alma-[     Bot.  Why  do  they  run  away  ?  this  is  a  knaTery 
nac  ;  find  out  moon-shine,  find  out  moon-shine.       of  them,  to  make  me  afeard.* 


Quill.  Yes,  it  doth  shine  that  night. 

Bot.  Why,  then  you  may  leave  a  casement  of 
the  great  chamber  window,  where  we  play,  open  ; 
and  the  moon  may  shine  in  at  the  casement. 

Q,uin.  Ay  ;  or  else  one  must  come  in  with  a  bush 
of  thorns  and  a  lanthorn,  and  say,  he  comes  to  dis- 
figure, or  to  present,  the  person  of  moon-shine. 
Then  there  is  another  thing :  we  must  have  a  wall 
in  the  great  chamber ;  for  Pyramus  and  Thisby, 
says  the  stor}',  did  talk  through  the  chinks  of  a  wall. 

Snug.  You  never  can  bring  in  a  wall. — ^\Vhat 
say  you.  Bottom  ? 

Bot.  Some  man  or  other  must  present  wall:  and 
let  him  have  some  plaster,  or  some  loam,  or  some 
rougrh-cast  about  him,  to  sii^nify  wall ;  or  let  him 
hold  his  fingers  thus,  and  through  that  cranny  shall 
Pyramus  and  Thisby  whisper. 

Quin.  If  that  may  be,  then  all  is  well :  Come, 
sit  down,  every  mother's  son,  and  rehearse  your 
parts.  Pyramus,  you  begin :  when  you  have  spoken 
your  speech,  enter  into  that  brake,'  and  so  every 
one  according;  to  his  cue. 

Enter  Puck  behind. 

Puck.  What  hempen  home-spuns  have  we  swag- 
«;ering  here. 
So  near  tlie  cradle  of  the  fairy  queen  ? 
What,  a  play  toward  ?  I'll  be  an  auditor  ; 
An  actor  too,  perhaps,  if  I  see  cause. 

Qutn.  Speak,  Pyramus: — Tliisby,  stand  forth. 

Pyr.      Tliisby,   the  flaxcers    of  odious   savours 
sweet, — 

Quin.  Odours,  odours. 

Pyr.  Odours  savmirs  sweet : 

So  doth  thy  breath,  my  dearest  Thisby  dear. — 
But,  hark,  a  voite  !  stay  thou  but  here  a  while, 

^ind  by  and  by  I  xcill  to  thee  appear.  [Exit. 

Puck.  A  stranger  Pyramus  than  e'er  play'd  here ! 
l^iside. — Exit. 

This.  Must  I  speak  now  ? 

Quin.  Ay,  marry,  must  you :  for  vou  must  un- 
derstand, he  goes  but  to  see  a  noise  Qiat  he  heard, 
and  is  to  come  ascain 


hue. 


Re-enter  Snout. 

Snout.  O  Bottom,  thou  art  chang^ed !  what  do  I 
see  on  thee  ? 

Bot.  What  do  you  see  ?  you  sec  an  ass's  head 
of  your  own ;  Do  you  ? 

Re-enter  Quince. 

Quin.  Bless  thee,  Bottom !  bless  thee !  thou  art 
translated.  [Exit. 

Bot.  I  see  their  knavery  :  this  is  to  make  an  as* 
of  me  ;  to  fright  me,  if  they  could.  But  I  will  not 
stir  from  this  place,  do  what  they  can :  I  will  walk 
up  and  down  here,  and  I  will  sing,  that  they  shall 
hear  I  am  not  afraid.  [Sing's. 

The  mtsel-cock,  so  black  of  hue, 

With  oraiige-tawny  bill, 
The  throstle  with  his  note  so  true, 
The  wren  with  little  quill ; 

TUa.  What  angel  wakes  me  from  my  flowery  bed  7 

[  Waking, 
Bot,     The  finch,  the  sparrow,  and  the  lark. 
The  plain-song  cuckoo''  gray. 
Whose  note  full  many  a  man  doth  mark, 
And  dares  not  answer,  nay  ; — 


for,  indeed,  who  would  set  his  wit  to  so  foolish  a 
bird?  who  would  give  a  bird  the  lie,  though  he 
cry,  cuckoo,  never  so  ? 

Tita.  I  pray  thee,  gentle  mortal,  sing  again : 
Mine  ear  is  much  enamour'd  of  thy  note, 
So  is  mine  eye  enthralled  to  thv  shape  ; 
And  thy  fair  virtue's  force  perforce  doth  move  me, 
On  the  first  view,  to  say,  to  swear,  I  love  thee. 

Bot.  Methinks,  mistress,  you  should  have  little 
reason  for  that :  and  yet,  to  say  the  truth,  reason 
and  love  keep  little  company  together  now-a-days : 
the  more  the  pity,  that  some  honest  neighbours  will 
not  make  them  friends.  Nay,  I  can  gleek,"  upon 
occasion. 

Tita.  Thou  art  as  wise  as  thou  art  beautiful. 

Bot.  Not  so,  neither :  butif  I  had  wit  enough  to 
rUsT Slo'sTradUint  Pyramus,  most  lUy-whUe  q/1?et  out  of  this  wood,  I  have  enough  to  serve  mine 

^  own  turn. 

Tita.  Out  of  this  wood  do  not  desire  to  go  ; 
Thou  shall  remain  here,  whether  thou  wilt  or  no. 


Of  colour  like  the  red-rose  on  triumpliant  brier, 
Xost  brisklv  Juvenal,*  and  eke  most  lovely  Jew,         ,  •  •.     /. 

As  true  as  truest  horse,  that  yet  tcould  never  /ire,  | '  J"  ^  ^P""'^  of,,"?  ^P"?"™""  ^'"^^^  ?       ,  . 
rU  meet  thee,  Puramus,  at  JTmnv's  tomb.  IT''^  summer  still  doth  tend  upon  my  state, 

Ouin.  Ninus'- tomb,  man:  whv  vou  must  not  i^,"<l  M'°lo^'e  thee  :therelore,  go  with  me  ; 
speak  that  yet ;  that  vou  answer  t5  Pyramus  :  vou  '"  Pl^  ^^"^  fairies  to  attend  on  thee  ; 
speak  all  your  part  at  once,  cues^  arid  all.— Pyra-  !>"«  ^hey  shall  fetch  thee  jewels  from  the  deep : 
mus  enter :  your  cue  is  past ;  it  is,  nerer  tire.         1-^"^  sma  while  thou  on  pressed  flowers  dost  sleep  ; 
'  •'  r       J         7  And  I  will  pursre  thy  mortal  grossness  so, 

Re-enter  Puck,  and  Bottom  with  an  ass^s  head.    [That  thou  shalt  like  an  airy  spirit  go. 

This.  0,—.is  true  as  truest  horse,  that  yet  MrouWJPeas-blossom  I  Cobweb!  Moth!  and  Mustard-seed! 


Jierer  tire. 

PjT.  If  I  were  fair,  Thisby,  I  were  only  thine  : — 

Quin.  O  monstrous  !  O  stransie !  we  are  haunted. 
Pray,  masters  !  fly,  masters !  hc\p !   [Exe.  Clowns. 

Puck.  I'll  follow  you,  I'll  lead  you  about  a  round, 
Through  bog,  through  bush,  through  brake,  tlirough 

brier ; 
Sometime  a  horse  I'll  be,  sometime  a  hound, 

A  hoff,  a  beardless  bear,  sometime  a  fire ; 
And  neigh,  and  bark,  and  grunt,  and  roar,  and  bum. 
Like  horse,  hound,  hog,  bear,  fire,  at  every  turn 


Enter  four  Fairies. 


(2)  Young  man 
ds   of  the  preci 
Wliich  serve  as  a  hint  to  him  who  is  to  speak  next^ 


n)  Thicket 

(3)  The  last   words   of  the  preceding  speech. 


1  Pai.  Ready. 

2  Fai.  And  I. 

3  Fai.  And  I. 

4  Fai.  Where  shall  we  go  7 
Tita.  Be  kind  and  courteous  to  this  gentleman  ; 

Hop  in  his  walks,  and  grambol  in  his  eyes ; 
Feed  him  with  apricocks  and  dewberries,' 
I  With  purple  grapes,  green  d^s,  and  mulberries; 
The  honey  bags  steal  from  the  humble-bees. 
[Exi/.  I  And,  for  night  tapers,  crop  their  waxen  thigns. 
And  light  them  at  the  fiery  glow-worm's  eyes. 


(4)  Afraid. 
(6)-- 


Joke. 


(5)  The  cuckoo,  with  his  uniform  notet 
(7)  Gooseberries, 


-w 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


Jict  ni. 


To  hare  my  love  to  bed,  and  to  arise ; 
And  pluck  the  wings  from  painted  butterflies, 
To  fan  the  moon-beams  from  his  sleeping  eyes : 
J^od  to  him,  elves,  and  do  him  courtesies. 

j  Fai.  Hail,  mortal ! 

2  Fai.  Hail ! 

9  Fai.  Hail ! 

4  Fat.  Hail! 

Bot.  I  cry  your  worsliip's  mercy,  heartily. — I 
beseech,  your  worship's  name. 

C^.  Cobweb. 

$^.  I  sliall  desire  you  of  more  acquaintance, 
good  master  Cobweb :  if  I  cut  my  linger,  I  shall 
Eiake  bold  with  you.  Your  name,  honest  gentleman  ? 

Peas.  Peas-blossom. 

BQt.  I  pray  you,  commend  me  to  mistress  Squash, 
your  mother,  andf  to  master  Peascod,  your  father. 
Good  master  Peas-blossomj  I  shall  desire  of  you 
more  acquaintance  too.— \  our  name,  I  beseech 
you,  sir  ? 

Mv^.  Mustard-seed. 

Bot.  Good  master  Mustard-seed,  I  know  your 
patience  well :  that  same  cowardly,  giant-like  ox- 
beef  hath  devoured  many  a  irentleinan  of  your 
house :  I  promise  you,  your  kindred  hath  made  my 
eyes  water  ere  now.  I  desire  }"ou  more  acquaint- 
ance^ good  master  Mustard-seed. 

Tita.  Come,  wait  upon  bun ;    lead  him  to  my 
bower. 

The  moon,  methinks,  looks  with  a  watery  eye  ; 
And  when  she  weeps,  weeps  every  little  flower, 

Lamenting  some  enforced  chastity. 

Tie  up  my  love's  tonijue,  bring  him  silently. 

{Exeunt. 

SCEJfE  U.-^inother  part  of  the  wood.    Enter 
Oberon. 

Obe.  I  wonder  if  Titania  be  awak'd ; 
Then,  what  it  was  that  next  came  in  her  eye, 
Whicn  she  must  dote  on  in  extremity. 

Enter  Puck. 
Herecomes  my  messehsrer. — How  now,  mad  spirit? 
Whatnight-ru!e'  now  about  this  haunted  grove  ? 

Puck.  My  mistress  with  a  monster  is  in  love. 
Near  to  her  close  and  consecrated  bower, 
While  she  was  in  her  dull  and  sleeping  hour, 
A  crew  of  patches,^  rude  mechanicals, 
That  work  for  bread  upon  Athenian  stalls, 
Were  met  together  to  rehearse  a  play. 
Intended  for  great  Theseus'  nuptial  day. 
The  shallowest  thick-skin  of  that  barren  sort,' 
Who  Pyramus  presented,  in  their  sport 
Forsook  his  scene,  and  enter'd  in  a  brake : 
When  I  did  him  at  this  advantage  lake, 
An  ass's  nowl*  I  fixed  on  his  head ; 
Anon,  his  Thisbe  must  be  answered, 
And  forth  my  mimic'  comes :  when  they  him  spy, 
As  wild  geese  that  the  creeping  fowler  eye. 
Or  russet-pated  choughs,  many  in  sort, 
Rising  ana  cawing  at  the  gun's  report 
Sever  themselves,  and  madly  sweep  the  sliy ; 
So,  at  his  sight,  away  his  fellows  fly : 
And,  at  our  stamp,  here  o'er  and  o'er  one  falls ; 
He  murder  cries,  and  help  from  Athens  calls. 
Their  sense,  thus  w  eak,  lost  with  their  fears,  thus 

strong, 
Made  senseless  things  begin  to  do  them  wrong : 
For  briers  and  thorns  at  their  apparel  snatch  ; 
Some,  sleeves ;  some,  bats :  from  yielders  all  things 
catch. 

fl)  Revelry.        (2)  Simple  fellows. 

(3)  Stupid  company.     (4)  Head.    (5)  Actor, 


I  led  them  on  in  this  distracted  fear, 
And  left  sweet  Pyramus  translated  there : 
When  in  that  moment  (so  it  came  to  pass) 
Titania  wak'd,  and  straightway  lov'd  an  ass. 

Obe.  This  falls  out  better  than  I  could  devise. 
But  hast  thou  yet  latch'd'  the  Athenian's  eyes 
With  the  love-juice,  as  I  did  bid  thee  do? 

Puck.  I  took  him  sleepin?, — that  is  finish'd  too,-^ 
And  the  Athenian  woman  by  his  side  ; 
That,  when  he  wak'd,  of  force  she  must  be  cy'd. 

Enter  Demetrius  and  Hermia. 

Obe.  Stand  close ;  this  is  the  same  Athenian. 

Puck.  This  is  the  woman,  but  not  this  the  man. 

Dem.  O  why  rebuke  you  him  that  loves  you  so  ? 
Lay  breath  so  bitter  on  your  bitter  foe. 

tier.  Now  I  but  chide,  but  I  should  use  thef 
ivorse ; 
For  thou,  I  fear,  hast  given  me  cause  to  cursed 
If  Ihou  hast  slain  Lysander  in  his  sleep, 
Being  o'er  shoes  in  blood,  plunge  in  the  deep^ 
And  kill  me  too. 

The  sun  was  not  so  true  unto  the  day. 
As  he  to  me :  ^Vould  he  have  stol'n  away 
From  sleeping  Hermia  ?  I'll  believe  as  soon. 
This  whole  earth  may  be  bor'd  ;  and  that  the  moon 
May  through  the  cerltre  creep,  and  so  displease 
Her  brother's  noon-tide  with  the  Antipodes. 
It  cannot  be,  but  thou  hast  murder'd  him  ; 
So  should  a  murderer  look ;  so  dead,  so  grim. 

Dem.  So  should  the  murder'd  look ;    and  so 
should  I, 
Picrc'd  through  the  heart  with  your  stern  cruelty : 
Yet  you,  the  murderer,  look  as  bright,  as  clear, 
As  yonder  Venus  in  her  glimmering  sphere. 

tier.  What's  this  to  my  Lysander  ?  where  is  he  ? 
Ah,  good  Demetrius,  wilt  thou  give  him  me  ? 

Dem.  I  had  rather  give  liis  carcase  to  my  hounds. 

Her.  Out,  dog !  out,  cur !  thou  driv'st  me  past 
the  bounds 
Of  maiden's  patience.    Hast  thou  slain  him  theu^ 
Henceforth  be  never  number'd  among  men ! 

0  !  once  tell  true,  tell  true,  even  for  my  sake ; 
Durst  Ihou  have  look'd  upon  him,  being  awake, 
And  hast  thou  kill'd  him  sleeping '!  O  bi  ave  touch ;' 
Could  not  a  worm,  an  adder,  do  so  much  ? 

An  adder  did  it :  for  with  a  doubler  tongue 
Than  thine,  thou  serpent,  never  adder  stung. 
Dem.  You  spend  your  passion  on  a  mispris'd* 
mood : 

1  am  not  guilty  of  Lysander's  blood  ; 
Nor  is  he  dead,  for  aught  that  I  can  tell. 

Her.  I  pray  thee,  tell  me  then  lliat  he  is  well. 
Dem.  And  if  I  could,  ^^  hat  should  1  get  there* 

fore? 
Her.  A  privilege,  never  to  see  me  more. — 
And  from  thy  hated  presence  part  I  so : 
Sec  me  no  more,  whetlicr  he  be  dead  or  no.     [Exit. 
Dem.   There  is  no  following  her  in  this  fierce 
vein  : 
Here,  therefore,  for  a  while  I  will  remain. 
So  sorrow's  heaviness  doth  heavier  grow 
For  debt  that  bankrupt  sleep  doth  sorrow  owe ; 
Which  now,  in  some  slight  measure  it  will  paj'. 
If  for  his  tender  here  I  make  some  stay. 

[Lies  down. 
Obe.  What  hast  thou  done  ?  thou  hast  mistaken 
quite, 
And  laid  the  love-juice  on  some  true-love's  sight: 
Of  thy  misprision  must  perforce  ensue 
Some  true-love  turn'd,  and  not  a  false  tum'd  true. 

(6)  Infected.       (7)  Exploit.        (8)  MUtalcen* 


Scent  U. 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


14» 


Puek.  Then  fate  o'er-rules ;  that  one  man  hold- 
ing troth, 
A  million  fail,  confounding  oath  on  oath. 

Obt.  About  the  wood  go  swifter  than  the  wind. 
And  Helena  of  Athens  look  thou  find : 
AH  fancy-sick'  she  is,  and  pale  of  cheer' 
With  sighs  of  love,  that  cost  the  fresh  blood  dear : 
Bv  some  illusion  see  thou  bring  her  here  ; 
I'll  charm  his  eyes,  aarainst  she  do  appear. 

Puck.  I  go,  1  go  ;  look,  how  I  go  ; 
Swifter  than  arrow  from  the  Tartar's  bow.     [Exit. 
Obe.  Flower  of  this  purple  dye, 
Hit  witli  Cupid's  archery, 
Sink  in  apple  of  his  eye  ! 
When  his  love  he  dotn  espy, 
Let  her  shine  as  gloriously 
As  the  Venus  of  the  sky. — 
When  thou  wak'st,  if  she  be  by, 
Beg  of  her  for  remedy. 

Re-enter  Puck. 

Puck.  Captain  of  our  fairy  band, 
Helena  is  here  at  hand  ; 
And  the  youth,  mistook  by  me, 
Pleading  for  a  lover's  fee ; 
Shall  we  their  fond  pageant  see  ? 
Lord,  what  fools  tliese  mortals  be ! 

Obe.  Stand  aside  :  the  noise  they  make, 
Will  cause  Demetrius  to  awake. 

Puck.  Then  will  two  at  once,  woo  one  j 
That  must  needs  be  sport  alone  ; 
And  those  things  do  best  please  me. 
That  befal  preposterously. 

Enter  Lysander  and  Helena. 

Lys.  Why  should  you  think,  that  I  should  woo 
in  scorn  ? 

Scorn  and  derision  never  come  in  tears : 
Look,  when  I  vow,  I  weep ;  and  vows  so  born. 

In  tiieir  nativity  all  truth  appears. 
How  can  tnese  thin>rs  in  rae  seem  scorn  to  you. 
Bearing  the  badge  of  faith,  to  prove  them  true? 

Hel.  You  do  advance  your  cunning  more  and 
more. 

When  truth  kills  truth,  0  devilish-holy  fray ! 
These  vows  are  Ilermia's ;  Will  yoii  ;:ive  her  o'er  ? 

Wei^h  oath  with  oaih,  and  you  ivili  nothing  weigh: 
Your  vows,  to  her  and  me,  put  in  two  scales. 
Will  even  weigh ;  and  both  as  light  as  tales. 

Lys.  I  had  no  judgment,  when  to  her  I  swore. 

Hel.  Nor  none,  in  my  mind,  now  you  give  her 
o'er. 

Lys.  Demetrius  loves  her,  and  he  loves  not  you. 

Dein.  [.Jwatwi^.]   O  Helen,  goddess,  nymph, 
perfect,  divme ! 
To  what,  my  love,  shall  I  compare  thine  eync  ? 
Crystal  is  muddv.    O,  how  ripe  in  show 
Thy  lips,  those  kissing  cherries,  tempting  grow ! 
That  pure  congealed  white,  hich  Taurus'  snow, 
Fann'd  with  the  easttxn  wind,  turns  to  a  crow. 
When  thou  hold'st  up  thy  hand  :  O  let  nie  kiss 
This  princess  of  pure  white,  this  seal  of  bliss  ! 

Hel.  0  spite !  O  hell !  I  see  you  all  are  bent 
To  set  against  me  for  your  merriment. 
If  you  were  civil,  and  knew  courtesy. 
You  would  not  do  nie  thus  much  injury. 
Can  you  not  hate  me,  as  I  know  you  do. 
But  you  must  join,  in  souls,'  to 'mock  me  too? 
If  you  were  men,  as  men  you  are  in  show, 
You  would  not  use  a  gentle  lady  so ; 
To  vow,  and  swear,  and  superpraise  my  parts, 

il)  Love-sick.  (2)  Countenance. 

3)  Heartily.    (4)  Degree    (6)  Pay  dearly  for  iU 


^Vhen,  I  am  sure,  you  hate  me  with  your  heart*. 

You  both  are  rivals,  and  love  Herrnia  j 

And  now  both  rivals,  to  mock  Helena : 

A  trim  exploit,  a  manly  enterprise. 

To  conjure  tears  up  in  a  poor  maid's  eyes. 

With  your  derision !  none,  of  noble  sort,* 

Would  so  offend  a  virgin :  and  extort 

A  poor  soul's  patience,  all  to  make  you  sport. 

Lys.  You  are  unkind,  Demetrius ;  be  not  so ; 
For  you  love  Hermia ;  this,  you  know,  I  know : 
And  here,  with  all  good  will,  with  all  my  heart. 
In  Hermia's  love  I  yield  you  up  my  part ; 
And  yours  of  Helena  to  me  bequeaxh. 
Whom  I  do  love,  and  will  do  to  my  death. 

Hel.  Never  did  mockers  waste  more  idle  breatlu 

Devi.  Lysander,  keep  thy  Hermia ;  I  will  none  r 
If  e'er  I  lov'd  her,  all  that  love  is  gone. 
My  heart  with  her,  but  as  gueslwise,  sojoum'd ; 
And  now  to  Helena  is  it  home  retum'd, 
There  to  remain. 

Lys.  Helen,  it  is  not  so. 

JDem.  Disparage  not  the  faith  thou  dost  not  know, 
Lest,  to  t.hy  peril,  thou  aby  it  dear.' — 
Loo^  where  thy  love  comes ;  yonder  is  thy  dear. 

Enter  Hermia. 

Her.  Dark  night,  that  from  the  eye  his  function 
takes. 
The  ear  more  nuick  of  apprehension  makes ; 
Wherein  it  doth  impair  the  seeing  sense. 
It  pays  the  heai-inir  double  recompense : — 
Thou  art  not  by  mine  eye,  Lysander,  found ; 
Mine  ear,  I  thank  it^  brought  me  to  thy  sound. 
But  whyunidndly  didst  thou  leave  me  so  ? 

Lys.  "why  should  he  stay,  whom  love  doth  press ' 
to  go? 

Her.  What  love  could  press  Lysander  from  my 
^  side  ? 

Lys.  L)'sandcr's  love,  that  would  not  let  him 
'bide, 
Fair  Helena ;  who  more  engilds  the  night 
Than  all  yon  fiery  oes'  and  eyes  of  licht. 
Why  seeii'st  thou  me  ?  could  not  this  make  thee 

know, 
The  hate  I  bear  ti;pe  made  me  leave  thee  so  ? 

Her.  You  spea.tc  uol  as  you  think ;  it  cannot  be. 

Hel.  Lo,  she  is  one  of  this  confederacy ! 
Now  I  perceive  they  have  conjoin'd,  all  three, 
To  fashion  this  false  sport  in  spite  of  me. 
Injurious  Hermia !  most  ungrateful  maid ! 
Have  vou  conspir'd,  have  you  with  these  contriv'd 
To  bait  me  vriih  this  foul  derision  ? 
Is  ail  the  couujfcl  that  we  two  have  sliar'd. 
The  sisters'  vows,  the  hours  that  ire  have  spent. 
When  we  have  chid  tlie  hasty-footed  time 
For  parting  us, — .0,  and  is  all  forgot? 
All  school-days'  friendship,  childhood  innocence  ? 
\Vc,  Hermia,  like  two  artiiiciar  gods. 
Have  with  our  neelds'  created  both  one  flower, 
Botii  on  one  sampler,  sitting  on  one  cushion. 
Both  warbling  of  one  song,  both  in  one  key  ; 
As  if  our  hands,  oar  sides,  voices,  and  minds, 
Had  been  incorporate.     So  we  grew  together, 
Like  to  a  double  cherry,  seeming  parted '; 
But  yet  a  union  in  partition. 
Two  lovely  berries  moulded  on  one  stem : 
So,  with  two  seemmg  bodies,  but  one  heart ; 
Two  of  the  first,  like  coats  in  heraldry. 
Dun  but  to  one,  and  cro^^•n'd  with  one  crest. 
And  will  you  rent  our  ancient  love  asunder. 
To  join  with  men  in  scorning  your  poor  friend  ? 
Il  is  not  friendly,  'tis  not  maidenly  • 

(6)  Ckcles.       (7)  Ingenious.      (8)  Needle*. 


150 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


JctUL 


Our  sex,  as  well  as  I,  may  chide  you  for  it : 
Though  I  alone  do  feel  the  injury. 

Her.  I  am  amaz'd  at  your  passionate  words : 
I  scorn  you  not ;  it  seems  that  you  scorn  me. 

Hel.  Have  you  not  set  Lysander,  as  in  scorn, 
To  follow  me,  and  praise  niy  eyes  and  face  ? 
And  made  your  other  love,  Demetrius, 
(Who  even  but  now  did  spurn  me  with  his  foot,) 
To  call  me  goddess,  nymph,  divine,  and  rare, 
Precious,  celestial '!  Where  fore  speaks  he  this 
To  her  he  hates  ?  and  wherefore  doth  Lysander 
Deny  your  love,  so  rich  within  his  soul, 
And  tender  me,  forsooth,  affection  ; 
But  by  your  setting  on,  by  your  consent? 
What  though  I  be  "not  so  m  grace  as  you, 
So  hung  upon  with  love,  so  fortunate  ; 
But  miserable  most,  to  love  unlov'd  ? 
This  you  should  pity,  rather  than  despise. 

Her".  I  understand  not  what  you  mean  by  this. 

Hel.  Ay,  do  pers^vcr,  counterfeit  sad  looks, 
Make  mows'  upon  me  when  I  turn  my  back ; 
Wink  at  each  other  j  hold  the  sweet  jest  up ; 
This  sport,  well  carried,  shall  be  chronicled. 
If  you  have  any  pity,  grace,  or  manners, 
You  would  not  make  me  such  an  argument. 
Butj  fare  ye  well :  'tis  partly  mine  own  fault ; 
Which  death,  or  absence,  soon  shall  remedy. 

Lys.  Stay,  gentle  Helena  ;  hear  my  excuse ; 
My  love,  my  fife,  my  soul,  fair  Helena ! 

Hel.  0  excellent ! 


Her. 


/Why,  then  you  left  me,— O,  the  gods  forbid ! — 
|In  earnest,  shall  I  say  / 

Lys.  Ay,  by  my  life ; 

And  never  did  desire  to  see  ihee  more. 
Therefore,  be  out  of  hope,  of  question,  doubt. 
Be  certain,  nothing  truer;  'tis  no  jest. 
That  I  do  nate  thee,  and  love  Helena. 

Her.  O  me!  you  juggler!  you  canker-blossom !» 
You  thief  of  love  !  what,  have  you  come  by  night. 
And  stol'n  my  love's  heart  Irom  him  ? 

Hel.      .  Fine,  i'faith! 

Have  you  no  modesty,  no  maiden  shame. 
No  touch  of  bashfulness  /    What,  will  you  tear 
Impatient  answers  from  my  gentle  tongue  ? 
Fie,  lie  !  you  counterfeit,  you  puppet  you ! 

Her.  Puppet!  why  so?" Ay,  liiat  way  goes  the 
game. 
Now  I  perceive  that  she  hath  made  compare 
Between  our  statures,  she  hath  urg'd  her  height; 
And  with  her  personage,  her  tall  personage. 
Her  height,  forsooth,  she  hath  prevail'd  witlihim.— 
And  are  you  grown  so  high  in  his  esteem. 
Because  1  am  so  dwarfish,  and  so  low  ? 
How  low  am  I,  thou  painted  maypole  ?  speak ; 
How  low  am  I  ?  1  am  not  yet  so  low. 
But  that  my  nails  can  reach  unto  thuie  eyes. 

Hd.  I  prav  you,  though  you  mock  me,  gentlemen. 
Let  her  not  hurt  me :  Fwas  never  curst  ;* 
I  have  no  jifl  at  all  in  shrewishness ; 
I  am  a  right  maid  for  my  cowardice  ; 


Sweet,  do  not  scorn  her  so.  (Let  her  not  strike  me :  You,  perhaps,  may  think. 


my  < 
:  Y< 


Dem.  If  she  cannot  entreat,  I  can  compel 

Lys.  Thou  canst  compel  no  more  than  she  en- 
treat ; 
^hy  threats  have  no  more  strength,  than  her  weak 

prayers. — 
Helen,  I  love  thee ;  by  my  life,  I  do ; 
1  swear  by  that  which  I  will  lose  for  thee. 
To  prove  him  false,  that  says  I  love  thee  noL 

Dem.  I  say,  I  love  thee  more  than  he  can  do. 

Lys.  If  thou  say  so,  withdraw,  and  prove  it  too, 

Dem.  Quick,  come, — 

Her.  Lysander,  whereto  tends  all  this  ?| And  now,  so  you  will  let  me  quiet  ^o, 

Lys.  Away,  you  Ethiop !  iTo  Athens  will  I  bear  my  folly  bacK, 

Dem.  No,  no,  sir: — he  will  I  And  follow  you  no  further:  Let  me  go  : 

Seem  to  break  loose ;  take  on,  as  you  would  follow;  You  see  how  simple  and  how  fond*  lam 


Because  she's  something  lower  than  myself. 
That  I  can  match  her. 

Her.  -  Lower !  hark,  again. 

Hel.  Good  Hermia,  do  not  be  so  bitter  with  me. 
I  evermore  did  love  you,  Hermia, 
Did  ever  keep  your  counsels,  iie\rr  wrong'd  you ; 
Save,  that  in  love  unto  Demetrius, 
I  told  him  of  your  stealth  unto  this  wood  : 
He  follow'd  you  ;  for  love,  I  follow'd  him. 
But  he  hath  chid  me  hence  ;  and  threalen'd  me 
JTo  strike  me,  spurn  me,  nay,  to  kill  me  too : 


But  yet  come  not :  You  are  a  tame  man,  go  ! 
Lys.  Hang  off,  thou  cat,  thou  burr:  vile  thing, 
let  loose ; 
Or  I  will  shake  thee  from  me,  like  a  serpent. 
Her.  Why  are  you  grown  so  rude?  what  change 
is  this, 
Sweet  love  ? 

Lys.  Thy  love  ?  out,  tawny  Tartar,  out ! 

Out  loathed  medicine !  hated  potion,  hence ! 
Her.  Do  you  not  jest  ? 

Hel.  Yes,  'sooth ;  and  so  do  you. 

Lys.  Demetrius,  I  will  keep  my  word  with  thee. 
Dem.  I  would,  I  had  your  bond  ;  for,  I  perceive, 
A  weak  bond  holds  vou  ;  I'll  not  trust  your  word. 
Lys.  What,  should  I  hurt  her,  strike  her,  kill 
her  dead  ? 
Although  I  hate  her,  I'll  not  harm  her  so. 
Her.  What,  can  you  do  me  greater  harm,  than 
hate? 


Her.  Whv,  get  vou  gone : 
you  ? 


^Vho  is't  that  hinders 


Hel.  A  foolish  heart,  that  I  leave  here  behind. 

Her.  What,  \\  ith  Lysander  ? 

Htl.  With  Demetrius. 

Lys.   Be  not  afraid :  she  shall  not  harm  thee, 
Helena. 

Dem.  No,  sir;  she  shall  not,  though  you  take 
her  part. 

Hd.    O,  when   she's  angry,  she  is  keen  and 
shrewd ; 
She  was  a  vixen,  when  she  went  to  school ; 
And,  thoueh  she  be  but  little,  she  is  fierce. 

Her.  Little  again  ?  iiothing  but  low  and  little  7  - 
Why  will  you  suffer  her  to  flout  me  thus  ? 
Let  me  come  to  her. 

Lys.  Get  you  gone,  you  dwarf; 

You  minimus,  of  hind'ring  knot-grass'  made ; 
You  bead,  you  acorn. 


Hate  me!  wherefore?  O  me!  what  news,  my  love?  i    Dem.  You  are  too  officious, 

Am  not  I  Hermia  ?  Are  not  you  Lyaander  ?  'in  her  behalf  that  scorns  your  services 


I  am  as  fair  now,  as  I  was  ercwhile. 
Since  nisrht,  you  lov'd  me ;  yet,  since  night  you 
left  me : 

O)  Wry  faces. 

i2J  A  worm  that  preys  on  buds  of  flowers. 

(S)  Shrewish  or  mischievous.        (41  Foohsb. 


[Let  her  alone ;  speajf  not  of  Helena  ; 
Take  not  lier  part :  for  if  thou  dost  intend* 
Never  so  little  show  of  love  to  her, 

(5)  Anciently  knot-?rass  was  believed  to  pre- 
vent the  growth  of  children. 

(6)  Pretend. 


Seme  II. 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


151 


Thou  shalt  aby  it 

Lys.  Now  she  holds  me  not ; 

Now  follow,  if  thou  dar'st,  to  try  whose  right. 
Or  thine  or  mine,  is  most  in  Helena. 

Dem.   Follow  I  nay,  I'll  co  with  thee,  cheek  by 
jole.  [Exeunt  Lys.  and  Dem. 

Her.  You,  mistress,  all  ihis  coil  is  'long  of  you : 
Nav,  go  not  back. 

iJe/.  I  will  not  trust  you,  I ; 

Nor  longer  stay  in  your  curst  company. 
Your  hands,  than  mine,  are  quicker  for  a  fray : 
Mv  legs  are  longer  thou2;h,  to  run  away.       [Exit. 

iler.  I  am  amaz'd,  and  know  not  what  to  say. 

[Exit,  pursuing  Helena. 

Obe.  This  is  thy  negligence  :  still  thou  mistak'st, 
Or  else  connnil'st'tiiy  kuavcrie?  wilfully. 

Puck:  Believe  me,  king  of  sliadows,  I  mistook. 
Did  not  you  tell  me,  I  should  knovv-  the  man 
By  the  Athenian  garments  he  had  on  ? 
And  so  far  blumelcss  proves  my  enterprise, 
That  I  have  'nointed  an  Athenian's  eyes : 
And  so  far  am  I  glad  it  so  did  sort,' 
As  this  their  jangling  I  esteem  a  sport. 

Obe.  Tliou  sce?t,  these  lovers  seek  a  place  to  fight: 
Hie  therefore,  Kobin,  overcast  the  night ; 
The  starry  welkin  cover  thou  anon 
AVith  drooping  fog,  as  black  as  Acheron : 
And  lead  these  testv  rivals  so  astray, 
As  one  come  not  within  another's  way. 
Like  to  Lysander  sometime  frame  thy  tongue, 
Then  stir  "Demetrius  up  with  bitter  wrong; 
And  sometime  rail  thou  like  Demetrius  ; 
And  from  each  other  look  thou  lead  them  thus, 
Till  o'er  their  brows  death-counterfeiting  sleep 
^Vith  leaden  legs  and  batty  wings  doth  creep : 
Then  crush  this  herb  into  Lysander's  eye  ; 
AVhose  liquor  hath  this  virtuous  property,* 
To  take  froiTi  thence  all  error,  with  his  might, 
And  make  his  eye-balls  roil  with  wonted  sight. 
When  they  n^xt  wake,  all  this  derision 
Shall  seeni  a  dream,  and  fruitless  vision  ; 
And  back  to  Athens  shall  the  lovers  wend,* 
With  league,  whose  date  till  death  shall  never  end. 
Whiles  I  in  this  affair  do  thee  employ, 
I'll  to  my  queen,  and  beg  her  Indian'boy  ; 
And  then  I  will  her  charmed  eve  release 
From  monster's  view,  and  all  things  shall  be  peace. 

Puck.   My  fairy  lord,  this  must  be  done  with 
haste  ; 
For  night's  swift  dragons  cut  the  clouds  full  fast, 
And  yonder  shines  Aurora's  harbinger ; 
At  whose  approach,  ghosts,  wandering  here  and 

there. 
Troop  home  to  church-yards  :  damned  spirits  all, 
That  in  cro^s-ways  and  floods  have  burial, 
Alieady  to  their  wormy  beds  are  gone ; 
For  fear  lest  dav  sliould  look  their  shames  upon, 
They  wilfully  themselves  exile  from  light, 
And  must  for  aye  consort  with  black-brow'd  night. 

Obe.  Bnt  wcare  spirits  of  another  sort ; 
I  with  the  Momin^'s  Love"  have  olt  made  sport; 
And,  like  a  forester,  the  groves  may  tread, 
Even  to  the  eastern  gate,  all  fiery  red, 
Openinn;  on  Neptime  with  fair  blessed  beams, 
Turns  into  vellow  irold  his  salt-green  streams. 
But,  notwithstanding,  haste  ;  make  no  delay : 
We  may  effect  this  business  yet  ere  day. 

[Exit  Oberon. 
Puck.   Up  and  down,  up  and  down ; 
I  will  lead  them  no  and  down  : 
I  am  fear'd  in  field  and  town  ; 
Goblin,  lead  them  up  and  down. 

(1)  Happen.    (2)  Medicinal  efficacy.    (3)  Go. 


Here  comec  one. 

Enter  Lysander. 
Lys.  Where  art  thou,  proud  Demetrius  7  spedr 

thou  now. 
Puck.  Here,  villain ;  drawn  and  ready.    Where 

art  thou  ? 
Lys.  I  will  be  witli  thee  straight. 
Puck.  Follow  me  then 

To  plainer  ground. 

[Exit  Lys.  asfoUoteing  the  voice. 

Enter  Demetrius. 
Dem.  Lysander !  speak  again. 

Thou  runaway,  thou  coward,  art  thou  fled  f 
Speak.    In  some  bush  ?  Where  dost  thou  hide  thy 
head? 
Puck.  -Thou  coward,  art  thou  bragging  to  the 
stars, 
Telling  the  bushes  that  thou  look'st  for  wars. 
And  wilt  not  come  ?  Come,  recreant ;  come,  thou 

child; 
I'll  whip  thee  with  a  rod :  He  is  defil'd 
That  draws  a  sword  on  thee. 
Dem.  Yea ;  art  thou  there  ? 

Puck.   Follow  my  voice ;  we'll  try  no  manhood 
here.  [Exeunt. 

Re-enter  Lysander. 
Lys.  He  goes  before  me.  and  still  dares  me  on ; 
When  I  come  where  he  calls,  then  he  is  gone. 
The  villain  is  much  lighter  heel'd  than  I : 
I  foUow'd  fast,  but  faster  he  did  fly ; 
That  fallen  am  I  in  dark  uneven  way. 
And  here  will  rest  me.    Come,  thou  gentle  day  ? 

[Lies  dctoiu 
For  if  but  once  thou  show  me  thy  gray  light, 
I'll  fmd  Demetrius,  and  revenge  this  spite.  [Sleeps, 

Re-enter  Puck  and  Demetrius. 

Puck.  Ho,  ho !  ho,  ho !   Coward,  why  com'st 

thou  not  ? 
Dem.  Abide  me,  if  thou  dar'st ;  for  well  I  wot. 
Thou  runn'st  before  me,  shifting  every  place  ; 
And  dar'st  not  stand,  nor  look  me  in  the  face. 
Where  art  thou  ? 
Puck.  Come  hither ;  I  am  here. 

Dem.   Nay,  then  thou  mock'st  me.    Thou  shalt 
buy  this  dear, 
If  ever  I  thy  face  by  day^-light  see : 
Now,  go  thy  way.    Famtness  constraineth  me 
To  measure'  out  my  length  on  this  cold  bed. — 
By  day's  approach  look  to  be  visited. 

[Lies  down  and  sleeps. 
Enter  Helena. 
Ilet.  O  weary  night,  O  long  and  tedious  night. 

Abate  thy  hours :  shine,  comforts,  from  the  east ; 
That  I  may  back  to  Athens,  by  day-light, 

From  these  that  my  poor  company  detest : — 
And,  sleep,  that  sometimes  shuts  up  sorrow's  eye. 
Steal  me  a  while  from  mine  own  company.  [Sleeps. 
Puck.   Yet  but  three  ?  Come  one  more  ; 
Two  of  both  kinds  malfcs  up  four. 
Here  she  comes,  curst  and  sad : —  . 
Cupid  is  a  knavish  lad, 
Thus  to  make  poor  females  mad. 

Enter  Hermia. 
Her.   Never  so  wearj-,  never  so  in  wo, 
Bedabbled  with  the  dew,  and  torn  with  briers ; 
I  can  no  further  crawl,  no  further  eo  ; 

My  legs  can  keep  no  pace  with  my  desires. 

(4)  Cephalus,  the  paramour  of  Auronu 


IBS 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


Jletir, 


Here  will  I  rest  me,  till  the  break  of  day. 
Heavens  sJiicld  Lysaiider,  if  they  mean  a  fray ! 

[Lies  down. 
Puck.  On  the  ground 
,    Sleep  sound  : 
I'll  apply 
To  your  eye, 
Gentle  lover,  remedy. 

[Sqiieezing  the  juice  on  Lysander's  eye. 

When  thou  wak'st, 

Thou  tak'st 

True  deliffht 

In  the  sight 

Of  thy  former  lady's  eye : 

And  the  country  proverb  known. 

That  every  man  should  take  his  own, 

In  your  waking  shall  be  shown : 

Jack  shall  have  Jill ; 

Nouglit  shall  ^o  ill ; 

The  man  shall  have  his  mare  again,  and  all  shall 

be  well.  [Ex.  Puck. — Dem.  Hel.  ^c.  sleep. 


ACT  IV. 

SCEXE  T.—The  same.    Enter  Titania  and  Bot- 
tom, Fairies  attending  ;  Oberon  behind  unseen. 

Tita.  Come,  sit  thee  down  upon  this  flowery  bed. 
While  I  tny  amiable  cheeks  do  coy,' 
And  stick  musk-roses  in  thy  sleek  smooth  head. 
And  kiss  thy  fair  large  ears,  my  gentle  joy. 

Bot.  Where's  Peas-blossom  ? 

Peas.  Ready. 

Bot.  Scratch  my  head.  Peas-blossom.— Where's 
monsieur  Cobweb  ? 

Coe.  Ready. 

Bot.  Monsieur  Cobweb  ;  fi;ood  monsieur,  pet 
your  weapons  in  your  hand,  and  kill  me  a  retl-hip- 
ped  humble-bee  on  the  top  of  a  thistle  ;  and,  good 
monsieur,  bring  me  the  honey-bag.  Do  not  fret 
yourself  too  much  in  the  action,  monsieur ;  and 
good  monsieur,  have  a  care  the  honey-bag  break 
not ;  I  would  be  loath  to  have  you  overflown  with 
a  honey  bag,  signior. — Where's  monsieur  Mustard- 
seed  ? 

Must.  Ready. 

Bot.  Give  me  your  neif,»  monsieur  Mustcrd-seed. 
Pray  you,  leave  your  courtesy,  good  monsieur. 

Jilutl.  What's  your  will  ? 

Bol.  Nothing,  good  monsieur,  but  to  help  cava- 
Icro  Cobweb  to  scratch.  I  must  to  the  barber's, 
monsieur ;  for,  mefhinks,  I  am  marvellous  hairy 
about  the  face :  and  I  am  such  a  tender  ass,  if  my 
hair  do  but  tickle  me,  I  must  scratch. 

Tita.  What,   wilt  thou   hear  some  music,  my 
sweet  love  ? 

Bot.  I  have  a  reasonable  good  ear  in  music :  let 
U*  have  the  tongs  and  the  buncs.  I 

Tita.  Or,  say,  sweet  Iove,whal  thou  desir'st  to  eat. 

Bot.  Truly,  a  peck  of  provender:  I  could  munch! 
your  good  dry  oats.  Methinks,  I  have  a  greall 
desire  to  a  bottle  of  hay :  good  hay,  sweet  hay, 
hath  no  fellow. 

Tita.  I  have  a  venturous  fairy  that  shall  seek 
The  8<|uirrel's  hoard,  and  letch  thee  new  nuts. 

Bol.  I  had  rather  have  a  handful,  or  two,  of 
dried  peas.  But,  I  pray  you,  let  none  of  your 
people  stir  mc ;  I  have  an  exposition  of  sleep  come 
upon  me. 

TUa.  Sleep  thou,  and  I  will  wind  thee  in  my  arms. 


(1)  Stroke. 


(2)  Fist, 


Fairies,  be  gone,  and  be  all  ways  away. 
So  doth  the  woodbine,  the  honeysuckle, 
Gently  entwist,— the  female  ivy  so 
Enrings  the  barky  fingers  of  the  elm. 
0,  how  1  love  thee !  how  I  dote  on  thee ! 

[  They  sleep. 
Oberon  advances.    Enter  Puck. 

Ohe.  Welcome,  good  Robin.    See'st  thou  this 
sweet  sight? 
Her  dotage  now  Ido  begin  to  pity. 
For  meeting  her  of  late",  behind  "the  wood, 
Seeking  sweet  savours  for  this  hateful  fool, 
I  did  upbraid  her,  and  fall  out  with  her : 
For  she  his  hairv  temples  then  had  rounded 
With  coronet  or  fresh  and  fragrant  flowers  ; 
And  that  same  dew  which  sometime  on  the  buds 
Was  wont  to  swell,  like  round  and  orient  pearls, 
Stood  now  within  the  pretty  flowrets'  eyes, 
Like  tears,  that  did  their  own  disgrace  newail. 
When  I  had,  at  my  pleasure,  taunted  her. 
And  she,  in  mild  terms,  begg'd  my  patience, 
I  then  did  ask  of  her  her  changeling  child  ; 
Which  straight  she  gave  me,  and  her  fairy  sent 
To  bear  him  to  my  bower  in  fairy  land. 
And  now  I  have  the  boy,  I  will  undo 
This  hateful  imperfection  of  her  eyes. 
And,  gentle  Puck,  take  this  transformed  scalp 
From  ofl"  the  head  of  this  Athenian  swain ; 
That  he  awaking  when  the  other  do, 
Mav  all  to  Athens  back  again  repair ; 
Ana  think  no  more  of  this  night's  accidents, 
But  as  the  fierce  vexation  of  a  dream. 
But  first  I  will  release  the  fairy  queen. 
Be,  as  thou  wast  wont  to  be ; 

[  Touching  her  eyes  with  an  herh. 
See,  as  thou  wast  wont  to  see : 
Dian's  bud  o'er  Cupid's  flower 
Hath  such  force  and  blessed  power. 
Now,  my  Titania ;  wake  you,  my  sweet  queen. 

Tita.  My  Oberon  !  What  visions  havei  seen  t 
Methouffhf,  I  was  enamour'd  of  an  ass. 
Obf..  There  lies  your  love. 
TUa.  How  came  these  things  to  pass  ? 

0,  how  mine  eyes  do  loath  his  visage  now  f 

Obe.  Silence,  awhile — Robin,  take  off  this  head 

Titania,  music  call ;  and  strike  more  dead 
Than  common  sleep,  of  all  these  five  the  sense. 
Tita.  Music,  ho !  music  ;  such  as  charmeth  sleep. 
Puck.  Now,  when  thou  tvak'st,  with  thine  own 

fool's  eyes  peep. 
Obe.  Sound,  music.     [Still  music]    Come,  my 
queen,  take  hands  with  me. 
And  rock  the  ground  whereon  these  sleepers  be. 
Now  thou  and  I  are  new  in  amity ; 
And  will,  to-morrow  midnight,  solemnly. 
Dance  in  duke  Theseus'  house  triumphantly, 
And  bless  it  to  all  fair  posterity  : 
There  shall  the  pairs  of  faithful  lovers  be 
Wedded,  with  Theseus,  all  in  jollity. 

Puck.  Fairy  king,  attend  and  mark ; 
I  do  hear  the  morning  lark. 

Obe.  Then,  my  queen,  in  silence  sad, 
Trip  we  after  the  night's  shade: 
AVe  the  globe  can  compass  soon. 
Swifter  than  the  wand'ring  moon. 

Tita.  Come,  my  lord :  and  in  our  flight, 
Tell  me  how  it  came  this  niaht, 
That  I  sleeping  here  was  found, 
With  these  mortals,  on  the  srround.    [Eteitm. 
[Horns  sound  within. 
Enter  Theseus,  Hippolyta,  Egcus,  and  train. 
2'he.  Go,  one  of  you,  find  out  the  forester;— 


Seme  II. 


MIDSUMMER.NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


its 


For  now  our  obserration  is  perform'd : 
And  since  we  have  the  vayward'  oi'lhe  day, 
My  love  shall  hear  Ihe  music  of  my  hounds. — 
Uncouple  in  the  western  valley ;  go ; 
Despatch,  I  say,  and  find  the  lorester. — 
We  will,  fair  queen,  up  to  the  mountain's  top, 
And  mark  the  musical  confusion 
Of  hounds  and  echo  in  conjunction. 

Hip.  I  was  with  Hercules,  and  Cadmus,  once, 
When  in  a  wood  of  Crete  they  bay'd  tha  bear 
With  hounds  of  Sparta :  never  did  I  hear 
Such  gallant  chiding  ;*  for,  besides  the  groves, 
The  skies,  the  fountains,  every  region  near 
Seem'd  all  one  mutual  cry :  I  never  heard 
So  musical  a  discord,  such  sweet  thunder. 

The.  My  hounds  are  bred  out  of  tlie  Spartan 
kind, 
So  flew'd,'  80  sanded  ;  and  their  heads  are  hung 
With  ears  that  sweep  away  the  morning  dew  ; 
Crook-knee'd,  and  dew-lap'd  like  Thessalian  bulls ; 
Slow  ill  pursuit,  but  matcli'd  in  mouth  like  bells. 
Each  under  each.    A  cry  more  tuneable 
Was  never  hoUa'd  to,  nor  cheer'd  with  horn, 
In  Crete,  in  Sparta,  nor  inThessaly: 
Judge,  when  you  hear. — But,  soft ;  what  nymphs 
are  these  ? 

Ege.  My  lord,  this  is  my  daughter  here  asleep : 
And  this,  Lysander :  this  Demetrius  is ; 
This  Helena,  old  Nedar's  Helena  : 
I  wonder  of  their  being  here  together. 

The.  No  doubt,  thsv  rose  up  early,  to  observe 
The  rite  of  May ;  and,  hearing  ourintent. 
Came  here  in  grace  of  our  solemnity. — 
But,  speak,  Egeus ;  is  not  this  the  day 
That  Hermia  should  give  answer  of  her  choice  ? 

Ege.  It  is,  my  lord. 

The.   Go,   bid  the  huntsmen  wake  them  with 
their  horns. 

Horns,  and  shout  tcilhin.    Demetrius,  Lysander, 
Hermia,  and  Helena,  wake  and  start  up. 

The.  Good-morrow,  friends.  St. Valentine  is  past; 
Be?in  these  wood-birds  but  to  couple  novif  ? 

Lys.  Pardon,  mv  lord. 

[He  and  the  rest  kneel  to  Theseus. 

The.  I  pray  you  all,  stand  up. 

I  know,  you  are  two  rival  enemies  : 
How  comes  this  gentle  concord  in  the  world, 
That  hatred  is  so  far  from  jealousy, 
To  sleep  by  hate,  and  fear  no  enmity  ? 

Lys.  My  lord,  I  shall  rcplv  amazedly. 
Half  'sleep,  half  wakinsr:  But  as  yet,!  swear, 
I  cannot  truly  say  how  I  came  here : 
But,  as  I  thiiik,  (for  truly  would  I  speak, — 
And  now  I  do  bethink  mc,  so  it  is  ;) 
I  came  with  Hennia  hither ;  our  intent 
Was,  to  be  gone  from  Athens,  where  we  might  be 
Without  the  peril  of  the  Athenian  law. 

Ege.  Enough,  enough,  my  lord ;  you  have  enough ; 
I  beg  the  law,  the  law,  upon  his  head.— 
They  would  have  stol'n  away,  they  would,  Deme- 
trius, 
TherRb>  to  have  defeated  you  and  me  : 
You,  of  your  wife ;  and  mc  of  my  consent ; 
Of  my  consent  that  she  should  be  your  wife. 

Dem.  My  lord,  fair  Helen  told  me  of  Ihsir  stealth, 
Of  this  their  purpose  hither,  to  this  wood ; 
And  I  in  fury  hiiher  foUow'd  them  ; 
Fair  Helena  in  fancy*  following  me. 
But,  my  good  lord,  I  wot  not  by  what  power 
(But  by  some  power  it  is,)  my  love  to  Hermia, 

(1)  Forepart.  (2)  Sound. 

(3)  The  uews  arc  the  large  chaps  of  a  hound. 


Melted  as  doth  the  snow,  seem*  to  me  Mvr 
As  the  remembrance  of  an  idle  gawd,' 
Which  ill  my  childhood  I  did  dote  upon : 
And  all  the  faith,  the  virtue  of  my  heart. 
The  object,  and  the  pleasure  of  mine  eye, 
Is  only  Helena.     To  her,  mv  lord. 
Was  I  betroth'd  ere  I  saw  Hermia  : 
But,  like  in  sickness,  did  I  loath  this  food : 
But,  as  in  health,  come  to  my  natural  taste. 
Now  do  I  wish  it,  love  it,  long  for  it, 
And  will  for  evermore  be  true  to  it. 

The.  Fair  lovers,  you  are  fortunately  tnet : 
Of  this  discourse  we  more  will  hear  anon.— 
Egeus,  I  will  overbear  your  will ; 
For  in  the  temple,  by  and  by  with  us, 
These  couples  shall  eternally  be  knit. 
And,  for  the  morning  now  is  something  worn, 
Our  purpos'd  hunting  shall  be  set  aside. — 
Away,  with  us,  to  Athens :  Three  and  three. 
We'll  hold  a  feast  in  great  solemnity. — 
Come,  Ilippolyta. 

[Ereunl  The.  Hvp.  Ege.  and  train. 

Dem.  These  things  seem  small,  and  undistin- 
gujshable. 
Like  far-'oft' mountains  turned  into  clouds. 

Her.  Methinks,  I  see  these  things  with  parted  eye, 
When  every  thing  seems  double. 

Hel.  So  methinks : 

And  I  have  found  Demetrius  like  a  jewel, 
Mine  own,  and  not  miiic  own. 

Dem.  It  seems  to  me 

That  yet  we  sleep,  we  dream. — Do  not  you  think. 
The  duke  was  here,  and  bid  us  follow  him  ? 

Hit.  And  Hippolyta. 

Her.  Yea :  and  my  father. 

Lys.  And  he  did  bid  us  follow  to  the  temple. 

Dem.  Why  then,  we  arc  awake :  let's  follow  him  ; 
And,  by  the  way,  let  us  recount  our  dreams.    [Exe, 

Jis  they  go  out,  Bottom  awakes. 

Bot.  When  my  cue  comes,  call  me,  and  I  will 
answer ; — my  next  is,  ^losl  fair  Pyramxis. — Hey, 
ho! — Peter  Quince!  Flute,  the  bellows-mender! 
Snout,  the  tinker  !  Starveling  !  God's  my  life  ! 
stolen  hence,  and  left  me  asleep !  I  have  had  a  most 
rare  vision.  1  have  had  a  dream, — past  the  wit  of 
man  to  sav  v.hat  dream  it  was :  Man  is  but  an  ass, 
if  he  go  about  to  expound  this  dream.  Methought 
I  was — there  is  no  man  call  tell  what.  Methought 
I  was,  and  methought  I  had, — But  man  is  but  a 
oatched  fool,  if  he  wHl  offer  to  say  what  methought 
I  had.  The  eye  of  man  hath  not  heard,  the  ear  of 
•nan  hath  not  seen  ;  man's  hand  is  not  able  to  taste, 
his  tongue  to  conceive,  nor  his  heart  to  report,  what 
my  dream  was.  I  will  get  Peter  Quince  to  write  a 
ballad  of  this  dream  :  it  shall  be  called  Bottom's 
Dream,  because  it  hath  no  bottom  :  and  I  will  sing 
it  in  the  latter  end  of  a  play,  before  the  duke : 
Peradventure,  to  make  it  the  more  gracious,  I  shall 
sing  it  at  her  death.  [£j;i<. 

SCEJ^E  J/.— Athen*.  .S  roflni  in  Quince's 
House.  Enter  Quince,  Flute,  Snout,  and 
Starveling. 

Q,nin.  Have  vou  sent  to  Bottom's  house  ?  is  he 
come  home  j-et  1 

Star.  He  cannot  be  heard  of.  Out  of  dOubt,  !i4 
is  transported. 

F/::.  If  he  come  not,  then  the  play  is  marred ; 
It  goes  not  forward,  doth  it  ? 

Q((in.  It  is  not  possible :  you  have  net  a  man  m 


(4)  Love. 


U 


(5)  Toy. 


m 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


JietK 


all  Athens,  able  to  dischare-e  Prramus,  but  he. 

Flu.  No:  he  hath  simply  tlie  best  wit  of  any 
handicraft  man  in  Athens. 

Qutn.  Yea,  and  the  best  person  too :  and  he  is 
a  Tery  paramour  for  a  sweet  voice. 
^  Flu.  You  must  say,  paragon :  a  paramour  is, 
God  bless  us,  a  thing'of  nought. 

Enter  Snug. 

Snug.  Masters,  the  duke  is  coming  from  the 
temple,  and  there  is  two  or  three  lords  and  ladies 
more  married :  if  our  sport  had  gone  forward,  we 
had  all  been  made  men. 

Flu.  0  sweet  bully  Bottom !  Thus  hath  he  lost 
sixpence  a-day  during  his  life  ;  he  could  not  have 
'scaped  sixpence  a-day  ;  an  the  duke  had  not  iriven 
him  sixpence  a-day  lor  playine  Pyramus,  I'll  be 
hanf^ed ;  he  would  have  deserved  it :  sixpence  a-day, 
in  Pyramus,  or  notiiing. 

Enter  Bottom. 

Sot.  Where  are  these  lads?  where  are  these 
hearts  ? 

^uin.  Bottom! — O  most  courageous  day!  0 
most  happy  hour ! 

Bot.  Masters,  I  am  to  discourse  wonders :  but 
ask  me  not  what ;  for,  if  I  tell  you,  I  am  no  true 
Athenian.  I  will  tell  you  every  thing,  right  as  it 
fell  out. 

QuMi.  Let  us  hear,  sweet  Bottotn. 

Bot.  Not  a  word  of  me.  All  that  I  will  tell  you, 
is",  that  the  duke  hath  dined :  Get  your  apparel  to- 
gether ;  good  strings  to  your  beards,  new  ribbons 
to  your  pumps ;  meet  presently  at  the  palace ; 
every  man  look  o'er  his  part,  for,"  the  short  and  the 
loiij;  is,  our  play  is  preferred.  In  any  case,  let 
Thisby  have  clean  linen ;  and  let  not  him,  that 
plays  the  lion,  pare  his  nails,  for  they  shall  hansr  out 
for  the  lions  claws.  And,  most  dear  actor?,  eat  no 
onions,  nor  garlic,  for  we  are  to  utter  sweet  breath ; 
and  I  do  not  doubt,  but  to  hear  them  say,  it  is  a 


away. 


«-ay;    p 
ILxetm 


ACT  V. 

SCE.YE  I. — The  same.  »^n  apartment  in  the 
Palace  0/ Theseus.  £rt/er  Theseus,  Hippolyta, 
Philostrate,  Lords,  and  wlltendants. 

Hip.  'Tis  strange,  my  Theseus,  that  these  lovers 
speak  of. 

The.  More  strange  than  true.  I  never  may  believe 
These  antinue  fables,  nor  these  fairy  toys. 
Lovers,  ana  madmen,  have  such  seething  brains, 
Such  shaping  fantasies,  that  apprehend 
More  than  cool  reason  ever  comprehends. 
The  lunatic,  the  lover,  and  the  poet, 
Are  of  imagination  all  compact:' 
One  sees  more  devils  than  vast  hell  can  hold  ; 
That  is,  the  madman  :  the  lover,  all  as  frantic. 
Sees  Helen's  beauty  in  a  brow  of  Egypt : 
The  poet's  eye,  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolling, 
Doth  glance  from  heaven  to  earth,  from  earth  to 

heaven ; 
And,  as  imagination  bodies  forth 
The  forms  of  things  unknown,  the  poet's  pen 
Turns  them  to  shapes,  and  gives  to  airy  nothing 
A  local  habitation,  and  a  name. 
Such  tricks  hath  strong  imagination ; 

!1)  Arc  made  of  mere  imagination.    (2)  Stability. 
S)  Pastime,        (4)  Short  account. 


That,  if  it  would  but  apprehend  some  joy, 
It  comprehends  some  b  ringer  of  that  joy ; 
Or,  in  the  night,  imagining  some  fear, 
How  easy  ««  a  busli  suppos'd  a  bear  ! 

Hip.  But  all  the  story  of  the  night  told  over, 
And  all  their  minds  transfigur'd  so  together, 
More  witnesseth  than  fancy's  images. 
And  grows  to  something  of  great  constancy  ;* 
But,  howsoever,  strange,  and  admirable. 

Enter  Lysander,  Demetrius,  Hermia,  and  Helena. 
The.  Here  come  the  lovers,  full  of  joy  and  mirth.— 
Joy,  gentle  friends !  joy,  and  fresh  days  of  love, 
Accompany  your  hearts ! 

Lt/$.  More  than  to  us 

Wait  on  your  royal  walks,  your  board,  your  bed. 

The.  Come  now  ;  what  nfa^ks,  what  dances  shall 
we  have. 
To  wear  away  this  long  age  of  three  hours,. 
Between  our  after-supper)  and  bed-time  ? 
Where  is  our  usual  manager  of  mirth  ? 
What  reveb  are  in  hand  /  is  there  no  play, 
To  ease  the  anguish  of  a  torturing  hour  ? 
Call  Philostrate. 

Philost.  Here,  mighty  Theseus. 

The.  Say,  what  abridgment^  have  you  for  thi» 
evening  ? 
What  mask  ?  what  music  ?  How  shall  we  beguile 
Th<*  lazy  time,  if  not  with  some  delight  ? 

Philost.  There  is  a  brief,*  how  many  sports  are 
ripe; 
Make  choice  of  which  your  liighness  will  see  first. 
[Gitiing  a  paper. 

The,  [Reads.]    The  battle  with  the  Centaurs,  to 
be  s?<?!o- 

Bv  an  Jilhenian  eunrich  to  the  harp. 
We'll  none  of  that:  that  have  I  told  my  love, 
In  trlory  of  my  kinsman  Hercules. 

The  riot  of  the  tipsy  Bacchanals, 

Tearing  the  Thracian  singer  in  their  rage. 
That  is  an  old  device  ;  and  it  was  play'd 
When  I  from  Thebes  came  last  a  conqueror. 

The  thrice  three  Musts  mourning  for  the  death 

Of  learning,  late  deceased  in  beggary. 
That  is  some  satire,  keen,  and  critical. 
Not  sorting  with  a  nuptial  ceremony. 

^  tediuus  brief  scene  of  young  Pyramus, 

Jlnd  his  love  Thisbe :  very  tragical  mirth. 
Merry  and  tragical  ?  Tedious  and  brief  ? 
That  is,  hot  ice,  and  wonderous  ctrange  snow. 
How  shall  we  find  the  concord  of  this  discord  ? 

Philost.  A  play  there  is,  my  lord,  some  ten  words 

Which  is  as  brief  as  I  have  known  a  play : 
By  ten  words,  my  lord,  it  is  too  lor<r  ; 
Which  makes  it  tedious  :  for  in  all  i  he  play 
There  is  not  one  word  apt,  one  player  nttcd. 
And  tragical,  my  noble  lord,  it  is  ; 
For  Pyramus  therein  doth  kill  himself.  1 

Which,  when  I  saw  rehears'd,  I  must  confess. 
Made  mine  eyes  water ;  but  more  merry  tears 
The  passion  of  Icud  laujrhter  never  shed. 

The.  What  are  they,  that  do  play  it  ? 

Philost.  Hard-handed  men,  that  work  in  Athens 
here, 
Which  never  labour'd  in  their  minds  till  now; 
And  now  have  toil'd  their  unbreath'd*  memories 
With  this  same  plav,  against  your  nuptial. 

The.  And  we  will  hear  it 

Philost.  No,  my  noble  lord. 

It  is  not  for  you  :  I  have  heard  it  over. 
And  it  is  nothing,  nothing  in  the  world ; 

Nv         (5)  Unexercised. 


Semel. 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


155 


Unless  you  can  find  sport  in  their  intents, 
Extremely  stretch'd,  and  conn'd  with  cruel  pain, 
To  do  you  service. 

The!  I  will  hear  that  play ; 

For  never  any  thing  can  be  amiss, 
When  simpleness  and  duty  tender  it. 
Go,  bring  them  in  : — and  "take  your  places,  ladies. 
[ExU  Philostrate. 

Hip.  I  love  not  to  see  wretchedness  o'erchare'd, 
And  dutv  in  his  service  perishing. 

The.  Why,  gentle  sweet,  you  shall  see  no  such 
thing. 

Hip.  He  savs,  they  can  do  nothing  in  this  kind. 

The.   The  tinder  we,  to  give  them  thanks  for 
nothinc-. 
Our  sport  shall  be,  to  take  what  tliey  mistake : 
And  what  poor  duty  cannot  do. 
Noble  respect  takes  it  in  misclit,  not  merit. 
Where  I  have  come,  great  clerks  have  purpos'd 
To  greet  me  with  premeditated  welcomes  ; 
"W'here  I  h;ive  seen  them  shiver  and  look  pale, 
Make  periods  in  the  midst  of  sentences, 
Throttle  their  practis'd  accent  in  their  tears. 
And,  in  conclusion,  dumbly  have  broke  oft', 
Not  paying  me  a  welcome  :  Trust  nie,  sweet. 
Out  of  this  silence,  yet,  I  pick'd  a  welcome ; 
And  in  the  modesty  of  fearful  duty 
I  read  as  much,  as  from  the  rattling  tongue 
Of  saucy  and  audacious  eloquence. 
Love,  therefore,  and  tongue-lied  simplicity. 
In  least,  ."peak  most,  to  my  capacity. 

Enter  Pliilostrate. 
Philost.  So  please  your  grace,  the  prologue  is 

add  rest.' 
The.  Let  him  approach.    [Flourish  of  trumpets. 

Enter  Prologue. 

Prol.  If  we  offend,  it  is  with  otir  good  vlll. 

That  vou  should  think,  we  come  not  to  offend, 
Bid  with  good  tcill.     To  show  our  simple  sfciW, 

That  is  the  true  beginning  of  our  eiid. 
Consider  then,  tee  come  but  in  despite. 

We  do  not  come  as  minding  to  content  yott, 
Our  true  intent  is.    All  for  your  delight, 

We  are  not  here.    That  you  should  here  repent  yott. 
The  actors  are  at  hand  ;  and,  by  their  show. 
You  shall  know  all,  that  you  are  like  to  know. 

The.  This  fellow  doth  not  stand  upon  points. 

Lys.  He  hath  rid  his  prologue,  like  a  rough  colt, 
he  knows  not  the  slop.  A  good  moral,  my  lord :  It 
is  not  enough  to  speak,  but  to  speak  true. 

Hip.  Indeed  he  hath  played  on  this  prologue, 
like  a  child  on  a  recorder  ;^  a  sound,  but  not  in 
government. 

The.  His  speech  was  like  a  tangled  chain  ;  no- 
thing impaired,  but  all  disordered.    Who  is  next  7 

Enter  Pyramus  awdThisbe,  Wall,  Moonshine,  and 
Lion,  as  in  dumb  show. 

Prol.  '  Gentles,  perchance,  you  wonder  at  this 

show; 
'  But  wonder  on,  till  truth  make  all  things  plain. 
•This  man  is  Pyramus,  if  you  would  know  ; 

'  This  beauteous  lady  Thisby  is,  cerldin. 
•This  man,  with  lime  and  rousrh-cast,  doth  present 
'Wall,  that  vile  wall  which  did  these  lovers 
sunder : 
•And  through  wall's  chink,  poor  souls,  they  are 
content 
'  To  whisper ;  at  the  which  let  no  man  wonder. 

(1)  Ready.       (2)  A  musical  instrument 


•  This  man,  with  lantern,  dog,  and  bush  of  thorn, 

'  Presenleth  moonshine :  lor,  if  you  will  know, 
'  By  moonshine  did  ihese  lovers  tliink  no  scorn 

'To  meet  alNinus'  tomb,  there,  there  to  woo. 
'  This  grisly  beast,  which  by  name  lion  hight,* 
'  The  trusty  Thisby,  coming  first  Ivy  night, 
'  Did  scare  away,  or  rather  did  affright ; 
'  Andj  as  she  fled,  her  mantle  she  did  fall ; 

'  \\  hich  lion  vile  with  bloody  mouth  did  slain : 
'  Anon  coEies  Pyramus,  sweet  youth,  and  tall, 

'  And  finds  his  trusty  Thisby's  mantle  slain  : 
'  Whereat  with  blade,  with  bloody  blameful  blade, 

'  He  bravely  broach'd  his  boiling  bloody  breast ; 
'And,  Thisby  tajrying  in  mulberry  shade, 

'  His  dagijer  droV,  and  died,     for  all  the  rest, 
'  Let  Lion,  Moonshine,  Wall,  and  lovers  tw  ain, 
'At  large  discourse,  wliile  here  ti)ey do  remain.' 
[Exeunt  Prol.  Thisbe,  Lion,  and  Moonshine. 

The.  I  wonder,  it' the  lion  be  to  speak. 

Dein.  No  wonder,  my  lord :  one  lion  may,  when 
many  asses  do. 

Wall.  '  In  this  same  interlude,  it  doth  befall, 
'  Tiiat  I,  one  Snout  by  name,  present  a  wall : 
'  And  such  a  wall,  as  I  would  have  you  think, 
' That  had  in  it  a  crann3'd  hole,  or  chink, 
'  Through  w  hich  the  lovers,  Pyramus  and  Thisby, 
'  Did  wliispcr  often  very  secretly. 
'  This  loam,  this  rough-cast,  and  this  stone,  doth 

show 
'  That  I  am  that  same  wall ;  the  truth  is  so : 
'  And  this  the  cranny  is,  ri»iit  and  sinister, 
'  Through  which  the  fearful  lovers  are  to  whisper.' 

The.  Would  vou  desire  lirac  and  hair  to  speak 
better  ?" 

Dem.  It  is  the  wittiest  partition  tiiat  ever  I  heaT4 
discourse,  my  lord. 

The.  Pyramus  draws  near  the  wall ;  silence  I 

Enter  Pyramus. 
Pyr.  *  0  srrim-look'd  night !  O  night  with  hue  so 

black  ! 
'  O  night,  which  ever  art.  when  dar  is  not  t 
'  O  night,  O  nisht,  alack,  alack,  alack, 

'  I  fear  my  Thisby's  promise  is  forgot ! — 
'  And  thou,'0  wall,  O  sweet,  O  lovely  wall, 
'  That  stand'st  between  her  father's  ground  and 
mine; 
'  Thou  wall,  O  wall,  O  sweet  and  lovely  wall, 
'  Show  me  thy  chink,  to  blink  through  with  mine 
eyne.  [Wall  holds  vp  his  fingers. 

'  Thanks,  courteous  wall :  Jove  shield  thee  well  for 
this ! 
'  But  what  see  I  ?  No  Thisby  do  I  see. 
'  O  wicked  wall,  through  whom  I  see  no  bliss ; 
*  Curst  be  thy  stones  for  thus  deceiving  me  !' 
The.  The  wall,  methinks,  being  sensible,  should 
curse  again. 

Pyr.  No,  in  truth,  sir,  he  should  not.  Deceiving 
me,  IS  Thisby's  cue :  she  is  to  enter  now,  and  I  am 
to  spy  her  through  the  w  all.  You  shall  see,  it  will 
fall  pat  as  I  told  you : — ^Yonder  she  comes. 

Enter  Thisbe. 

This.  'O  wall,  full  often  hast  thou  heard  my 
moans,  ' 

'  For  parting  my  fair  Pyramus  and  me  : 
'  My  cherry  lips  have  often  ki^s'd  thy  stones  ; 

'  Thy  stones  with  lime  and  hair  knit  up  in  thee.* 

Pyr'.  '  I  sbc  a  voice ;  now^  will  I  to  the  chink^ 
'  To  spy  an  I  can  hear  my  Thisby's  face. 
'Thisby!' 

This'.  '  My  love !  thou  art  my  lore,  I  tbinlb* 

(S)  Callea. 


fli 


MIDSUMMER.NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


^et  K 


P^.  *  Think  what  thou  wilt,  I  am  thy  lover's 
grace ; 
'  And  like  Limander  am  I  trusty  still.' 

This.  '  And  I  hlce  Helen,  till  the  fates  me  kill.' 

Pyr.  '  Not  Shafalus  to  Procrus  was  so  true.' 

Tnis.  '  As  Shafalus  to  Procrus,  I  to  you.' 

Pyr.  '  O,  kiss  me  throujih  the  hole  of  this  rile 
wall.' 

This.  *  I  kiss  the  wall's  hole,  not  your  lips  at  all.' 

Pyr.    '  Wilt  thou   at  Ninny's  tomb  meet  me 
straightway  ?' 

This.  '  Tide  life,  tide  death,  I  come  without  de- 
lay.' 

Wall.  '  Thus  have  I,  Wall,  my  part  discharged  so; 
'And,  being  done,  thus  Wall  away  doth  go.' 

[Exeunt  Wall,  Pyramus,  and  Thisbe. 

The.  Now  is  tiie  mural  down  between  the  two 
nei&fhbours. 

pern.  No  remedy,  my  lord,  when  walls  are  so 
wilful  to  hear  without  warning. 

Hip.  This  is  the  silliest  stutttliat  ever  I  heard. 

The.  The  best  in  this  kind  are  but  shadows  :  and 
the  worst  are  no  worse,  if  imajrination  amend  them. 

Hip.  It  must  be  your  imagination  then,  and  not 
theirs. 

The.  If  we  imagiftd  fto  worse  of  them,  than  they 
of  themselves,  they  may  pass  for  excellent  men 
Here  come  two  noble  beasts  in,  a  moon  and  a  lion 

Enter  Lion  and  Moonshine. 

Lion.  '  You,  ladies,  you,  whose  gentle  hearts  do 

fear 
*  The  smallest  monstrous  mouse  that  creeps  on 

floor, 
•May  now,  perchance,  boUi  quake  and  tremble 

here, 
'  When  lion  rough  in  ivildest  rage  doth  roar. 

*  Then  know,  that  I,  one  Snug  the  joiner,  am 

*  A  lion  fell,  nor  else  no  lion's  dam : 

'  For  if  I  should  as  lion  come  in  strife 
'  Into  this  place,  'twere  pity  on  my  life.' 

The.  A  very  gentle  beast,  and  of  a  good  con- 
science. 

Dem.  The  very  best  at  a  beast,  my  lord,  that 
e'er  I  saw. 

lAis.  This  lion  is  a  very  fox  for  his  valour. 

The.  True ;  and  a  goose  for  his  discretion. 

Dem.  Not  so^  my  lord :  for  his  valour  cannot 
eirrv  his  discretion ;  and  the  fox  carries  the  jroose. 

J7te.  His  discretion,  I  am  sure,  cannot  carry  his 
valour:  for  the  jjoosc  carries  not  the  fox.  It  is 
w^ell :  leave  it  to  his  discretion,  and  let  us  listen  to 
the  moon. 

J\Ioon.  '  This  lantern  doth  the  horned  moon  pre- 
sent :' 

Dem.    He  should  have  worn  the  horns  on  his 
head. 

The.  He  is  no  crescent,  and  his  horns  are  invisi- 
ble within  the  circumference. 

.Moon.    '  This  lantern  doth  the  horned  moon 
present ; 
'  Myself  the  man  i'  th'  moon  do  seem  to  be.' 

The.  This  is  the  greatest  error  of  all  the  rest : 
the  man  should  be  put  into  the  lantern :  How  is  it 
else  the  man  i'  tlie  moon  ? 

Dem.  He  dares  not  come  there  for  the  candle : 
for,  you  see,  it  is  already  in  snuff.' 

Hu>.  I  am  aweary  of  this  moon  :  Would,  he 
would  change ! 

The.  It  appears,  by  his  small  light  of  discretion, 
that  he  is  in  Oie  wane :  but  yet,  in  courtesy,  in  all 
reasOn,  we  must  stay  the  lime. 

(1)  In  anger ;  a  quibble.        (2)  Coarse  yam. 


Lys.  Proceed,  mOon. 

Momi.  All  that  I  have  to  say,  is,  to  tell  you, 
that  the  lantern  is  the  moon ;  I.  the  man  in  the 
moon ;  this  thorn-bush,  my  thorn-bush  ;  and  this 
dog,  my  dog. 

Vem.  Why,  all  these  should  be  in  the  lantern  ; 
for  they  are  in  the  moon.  But,  silence;  here  cornea 
Thisbe. 

Enter  Thisbe. 

This.  •  This  is  old  Ninny's  tomb  :  Where  is  my 

love  ?' 
Lion.  *  Oh—.' 

[The  Lion  roors.— Thisbe  runt  off. 
Dem.  Well  roared,  lion. 
The.  Well  run,  Tliisbe, 

Hip.   Well   shone,   moon.— Truly,  the   moon 
shines  with  a  good  grace. 
The.  W"en  moused,  lion. 

[The  lion  tears  Thisbe's  mantle,  and  exit. 
Dem.  And  so  comes  Pyramus. 
Lys.  And  then  the  moon  vanishes. 

Enter  Pyramus. 

Pyr.  '  Sweet  moon,  I  thank  thee  for  thy  sunny 

beams ; 
'  I  thank  thee,  moon,  for  shining  now  so  bright : 
'  For,  by  thy  gracious,  golden  glittering  streams, 
'  I  trust  to  taste  of  truest  Thisby's  sight. 
'  But  stay  ;— O  spite  ! 
'  But  mark: — Poor  knight, 
'  What  dreadful  dole  is  here ! 

'  Eyes,  do  you  see  ? 
'  O  dainty  duck !  O  dear ! 
'  Thy  mantle  good, 

*  AVhat,  stain'd  wilh  blood  ? 
*  Approach,  ye  furies  fell ! 

'  O  fates  !  come,  come  ; 

*  Cut  thread  and  thrum ;" 

'  Quail,  crush,  conclude,  and  quell !' ' 
The.   This  passion,  and  the  death  of  a  dear 
friend,  would  go  near  to  make  a  man  look  sad. 
Hip.  Beshrew  my  heart,  but  I  pitv  the  mafl. 
Pyr.    '  O,  wherefore,  nature,  diJst  thou  lions 

frame  ? 
'  Since  lion  vile  hath  here  deflour'd  my  dear : 
'  Which  is — no,  no — which  wns  the  fairest  dame, 
'  That  liv'd,  that  lov'd,  that  lik'd,  that  look'd  with 
cheer,* 
'  Come,  tears,  confound  5 
'  Out,  sword,  and  wound 
'The  pap  of  Pyramus : 
'  Ay,  that  left  pap, 
'  Where  heart  doth  hop : 
'  Thus  die  I,  thus,  thus,  thus. 
'  Now  am  I  dead, 
'  Now  am  I  fled ; 
'  My  foul  is  in  the  sky : 

*  Tongue,  lose  thy  light ! 

*  Moon,  take  thy  flight ! 
'  Now,  die,  die,  die,  "die,  die. 

(Dies. — Exit  Moonshine. 

Dem.  No  die,  but  an  ace,  for  him ;  for  he  is  but 
one. 

Lys.  Less  than  an  a(;e,  man ;  for  he  is  dead ; 
he  is  nothinp. 

The.  With  the  help  of  a  surgeon,  he  might  yet 
recover,  and  prove  an  ass. 

Hip.  How  chance  Moonshine  is  gone,  before 
Thisbe  comes  back  and  finds  her  lover  7 

The.  She  will  find  him  by  star-light. — Here  she 
comes ;  and  her  passion  ends  the  play. 


(3)  Destroy. 


(4)  Counte^&anc^. 


SCMS  U. 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


isr 


Enter  Thisbe. 


Hip,  Methinks,  she  should  not  use  a  long  one, 
for  such  a  Pyramus  :  I  hope,  she  will  be  brief. 

Dein.  A  mote  will  turn  the  balance,  which  Py- 
ramus, which  Thisbe,  is  the  better. 

Lys.  She  hath  spied  him  already  with  those 
sweet  eyes. 

Dem.  And  thus  she  moans,  videlicet. 

TAw.     '  Asleep,  mv  love  ? 
'  What,  dead,  my  dove  ? 
'  O  Pyramus,  arise, 

'  Speak,  speak.    Quite  dumb  ? 
'  Dead,  dead  ?  A  tomb 
'  Must  cover  thy  sweet  eyes. 
'  These  lily  brows, 
'  This  cherry  nose, 
'  These  yellow  cowslip  cheeks, 
'  Are  gone,  are  gone  : 
'  Lovers,  make  moan  ! 

*  His  eyes  were  green  as  leeks. 

'  O  sisters  three, 

'  Come,  come,  to  me, 

•  With  hands  as  pale  as  milk ; 

'  Lay  them  in  gore, 
'  Since  you  have  shore 
'  With  shears  his  thread  of  silk. 
'  Tongue,  not  a  word : — 
*  Come,  trusty  sword  ; 
'  Come,  blade,  my  breast  imbrue ; 
'  And  farewell,  friends ; — 
'  Thus,  Thisby  ends : 
'  Adieu,  adieu,  adieu.'  [Dies. 

The.  Moonshine  and  Lion  are  left  to  bury  the 
dead. 
Dem.  Ay,  and  Wall  too. 

Bot.  No,  I  assure  yo:i :  the  wall  is  down  that 
parted  their  fathers.  Will  it  please  you  to  see  the 
epilogue,  or  to  hear  a  Bergomask  dance,  between 
two  of  our  company  ? 

The.  No  epilogue,  I  pray  you ;   for  your  play 
needs  no  excuse.   Never  excuse;  for  when  the  play- 
•TS  are  all  dead,  there  need  none  to  be  blame^l. 
Marry,  if  he  that  writ  it  had  play'd  Pyramus,  and 
hanged  himself  in  Thisbe's  garter,  it  would  have 
been  a  fine  traged  v :  and  so  it  is,  truly ;  and  very 
notably  discharged.     But  come,  your  Bergomask : 
let  your  epilonnc  alone.    [Here  a  dance  o/Clowns. 
The  iron  tongue  of  miduiirht  h.ith  told  twelve: — 
Lovers,  to  bed  ;  'tis  almost  fairy  time. 
I  fear  we  shall  out-sleep  the  coming  mom, 
As  much  as  we  this  night  have  overwatch'd. 
This  palpable  gross  play  hath  well  beguil'd 
The  heavy  gait'  of  night. — Sweet  friends,  to  bed. — 
A  fortnight  hold  we  this  solemnity, 
In  nightly  revels,  and  new  jollity.  [Exeunt 

SCEXE  //.— Ejitcr  Puck. 

Puck.  Now  the  hungry  lion  roars, 

And  the  wolf  behowis  the  moon ; 
Whilst  the  heavy  ploughman  snores, 

All  with  weary  task  fordone.* 
Now  the  wasted  brands  do  glow. 

Whilst  the  scritch-owl,  scritching  loud, 
Puts  the  wretch,  that  lies  in  wo, 

In  remembrance  of  a  shroud. 
Now  it  is  the  time  of  night, 

That  the  graves,  all  gaping  wide, 
Every  one  let*  forth  his  sprite, 

In  the  church- way  paths  to  glide : 
And  we  fairies,  that  do  run 

By  the  triple  Hecate's  team. 


From  the  presence  of  the  sun. 

Following  darkness  like  a  dream, 
Now  are  frolic  ;  not  a  mouse 
Shall  disturb  this  hallow'd  house : 
I  am  sent,  with  broom  before. 
To  sweep  the  dust  behind  the  door. 

Enter  Oberon  and  Titania,  with  their  Train. 

Obe.  Through  this  house  give  glimmering  light, 

By  the  dead  and  drowsy  fire : 
Every  elf,  and  fairv  sprite. 

Hop  as  light  as  bird  from  brier ; 
And  this  ditty,  after  me. 
Sine  and  dance  it  trippingly. 

Tita.  First  rehearse  this  song  by  rot« : 
To  each  word  a  warbling  note. 
Hand  in  hand,  with  fairy  grace. 
Will  we  sing,  and  bless  this  place. 

SONG,  AND  DANCE. 

Obe.  Now,  until  the  break  of  day. 

Through  this  house  each  fairy  straj. 

To  the  best  bride-bed  will  we. 

Which  bv  us  shall  blessed  be ; 

And  the  issue,  there  create. 

Ever  shall  be  fortunate. 

So  shall  all  the  couples  three 

Ever  true  in  loving  be : 

And  the  blots  of  nature's  hand 

Shall  not  in  their  issue  stand  ; 

Never  mole,  hare-lip,  nor  scar. 

Nor  mark  prodigious,'  such  as  art 

Despised  in  nativity. 

Shall  upon  their  children  be. — 

With  this  field-dew  consecrate. 

Every  fairy  take  his  gait  ;* 

And  each  several  chamber  bless, 

Through  this  palace  with  sweet  peace : 

E'er  shall  it  in  safety  rest. 

And  the  owner  of  it  blest. 
Trip  away ; 
Make  no  stay; 

Meet  me  all  by  break  of  day. 

[Exeunt  Oberon,  Titania,  and  Trmn, 
Puck.  If  we  shadmcs  have  offended. 

Think  but  this  {and  all  is  mended,) 
That  you  have  hut  slumbered  here, 
While  these  visions  did  appear. 
Jind  this  weak  and  idle  t/ieine, 
JtTo  more  iritlding  but  a  dreani, 
Gentles,  do  not  reprehend  ; 
If  you  pardon,  we  will  mend, 
^md,  as  I  am  an  hottest  Puck, 
If  we  have  unearned  luck 
Aow  tn  ^scane  the  serpenCs  tone;ue, 
IVe  will  malce  amends,  ere  long : 
Else  the  Puck  a  liar  call. 
So,  good  night  unto  you  all. 
Give  me  your  haiids,  if  we  befriends, 
Jlnd  Robhi  shall  restore  amends.         [Exit. 


Wild  and  fantastical  as  this  play  is,  all  the  part* 
in  their  various  modes  are  well  written,  and  give 
the  kind  of  pleasure  which  the  author  designed. 
Fairies  in  his  time  were  much  in  fashion  ;  common 
tradition  had  made  them  familiar,  and  Spencer's 
poem  had  made  them  great. 

JOHNSON. 


(1)  Progress, 


(2)  Overcome* 


(3)  ForteQtouj, 


(4)Wigr. 


(    158    ) 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 
^  Forester. 


Ferdinand,  king  of,\'avarre. 

Biron,  < 

I.ongaville,  >  lords,  attending  on  the  kiiig. 

Dumain,      ) 

Boyet,       }  lords,   attending  on  the  ptincess  of 

Mercade,  )         France. 

Don  Adriano  de  Armado,  a  fantastical  Spaniard.  Jaquenetta,  o  country  wench. 

Sir  Nathaniel,  a  curate. 

Holofernes,  a  schoolnutster. 

Dull,  a  constable. 

Costard,  a  clown. 

Moth,  page  to  »innado. 


Princess  of  France. 

Rosaline,      ) 

Maria,         >  ladies,  attending  on  tht  princess. 

Katharine,    ) 


Officers  and  others,  attendants  on  the  king  an* 
princess. 


Scene,  Js'avarre. 


ACT  I. 

SCEXE  I.—Xatarre.  Jl  park,  with  a  palace 
in  it.  Enter  the  King,  Biron,  Longarille,  and 
Dumain. 

King. 

JLiET  fame,  that  all  iiiint  after  in  their  lives, 
Live  rejfisler'd  upon  our  brazen  tombs, 
And  then  ?race  \i»  in  the  disgrace  of  death ; 
When,  spite  of  cormorant  devouring;  time. 
The  endeavour  of  this  present  breath  may  buy 
Tiiat  honour,  Avhich  shall  b;ite  his  scythe's  keen 

edjje. 
And  make  us  heirs  of  all  eternity. 
Therefore,  brave  conquerors  ! — for  so  you  are, 
That  war  against  your  own  affections, 
And  tlie  huge  army  of  the  world's  desires, — 
Our  late  edict  sshall  strongly  stand  in  force  : 
Navarre  shall  be  the  wonder  of  tiie  world  ; 
Our  Court  shall  be  a  littlcacad^uie. 
Still  and  contemplative  in  livins?  art. 
You  three,  Bir6n,  Dumain,  and  Longaville, 
Havf*  sworn  for  three  years'  term  t.o  live  wilh  me,  - 
My  fellow-scholars,  and  to  keep  those  statutes, 
That  are  recorded  in  this  schedule  here  : 
Your  oaths  are  past,  and  now  subscribe  your  names ; 
That  his  own  hand  may  strike  his  honour  down, 
That  violates  the  smalliest  branch,  herein : 
If  vou  are  ami'd  lo  do,  as  sworn  to  do, 
Subscribe  to  your  deep  oath,  and  keep  it  too. 

Lon^.  I  am  resolv'd :  'tis  but  a  three  years'  fast; 
The  tnmd  shall  banquet,  though  the  body  pine  : 
Fat  paunches  have  U-an  pates ;  and  dainty  bits 
Make  rich  the  ribs,  but  bank'rout  quite  the  wits. 

Dam.  My  loving  lord,  Dumain  is  mortified  ; 
The  jfrosser  manner  of  these  world's  deliirhts 
He  throws  upon  the  gross  world's  baser  slaves: 
To  love,  to  wealth,  to  pomp,  I  pine  and  die  ; 
With  all  these  livinj;  in  philosophy. 

Biron.  I  can  but  say  tlieir  protestation  over. 
So  much,  dear  lie2;e,  1  have  already  sworn, 
That  is.  To  live  aiid  study  here  three  years. 
But  there  are  other  strict  observances : 
As,  net  to  see  a  woman  in  that  term ; 
Wwch,  I  hope  well,  i«  not  enrolled  there : 


And,  one  day  in  a  week  to  touch  no  food  ; 
And  but  one  meal  on  every  day  beside ; 
The  which,  I  hope,  is  not  enrolled  there  : 
And  then  to  sleep  but  three  hours  in  the  night, 
And  not  to  be  seen  to  wink  of  all  the  day  ; 
fWheu  I  was  wont  to  think  no  harm  all  night. 
And  make  a  dark  night  too  of  half  the  day ;) 
W^hich,  I  hope  well,  is  not  enrolled  there  : 
O,  those  are  barren  tasks,  too  hard  to  keep ; 
Not  to  see  ladies,  study,  fast,  not  sleep. 

King.  Your  oatn  is  pass'd  to  pass  away  from  these 

Biron.  Let  me  say  no,  my  liege,  an  if  you  please  ; 
I  only  swore,  to  study  with  your  srrace. 
And  stay  here  in  your  court  for  three  years'  space. 

Long' You  swore  to  that,  Biron,  and  to  the  rest. 

Biron.  By  yea  and  nay,   sir,  then  I  swore  in 
jest.— 
What  is  the  end  of  study  ?    let  me  know. 

Ki7ig.  Whv,  that  to  know,  which  else  we  should 
not  know. 

Biron.  Things  hid  and  barr'd,  you  mean,  from 
common  sense ; 

A'msr.  Av,  that  is  study's  god-like  recompense. 

Biron.  Come  on,  then,  I  will  swear  to  study  so. 
To  know  the  thin^  I  am  forbid  to  know  : 
As  thus — To  study  where  I  well  may  dine. 

When  I  to  feast  expressly  am  forbid  ; 
Or,  study  where  to  meet  some  mistress  fine, 

When  mistresses  from  common  sense  are  hid : 
Or,  having  f  worn  too  hard-a-keoping  oath. 
Study  to  break  it,  and  not  break  my  troth. 
If  stiidy'.s  gain  be  thus^  and  this  be  so, 
Study  knou's  that,  which  yet  it  doth  not  know : 
Swear  uie  to  this,  and  I  will  ne'er  say,  no. 

King.  These  be  the  stops  that  hinder  study  quite, 
And  train  our  intellects  to  vain  delight. 

Biron.  Why,   all  delights  are  vain  ;    but  that 
most  vain, 
Which,  with  pain  purchas'd,  doth  inherit  pain  : 
As,  painfully  to  pore  upon  a  book, 

To  seek  the  like  of  truth  ;  while  truth  the  while 
Doth  falsely'  blind  the  eyesight  of  his  look  : 

Light,  seekinjT  light,  doth  light  of  light  beguile : 
So,  ere  you  find  where  light  in  darkness  lies. 
Your  light  grows  dark  by  losing  of  your  eyes. 

(1)  Diihooeitly  treacherously. 


Semi  I. 


LOVE'S  LABOUll'3  LOSf . 


ISd 


Study  me  how  to  please  the  eye  indeed, 

By  fixinff  it  upon  a  fairer  eye  ; 
Who  dazzling  so,  that  eye  shall  be  his  heed, 

And  give  him  light  that  was  it  blinded  by. 
Study  is  like  the  heaven's  jjlorious  sun. 

That  will  not  be  deep-search'd  with  saucy  looks ; 
Small  have  continual  plodders  ever  won, 

Save  base  authority  from  others'  books. 
These  earthly  godfathers  of  heaven's  lights. 

That  gave  a  name  to  every  fixed  star, 
Have  no  more  profit  of  their  shining  nights, 

Than  those  that  walk,  and  wot  not  what  they  are. 
Too  much  to  know,  is,  to  know  nought  but  fame  ; 
And  every  godfather  can  give  a  name. 

Kins.  How  well  he's  read,  to  reason  against 
reading ! 

Dum.   Proceeded  well,  to  stop  all  good  pro 
ceeding  ! 

Long.  He  weeds  the  corn,  and  still  lets  grow  the 
weeding. 

Biron.    The  spring  is  near,  when  green  geese 
are  a  breeding. 

Dam.  How  follows  that  ? 

liiron.  Fit  in  his  place  and  time. 

Z>itni.  In  reason  nothing. 

Biron.  Something  then  in  rhyme. 

Lons;.  Biron  is  like  an  envious  sneaping'  frost. 
That  bites  the  first-born  infants  of  the  spring. 

Biron.  Well,  say  I  am  ;  why  should  proud  sum- 
mer boast. 
Before  the  birds  have  any  cause  to  sing  ? 
Whv  should  I  joy  in  an  abortive  birth  ? 
At  Christmas,  I  no  more  desire  a  rose 
Than  wish  a  snow  in  May's  new-fangled  shows  ;* 
But  like  of  each  thing,  that  in  season  grows. 
So  you,  to  study  now  it  is  too  lafe. 
Climb  o'er  the  house  to  unlock  the  little  gate. 

Kfjig-.  Well,  sit  you  out :  (lo  home,  Bir6n ;  adieu ! 

Biron.  No,  my  good  lord  ;  I  have  sworn  to  stay 
with  you : 
And,  though  I  have  for  barbarism  spoke  more', 

Than  for  that  angel  knowledge  you  can  say, 
Vet  confident  I'll  keep  wh;it  I  have  swore, 

.\nd  'bide  the  penance  of  each  three  years'  day. 
Give  me  the  paper,  let  me  read  the  same  ; 
And  to  the  strict'st  decrees,  I'll  write  my  name. 

King.  How  well  this  yielding  rescues  thee  from 
shame ! 

Biron.    [Rtads.'\    Item,   That  no  woman  shall 
come  icithin  a  mUe  of  my  court. — 
And  hath  this  been  proclaim'd  / 

Long.  Four  days  ago. 

Biron.  Let's  see  the  penalty. 
[Reails.] — On  pain  of  losing  her  tongve. — 

Who  devis'd  this  ? 

Long.  Marry,  that  did  I. 

Biron.  Sweet  lord,  and  why  7 

Long.  To  fright   them   lience  with  that  dread 
penalty. 

Biron.  A  dangerous  law  against  gentility. 

[Reads.]  Item,  If  any  man  be  seen  to  talk  tctth 
a  woman  icithin  the  term  of  three  years,  he  shall 
endure  such  pithlic  shame  as  the  rest  of  the  court 
can  possibly  devise — 
This  article,  my  liege,  yourself  must  bre.ik ; 

For,  well  you  know,  here  comes  in  embassy 
The  French    king's  daughter,    with  yourself  to 
speak, — 

A  maid  of  grace,  and  c6mplete  majesty, — 
About  surrender-up  of  Aquitain 

To  her  decrepit,  sick,  and  bed-rid  father : 


fl)  Nipping. 
S)  Reside. 


(i)  Games,  sports. 
(4)  Temptations. 


Therefore  this  article  b  made  in  rain, 
Or  vainly  comes  the  admired  princess  hither. 
King.  What  say  you,  lords  ?    why,  this  w*j 

quite  forgot. 
Biron.  So  study  evermore  is  overshot ; 
While  it  doth  study  to  have  what  it  would, 
It  doth  forget  to  do  the  thin^  it  should  : 
And  when  it  hath  the  thing  it  huntelh  most, 
'Tis  won,  as  towns  with  fire  ;  so  won,  so  lost. 
King.  We  must,  of  force,  dispense  with  thia 
'      decree ; 
She  must  lie'  here  on  mere  necessity. 
Biron.  Necessity  will  make  us  all  forsworn 
Three  thousand  times  within  this  three  years' 
space : 
For  every  man  with  his  affects  is  born ; 

Not  by  might  master'd,  but  by  special  grace : 
If  I  break  faitii,  this  word  shall  spealc  for  me, 
I  am  forsworn  on  mere  necessity. — 
So  to  the  laws  at  large  I  write  my  name : 

[Subscribes, 
And  he  that  breaks  them  in  the  least  degree, 
Stands  in  attainder  of  eternal  shame  : 

Suggestions*  are  to  others,  as  to  me ; 
But,  I  believe,  although  I  seem  so  loih, 
I  am  the  last  that  will  last  keep  his  oath. 
But  is  there  no  quick'  recreation  granted : 
King.  Ay,  that  there  is :  our  court,  you  know, 
is  haunted 
With  a  refined  traveller  of  Spain ; 
X  man  in  all  the  world's  new  fashion  planted. 
That  hath  a  mint  of  phrases  in  his  brain : 
One,  whom  the  music  of  his  own  vain  tongue 

Doth  ravish,  like  enchantino-  harmony  ; 
A  man  of  complements,  whom  right  and  wrong 

Have  chose  as  umpire  of  their  mutiny : 
Tliis  child  of  fancy,  that  Armado  liight,* 

For  interim  to  our  studies,  shall  relate. 
In  high-born  words,  tlie  worth  of  many  a  knight 

From  tawny  Spain,  lost  in  the  world's  debate. 
How  you  delight,  ray  lords,  I  know  not,  I ; 
But  I  protest,  I  love  to  hear  him  lie. 
And  I  will  use  him  for  my  minstrelsy. 

Biron.  Armado  is  a  most  illustrious  wight, 
A  man  of  fire-new  words,  fashion's  own  Knight. 
Long.  Costard  the  swain,  and  he,  shall  be  our 
sport ; 
And,  so  to  study,  three  years  is  but  short. 

Enter  Dull,  with  a  letter,  and  Costard. 

Dull.  Which  is  the  duke's  own  person  7 

Bimn.  This,  fellow ;  What  would'st  ? 

Dull.  I  myself  reprehend  his  own  person,  for  I 
am  his  grace's  tharborough :'  but  I  would  see  his 
own  person  in  flesh  and  blood. 

Biron.  This  is  he. 

Dull.  Sicnior  Arme — Arme — commends  rou.— 
There's  viijany  abroad  ;  tliis  letter  will  tell  you 
iTioro. 

Cost.  Sir,  the  contempts  thereof  are  as  touching 
me. 

King.  A  letter  from  the  magnificent  Armado. 

Biron.  How  low  soever  the  matter,  I  hope  in 
God  for  high  words. 

T^ng.  A  high  hope  for  a  low  having :  God  gnnt 
us  patience ! 

Biron.  To  hear?  or  forbear  hearing 7 

Lmig.  To  hear  meekly,  sir,  and  to  laugh  mode* 
rately  ;  or  to  Ibrbear  both. 

Biron.  Well,  sir,  be  it  as  the  style  shall  give  ut 
cause  to  climb  in  the  merriness. 

(5)  Lively,  sprightly.  (6)  Called, 

(7) »,  c.  third-borough,  a  peace-officer. 


I(tB 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


^f^. 


Cost.  The  matter  is  to  me,  sir,  as  concerning 
Jaqucnettft.  The  manner  oi'  it  is,  I  was  taken 
with  the  maimer. ' 

Biron.  In  what  manner? 

Cost.  In  manner  and  form  following,  sir ;  all 
those  three:  I  was  seen  with  her  in  ihe  manor 
house,  sitting  with  her  upon  the  form,  and  taken 
following  her  into  the  park  ;  which,  put  together, 
is,  in  manner  and  form  following.  Now,  sir,  for 
the  manner, — it  is  the  manner  ot  a  man  to  speak 
to  a  woman :  for  the  form, — in  some  form. 

Biroti.  For  the  following,  sir  7 

Cost.  As  it  snail  follow  in  my  correction ;  and 
God  defend  the  right ! 

King.  Will  you  hear  this  letter  with  attention  ? 

Biron.  As  we  would  hear  an  oracle. 

Cost.  Such  is  the  simplicity  of  man  to  hearken 
after  the  flesh. 

King.  [Reads.]  Great  deputy,  the  tcelkin^s  vice- 
gerent, and  sole  dominator  of  J^avarre,  my  souVs 
tarth^s  God,  and  body^s  fostering  patron, — 

Cost,  Not  a  word  of  Costara  yet. 

King.  So  it  is. — 

Cost.  It  may  be  so :  but  if  he  9ay  it  is  SQ,  he  is, 
in  telling  true,  but  so,  so. 

King.  Peace. 

Cost.  —  be  to  me,  and  ever}'  man  that  dares 
not  fight!— 

King.  No  words. 

Cost.  —  of  other  men's  secrets,  I  beseech  vou. 

King.  So  it  is,  besieged  icilli  sable-counired 
melancholy,  I  did  commend  the  black-ovpressing 
humour  to  the  most  wholesome  physic  of  tny  health- 
giving  air  ;  and,  as  I  am  a  genttevian,  betook  mtj- 
self  to  walk.  The  time  lohen  ?  .^ibout  the  sixth 
hour ;  when  beasts  most  graze,  birds  best  peck,  and 
vien  sit  down  to  that  nourishment  which  iscalled 
supper.  So  much  for  the  time  when.  J\''cwforthe 
fp-ound  which ;  which,  I  mean,  I  icalked  upon : 
it  is  ycleped  thy  park.  ■  Then  for  the  placu  where ; 
where,  t  mean,  I  did  encounter  that  obscene  ana 
most  preposterous  event,  that  drawelh  frmn  my 
snoic-tnhite  pen  the  ebon-coloured  ink,  xohich  hen 
thou  vieicest,  beholdest,  snrveyest,  or  seest :  but  to 
the  place,  lohere, — It  standeth  north-north-east  and 
by  east  from  the  west  corner  of  thy  curious-knotted 
garden:  there  did  I  see  that  loio-spirited  swain, 
that  base  minnow  of  thy  mirth, 

Cost.  Me. 

King.  —  that  unlettered  small-knowing  sold, 

Cost.  Me. 

King.  —  that  shaHo^c  vassal, 

Cost.  Still  me. 

King.  — tohich,  as  I  remember,  hight  Cos- 
lard, 

Cost.  0  me ! 

Kin^.  —  sorted  and  consorted,  contrary  to  thy 
established  proclaimed  edict  and  continent  can/xn, 
with — with, — 0  with — but  with  this  I  passio7i  to 
say  wherewith — 

Cost.  With  a  wench. 

King.  —  with  a  child  of  our  grandmother  Eve, 
a  female;  or,  for  thy  mare  sxceel  understanding,  a 
woman.  Him  I  (as  my  ever-esteemed  duty  pricks 
me  on)  have  sent  to  thee,  to  receive  the  meed  of 
punishment,  by  thy  stoeet  grace's  officer,  Antony 
Dull;  a  man  of  good  repute,  carriage,  bearing, 
and  estimation. 

D\dl.  Me,  an't  shall  please  vou ;  I  am  Antony 
Dull. 

King.  For  Jaquenetta  {so  is  the  weaker  vessel 
called,  which  I  apprehended  with  the  aforesaid 


(I)  Iq  the  fact. 


(2)  A  young  man. 


swain,)  I  keep  her  as  a  vessel  of  thy  law^sfury; 
and  shall,  at  the  least  of  thy  sweet  notice,  bring  her 
to  triid.  Thine,  in  all  compliments  of  devoted  atid 
heart-bumins^  heat  of  duly, 

DON  ADRIANO  DE  ARMADO. 

Biron.  This  is  not  so  well  as  I  looked  for,  but 
the  best  that  ever  I  heard. 

King.  Ay,  the  best  for  the  worst.  But,  sirrah, 
what  say  you  to  this  ? 

Cost.  Sir,  I  confess  the  wench. 

Ki7ig.  Did  you  hear  the  proclamation  ? 

Cost.  I  do  confess  much  of  the  hearing  it,  but 
little  of  the  marking  of  it. 

Kitig.  It  was  proclaimed  a  year's  imprisonment, 
to  be  taken  with  a  wench. 

Cost.  I  was  taken  with  none,  sir,  I  was  taken 
with  a  damosel. 

King.  Well,  it  was  proclaimed  damosel. 

Cost.  This  was  no  damosel  neither,  sir ;  she  was 
a  virgin. 

Ki7ig.  It  is  so  varied  too ;  for  it  was  proclaimed, 
virgin. 

Cost.  If  it  were,  I  deny  her  virginity ;  I  was 
taken  with  a  maid. 

King.  This  maid  will  not  serve  your  turn,  sir. 

Cost.  This  maid  will  serve  my  turn,  sir. 

King.  Sir,  I  will  pronounce  your  sentence ;  You 
shall  fast  a  Meek  with  bran  and  water. 

Cost.  I  had  rather  pray  a  month  with  mutton 
and  porridge. 

King.  And  Don  Armado  shall  be  your  keeper.— 
My  lord  Biron  see  him  deliver'd  o'er. — 

And  go  %ve,  lords,  to  put  in  practice  that 
which  each  to  other  hath  so  strongly  sworn. 
[Exeunt  King,  Longaville,  anil  Dumain. 

Biron.  I'll  lay  my  head  to  any  good  man's  hat, 
These  oaths  and  laws  will  prove  an  idle  scorn. 
— Sirrah,  come  on. 

Cost.  I  sutler  fer  the  truth,  sir;  for  true  it  is,  I 
was  taken  wilh  Jaquenetta,  and  Jaquenetta  is  a 
true  girl ;  and  therefore.  Welcome  tlie  sour  cup  of 
prosperity !  Aflliction  may  one  day  smile  ag;ain, 
and  till  then,  Sit  thee  down,  sorrow !    _   {Exeunt. 

SCEJ\rE*II.-^9nother  part  of  the  same.     Anna- 
do's  house.    Enter  Armado  and  Moth. 

Arm.  Boy,  what  sign  is  it,  when  a  roan  of  great 
spirit  grows  melancholy  ? 

J\Joth.  A  great  sicn,  sir,  that  he  will  look  sad. 

Jlrtn.  Why,  sadness  is  one  and  the  self-sam« 
thing,  dear  imp. 

Moth.  No,  no ;  O  lord,  sir,  no. 

Arm,  Ho^v  canst  thou  part  sadness  and  melan- 
choly, my  tender  Juvenal  ?* 

Jiloth.  By  a  familiar  demonstration  of  the  worii- 
ing,  my  tough  senior. 

Ann.  Why  tough  senior  ?  whv  tough  senior  ? 

Moth.  Why  tender  Juvenal?  whv  tender  juvcnal? 

Arm.  I  spoke  if,  tender  juvcnal,  as  a  congruent 
epitheton,  appertaining  to  thy  young  days,  which 
we  may  nominate  tender. 

Moth.  And  I,  tough  senior,  as  an  apperlinent 
title  to  your  old  time,  which  we  may  name  tough. 

Arm.  Pretty,  and  apt. 

Moth.  How  mean  you,  sir?  I  pretty,  and  my 
saying  apt  ?  or  I  apt,  and  my  saying  pretty  ? 

Arm.  Thou  pretty,  because  little. 
Moth.  Little  prettv, because  little:  Whereforeapt? 

Arm.  And  therefore  apt,  because  quick. 

Moth.  Speak  you  this  in  my  praise,  master? 

Arm.  In  thv  condign  praise. 

Moth.  I  will  praise  an  eel  with  the  same  praise. 

Ann,  What  ?  that  an  eel  is  ingenious  t 


Sctn$  U. 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


ICl 


Moth.  That  an  eel  is  quick. 

Arm.  I  do  say,  thou  art  quick  in  answers :  Thou 
heatest  my  blood. 

Moth.  I  am  answered,  sir. 

Arm.  1  love  not  to  be  crossed. 

Molh.  He  speaiis  the  mere  contrary,  crosses 
love  not  him.  [Aside 

Arm.  I  have  promised  to  study  three  years  with 
the  duke. 

JVJo/A.  You  may  do  it  in  an  hour,  sir. 

Arm.  Impossible. 

J\Ioth.  How  many  is  one  thrice  told  ? 

Arm.  I  am  ill  at  reckoning,  it  fittelh  the  spirit  of 
a  tapster. 

Moth.  You  are  a  gentleman,  and  a  gamester,  sir. 

Arm.  1  confess  both ;  they  are  both  the  varnish 
of  a  complete  man. 

J\Ioth.  Then,  I  am  sure  you  know  how  much  the 
^oss  sum  of  deuce-ace  amounts  to. 

Arm,  It  dolh  amount  to  one  more  than  two. 

Moth.  Which  the  base  vulgar  do  call,  three. 

Arm.  True. 

Jdolh.  Why,  sir,  is  this  such  a  piece  of  study  ? 
Now  here  is  three  studied,  ere  you'll  thrice  wink: 
and  how  easy  it  is  to  put  years  to  the  word  three, 
and  study  three  years  in  two  words,  the  dancing- 
horse  will  tell  you. 

Arm.  A  most  fine  figure ! 

Moth.  To  prove  you  a  cypher.  [Aside. 

Arm,  I  will  hereupon  confess,  I  am  in  love:  and, 
as  it  is  base  for  a  soldier  to  love,  so  am  I  in  love 
with  a  base  wench.  If  drawing  my  sword  against 
the  humour  of  affection  would  deliver  me  from  the 
reprobate  thought  of  it,  I  would  take  desire  pri- 
soner, and  ransom  him  to  any  French  courtier  for 
a  new  devised  courtesy.  I  think  scorn  to  sigh ; 
methinks,  I  should  out-swear  Cupid.  Comfort  me, 
boy :  What  great  men  have  been  in  love  ? 

Moth.  Hercules,  master. 

Arm.  Most  sweet  Hercules! — More  authority, 
dear  boy,  name  more ;  and,  sweet  my  child,  let 
them  be  men  of  good  repute  and  carriage. 

Moth.  Samson,  master:  he  was  a  man  of  good 
carriage,  great  carriage  ;  for  he  carried  the  town- 
gates  on  his  back,  like  a  porter:  and  he  was  in  love. 

Arm.  0  well-knit  Samson !  strong-jointed  Sam- 
son !  I  do  excel  thee  in  my  rapier,  as  much  as  thou 
didst  me  in  carrying  gates.  I  am  in  love  too, — ^Who 
was  Samson's  love,  my  dear  Moth? 

Moth.  A  woman,  master'. 

Arm.  Of  what  complexion? 

Moth.  Of  all  the  four,  or  the  three,  or  the  two  ; 
or  one  of  the  four. 

Ann.  Tell  me  precisely  of  what  complexion. 

Moth.  Of  the  sea- water  green,  sir. 

Arm.  Is  that  one  of  the  (bur  complexions? 

Moth.  As  I  have  read,  sir ;  and  the  best  of  them 
too. 

Arm.  Green,  indeed,  is  the  colour  of  lovers:  but 
to  have  a  love  of  that  colour,  methinks,  Samson 
had  small  reason  for  it.  He,  surely,  affected  her 
for  her  wit. 

Moth.  It  was  so,  sir ;  for  she  had  a  jrreen  wit. 

Arm.  My  love  is  most  immaculate  white  and  red. 

Moth.  Most  maculate  thoughts,  master,  are 
masked  under  such  colours. 

Arm.  Define,  define,  well-educated  infant. 

Moth,  My  father's  wit,  and  my  mother's  tongue, 
assist  me ! 

Arm.  Sweet  inTocation  of  a  child ;  most  pretty, 
and  pathetical ! 


11! 


The  name  of  a  coin  once  current 
Of  which  (be  is  naturally  possessed. 


Moth.  If  she  be  made  of  white  and  red. 
Her  faults  will  ne'er  be  known ; 
For  blushing  cheeks  by  faults  are  bred, 

And  fears  by  pale-ivnite  shown : 
Then,  if  she  fear,  or  be  to  blame, 

By  this  you  shall  not  know  ; 
For  still  her  cheeks  possess  the  same, 
Which  native  she  doth  owe.* 
A  dangerous  rhyme,  master,  against  the  reason  of 
white  and  red. 

Arm.  Is  there  not  a  ballad,  boy,  of  the  King  and 
the  Beggar  ? 

Moth.  The  world  was  very  guilty  of  such  a  bal- 
lad some  three  ages  since :  but,  1  think,  now  'tis 
not  to  be  found  ;  or,  if  it  were,  it  would  neither 
serve  for  the  writing,  nor  the  tune. 

Ann.  I  will  have  the  subject  newly  writ  o'er, 
that  I  may  example  my  digression'  by  some  mighty 
precedent.  Boy,  I  do  love  that  country  girl,  that  I 
took  in  the  park  wiih  the  rational  hind  Costard; 
she  deserves  Avell. 

Moth.  To  be  whipped;  and  yet  a  better  loTe 
than  my  master.  [Aside, 

Arm.  Sing,  boy ;  my  spirits  grow  heavy  in  love- 
Molh,  And  that's  great  marvel,  loving  »  light 
wench. 
Arm,  I  say,  sing. 
Moth.  Forbear  till  this  company  be  past. 

Enter  Dull,  Costard,  and  Jaquenetta. 

DuU.  Sir,  the  duke's  pleasure  is,  that  you  keep 
Costard  safe ;  and  you  must  let  him  take  no  delijrht, 
nor  no  penance  ;  buta'mustfastthreedaysa-week: 
For  this  damsel,  I  must  keep  her  at  the  park  ;  she 
is  allowed  for  tlie  day-woman.*    Fare  you  well. 

Arm,  I  do  betray  myself  with  blushing. — Maid. 

Jaq.  Man. 

Arm,  I  will  visit  thee  at  the  lodge. 

Jaq.  That's  hereby. 

Amu  I  know  where  it  is  situate. 

Jaq.  Lord,  how  wise  you  are ! 

Arm.  I  will  tell  thee  wonders. 

Jaq.  With  that  face  ? 

Arm.  I  love  thee. 

Jaq.  So  I  heard  you  say. 

Arm,  And  so  farewell. 

Jaq.  Fair  %veather  after  you ! 

Dull.  Come,  Jaquenetta,  away. 

[Exeunt  Dull  ontl  Jaquenetta. 

Arm,  Villain,  thou  shalt  fast  for  thy  offences, 
ere  thou  be  pardoned. 

Cost.  Well,  sir,  I  hope,  when  I  do  it,  I  shall  do 
it  on  a  full  stomach. 

Arm.  Thou  shalt  be  heavily  punished. 

Cost.  I  am  more  bound  to  you,  than  your  fellows, 
for  they  are  but  lightly  rewarded. 

Arm.  Take  away  this  villain  ;  shut  him  up. 

Moth.  Come,  you  transgressing  slave  ;  away. 

Cost.  Let  me  not  be  pent  up,  sir ;  I  will  fast, 
beinq:  loose. 

Moth.  No,  sir ;  that  were  fast  and  loose :  thou 
shalt  to  prison. 

Cost.  Well,  if  ever  I  do  see  the  merry  days  of 
desolation  that  I  have  seen,  some  shall  sec; — 

Moth,  What  shall  some  see  ? 

Cost.  Nay,  nothing,  master  Moth,  but  what  they 
look  upon.  It  is  not  for  prisoners  to  be  too  silent 
in  their  words ;  and,  therefore,  I  will  say  nothing : 
I  thank  God,  I  have  as  little  patience  as  another 
man  ;  and,  therefore,  I  can  be  quiet. 

[Exeunt  Moth  and  Costard. 

Arm.  I  do  affect*  the  very  ground,  which  is  base, 

(3)  Transgression.    (4)  Dairy^woman.   (5)  Lore* 


im 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOSf. 


Jiet  tL 


where  her  shoe,  which  is  baser,  guided  by  her  fool,  I  Between  lord  Perisort  and  the  beauteous  heir 

which  is  basest,  doth  tread.     I  shall  be  forswoml  Of  Jacques  Falcoriuridixc  solemnized, 

(which  isa  great  argument  of  falsehood,)  if  I  love;|In  Normandy  saw  I  this  Longaville: 

and  how  can  that  be  true  love,  which  is  (lilsely  at-iA  man  of  sovereign  parts  he  is  esteem'd; 

tempted  ?  Love  is  a  familiar  ;  love  is  a  devil :  therel  Well  fitted  in  the  arts,  "rlorious  in  arms  : 

is  no  evil  an;,'el  but  love.      Yet  Samson  was  so{  Nothing  becomes  him  ill,  that  he  would  well. 

tempted:  and  he  had  an  excellent  strength  :  yet  i  The  only  soil  of  his  fair  virtue's  gloss, 

was  Solomon  so  seduced ;  and  he  had  a  very  good i  (If  virtue's  gloss  will  stain  with  any  soil,) 

wit.     Cupid's  butt-ahafl.'  is  too  hard  for  Hercules'  Is  a  sharp  wit  match'd  with  too  blunt  a  will : 

club,  and  therefore  too  much  odds  for  a  Spaniard's  Whose  edge  hath  power  to  cut,  whose  will  still 

rapier.    The  iirst  and  second  cause  will  not  serve'  wills 

my  turn  ;  ths  passado  ha  respects  not,  the  duello! It  should  none  spare  that  come  within  his  power, 


he  regards  not :  his  disTfrace  is  to  be  called  boy; 
but  his  glory  is,  to  subdue  men.  Adieu,  valour! 
rust,  rapier !  be  still,  drum !  for  your  manager  is 
in  love  ;  yea,  he  lorcth.  Assist  me,  some  extern - 
poral  god  of  rhyme,  for,  I  am  sure,  I  shall  turn  son- 
netteer.  Devise  wit ;  write  pen ;  for  I  am  for  whole 
Tolumes  in  folio.  [Exit. 


ACT  II. 


SCEJ^E  I. — Another  part  of  the  same.    A  pavi- 
lion and  tents  tit  a  distance.    Enter  the  Princess 
of  France,  Rosaline,  Maria,  Katharine,  Boyet, 
Lords,  and  other  attendants. 
Boyet.  Now,  madam,  summon  up  your  dearest* 
spirits : 
Consider  who  the  king  your  father  sends ; 
To  whom  he  sends  ^  and  what's  his  embassy : 
Yourself,  held  precious  in  the  world's  esteem , 
To  parley  with  the  sole  inheritor 
Of  all  perfections  that  a  man  may  owe. 
Matchless  Navarre ;  the  plea  of  no  less  weight 
Than  Aquitain ;  a  dowry  for  a  queen. 
Be  now  as  prodigal  of  all  dear  grace, 
As  nature  was  in  making  graces  dear, 
When  she  did  starve  the  general  world  beside, 
And  prodigally  gave  them  all  to  you. 
fnn.  Good  lord  Boyet,  my  beauty,  though  but 
mean. 
Needs  not  the  painted  flourish  of  your  praise ; 
Beauty  is  bought  by  judgment  of  the  eye, 
Not  utter'd  by  base  sale  of  chapmen's  tongues  ; 
I  am  less  proud  to  hear  you  tell  my  worth, 
Than  you  much  willing  "to  be  counted  wise 
In  spending  your  wit  in  the  praise  of  mine. 
But  now  to  task  the  tasker, — Good  Boyet, 
You  are  not  ignorant,  all-telling  fame 
Poth  noise  abroad,  Navarre  hath  made  a  tow. 
Till  painful  study  shall  out-wear  three  years, 
No  woman  may  approach  his  silent  court : 
Therefore  to  us  seehieth  it  a  needful  course, 
Before  we  enter  his  forbidden  gates, 
To  know  his  pleasure ;  and  in  that  behalf, 
Bold  of  your  worthiness,  we  single  you 
As  our  best-moving  fair  solicitor : 
Tell  him,  the  daughter  of  the  king  of  France, 
On  serious  business,  craving  quick  despatch, 
Imp6rtunes  personal  conference  wifh  his  grace. 
Haste,  signify  so  much ;  while  we  attend, 
Like  humble-vLsag'd  suitors,  his  high  will. 
Boyet.  Proud  of  employment,  willingly  I  go. 

[Exit. 
Prin.  All  pride  is  willing  pride,  and  yours  is  so. — 
Who  are  the  votaries,  my  loving  lords, 
That  are  vow-fellows  with  this  virtuous  duke  ? 
1  Lord.  Longavillc  is  one. 
Prin.  Know  you  the  man  ? 

.Afar.  I  know  him,  madam ;  at  a  marriage  feast, 

(I)  Arrow  to  shoot  at  1)Uttt  with«       (2)  Best, 


Prin.  Some  merry  mocking  lord,  belike :  is't  so? 

J^ar.  They  say  so  most,  that  most  his  numours 
know. 

Prin.  Such  short-liv'd  wits  do  wither  as  they 
grow. 
Who  are  the  rest  ? 

Kath.  The  young  Dumain,  a  well-accomplish'd 
youth. 
Of  all  that  virtue  love  for  virtue  lov'd : 
Most  power  to  do  most  harm,  least  knowing  ill ; 
For  he  hath  wit  to  make  an  ill  shape  good, 
And  shape  to  win  grace  though  he  had  no  wit 
I  saw  him  at  the  duke  Alen<?on's  once  ; 
And  much  too  little  of  that  good  I  saw. 
Is  my  report,  to  his  great  worthiness. 

Ros.  Another  of  these  students  at  that  tima 
Was  there  with  him :  if  I  have  heard  a  truth, 
Biron  they  call  him  :  but  a  merrier  man. 
Within  the  limit  of  becoming  mirth, 
I  never  spent  an  hour's  talk  whhal : 
His  eye  begets  occasion  for  his  wit ; 
For  every  object  that  the  one  doth  catch, 
The  other  turns  to  a  mirth-moving  jest ; 
Which  his  fair  tongue  (conceit's  expositor,) 
Deliver's  in  such  apt  and  gracious  words, 
That  aged  ears  play  truant  at  his  tales, 
And  younger  hearings  are  quite  ravished ; 
So  sweet  and  voluble  is  his  discourse. 

Prin.  God  bless  my  ladies  !  are  they  all  in  loTe ; 
That  every  one  her  own  hath  garnished 
With  such  bedecking  ornaments  of  praise  ? 

Jlfar.  Here  comes  Boyet. 

Ee-enter  Boyet. 

Prin.  Now,  what  admittance,  lord  7 

Boyet.  Navarre  had  notice  of  your  fair  approach ; 
And  he,  and  his  competitors'  in  oath, 
Were  all  address'd*  to  meet  you,  gentle  lady, 
Before  I  came.     Marry,  thus  much  I  have  learnt, 
He  rather  means  to  lodge  you  in  the  field 
(Like  one  that  comes  here  to  besieL';e  his  court,) 
Than  seek  a  dispensation  for  his  oath. 
To  let  you  enter  his  unpeopled  house. 
Here  comes  Nal'arre.  [The  ladies  mask. 

Enter  King,  Longavillcj  Dumain,  Biron,  and  at- 
tendants. 

King.  Fair  princess,  welcome  to  the  court  of 

Navarre. 
Prin.  Fair,  I  give  you  back  again ;  and,  wel- 
come I  have  not  yet:  the  roof  of  this  court  is  too 
high  to  be  yours  j  and  welcome  to  the  wild  fields 
too  base  to  be  mine. 
King.    You  shall  be  welcome,  madam,  to  my 

court. 
Prin.   I  will  be  welcome  then;   conduct  me 

thither. 
King.  Hear  me,  dear  lady ;  I  have  sworn  an  oath. 
Prin.  Our  lady  help  mv  lord !  he'll  be  forsworn. 
King.  Not  for  the  world,  fair  madam,  by  my  will, . 

(3)  Confederates,       (4)  Prepared. 


Scene  /. 


LOVE'S  LAfiOUJl'S  LOST. 


1^ 


Frtn.  Why,  will  shall  break  it ;  will,  and  nothing 

King.  Your  ladyship  is  iiniorant  what  it  is. 

Prin.  Were  my  lord  so,  hfs  ignorance  were  wise. 
Where'  now  his  knowledge  must  prove  ignorance. 
I  hear,  your  prace  liath  sivorn  out  house-keeping  : 
'Tis  deadly  sin  to  keep  that  oath,  my  lord. 
And  sin  to  break  it : 
But  pardon  me,  I  am  too  sudden-bold ; 
To  teach  a  teacher  ill  beseemeth  me. 
Vouchsafe  to  read  the  purpose  of  my  comings, 
And  suddenly  resolve  me  ia  my  suit. 

[G ires  a  paper. 

Kin^.  Madam,  I  will,  if  suddenly  I  may. 

Prill.  You  Avill  the  sooner,  that  I  were  aivay ; 
For  you'll  prove  perjur'd,  if  you  make  me  .stay. 

airon.    Did  not  i  dance  with  you  in  Brabant 
once? 

Ros.  Did  not  I  dance  with  you  in  Brabant  once  ? 

Biron.  I  k!:ow,  you  did. 

Ros.  How  needless  was  it  then 

To  ask  the  question ! 

Biron.  You  must  not  be  so  quick, 

Ros.  'Tis  'lona;  of  you  that  spur  me  wiih  such 
questions. 

Biron.  Your  wit's  too  hot,  it  speeits  too  fast, 
'twill  tire. 

Ros.  Not  till  it  leaves  the  rider  in  the  mire. 

Biron.  What  time  o'  day  ? 

Ros.  The  hour  that  fools  should  ask. 

Biron.  Now  fair  befall  your  mask  1 

Ros.  Fair  fall  the  face  it  covers ! 

Biron.  And  send  you  many  lovers ! 

Ros.  Amen,  so  you  be  none. 

Biron.  Nav,  then  will  I  be  pone. 

King.  Madam,  vour  father  here  doth  intimate, 
The  payment  of  a  hundred  thousand  crowns ; 
Being  but  the  one  half  of  an  entire  sum, 
Disbursed  by  my  father  in  his  wars. 
But  say,  that  he,  or  we  (as  neither  have,) 
Receiv'd  that  sum  ;  yet  there  remains  unpaid 
A  hundred  Ihousand'more ;  in  surety  of  the  which, 
One  part  of  Aquitain  is  bound  to  us, 
Although  not  valued  to  the  money's  worth. 
If  then  the  king  vour  father  will  restore 
But  that  one  hall"  which  is  unsatisfied, 
We  will  ^ve  up  our  right  in  Aquitain, 
And  hold  fair  friendship  with  his  majesty. 
But  that,  it  seems,  he  little  purposeth, 
For  here  he  doth  demand  to  have  repaid 
A  hundred  thousand  crowns  ;  and  not  demands, 
On  payment  of  a  hundred  thousand  crowns. 
To  have  his  title  live  in  Aquit-iin ; 
Which  we  much  rather  had  depart-  withal. 
And  have  the  money  by  our  father  lent,  ^ 

Than  Aquitain  so  geldeu  as  it  is. 
Dear  prmcess,  were  not  his  requests  so  far 
From  reason's  yielding,  your  fair  self  should  make 
A  yielding,  'gainst  some  reason,  in  my  breast. 
And  go  well  satisfied  to  France  again. 

Prin.  You  do  the  kin^  my  father  too  much  wrong, 
And  wron^  the  reputation  of  your  name. 
In  so  un^eeming  to  confess  rp'reipt 
Of  that  which  hath  so  faithfully  been  paid. 

Kin^.  I  do  protest,  I  never  heard  of  it; 
And,  if  you  prove  it,  I'll  repay  it  back, 
Or  yield  up  .Vquitain. 

Prin.  We  arrest  your  word : 

Boyet,  vou  can  produce  acquittance^, 
For  such  a  sum,  from  special  officers 
Of  Charles  his  faUier. 

King.  Satisfy  me  so. 

(1)  Whereas.      (2)  Part.     (3)  Aye,  yet, 


Boyet.  So  please  youf  gi^ce,  the  packet  a  not 
come, 
AMiere  that  and  other  specialities  are  bound, 
To-morrow  you  shall  have  a  sight  of  them. 

King.  It  shall  sulhcc  me  :  at  which  interview  ■ 
All  liberal  reason  I  will  yield  unto. 
Meantime,  receive  such  welcome  at  my  hand. 
As  honour,  without  breach  of  honour,  may 
Make  tender  of  to  thy  true  worthiness  : 
You  may  not  come,  fair  princess,  in  my  gates ; 
But  here  witliout  you  shall  be  so  receiv'd. 
As  yon  shall  deem  yourself  lodg'd  in  my  heart. 
Though  so  denied  lair  harbour  m  my  house. 
Yotir  own  good  tiioughts  excuse  me,  and  farewell ; 
To-morrow  shall  we  visit  you  ap'ain. 
Prin.  Sweet  health  and  fair  desires  consort  your 

pT-ace ! 
King.  Thy  own  wish  wish  I  thee  in  every  place ! 
[Exetmt  King  and  his  Train. 
Biron.  Lady,  I  will  commend  you  to  my  own 

heart. 
Ros.  'Pray  joxi,  do  my  commendations ;  I  would 
be  glad  to  see  it. 
Biron.  I  would,  you  heard  it  groan? 
Ros.  Is  the  fool  sick  ? 
Biron.  Sick  at  heart. 
Ros.  Alack,  let  it  blood. 
Biron.  Would  that  do  it  good  ? 
Ros.  Mv  physic  says.  I.^ 
Biron.  Will'you  prick't  with  your  eye? 
"  Ros.  fiopoynt,*  with  mv  knife. 
Biron.  Now,  God  save  thy  life  ! 
Ros.  And  yours  from  long  living ! 
Biron.  I  cannot  stay  thanl;sgiving.      [Retiring. 
Ditm.  Sir,  I  pray  you,  a  word :  WTiat  lady  u 

that  same  ? 
Boyet.  The  heir  of  Alen<?on,  Rosaline  her  name. 
Dim.  A  gallant  lady !  Monsieur,  fare  you  well. 

[Exii. 
Long.  I  beseech  you  a  word ;  What  is  she  m 

the  w  hite  ? 
Boyet.  A  woman  sometimes,  an  you  saw  her  in 

the  light. 
Long.  Perchance,  light  in  the  light :  I  desire  her 

name. 
Bmjet.  She  hath  but  one  for  herself;  to  desire 

that,  were  a  shame. 
lArng.  Pray  you,  sir,  whose  daughter  7 
Boyet.  Her  mother's,  I  have  heard. 
Long.  God's  blessing  on  your  beard ! 
Boyet.  Good  sir,  be  not  offended ; 
She  is  an  heir  of  Falconbridge. 

Loiig.  Nay,  my  choler  is  ended. 
She  is  a  most  sweet  lady. 
Boyet.  Not  unlike,  sir;  that  may  be. 

\Exit  Long. 
Biron.  What's  her  name,  in  the  cap  ] 
Boytt.  Katharine,  by  good  hap. 
Biron.  Is  she  wedded,  or  no  ? 
Boyet..  To  her  will,  sir,  or  ho. 
Biron.  You  arc  welcome^  sir ;  adieu  ! 
Boyet.  Farewell  to  me,  sir,  and  welcome  to  you. 
[Exit  Biron. — Ladies  tmmask. 
J\Iar.  Thatlast  is  Biron,  the  merry  mad-cap  lord; 
Not  a  word  with  him  but  a  jest. 
Boyet.  And  every  jest  but  a  word. 

Prin.  It  was  well  done  of  you"  to  take  him  at  his 

word. 
Boyet.  I  was  as  willing  to  grapple,  as  he  was  to 

board. 
^Mar.  Two  hot  shceps,  marr>- ! 
Boyet.  And  wherefore  not  ships? 

(4)  A  French  particle  of  negatioo, 


164 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


jici  m. 


No  sheep,  sweet  lamb,  unless  we  feed  on  your  lips. 

JVfor.  You  sheep,  and  I  pasture ;  Shall  that  finish 
the  jest  ? 

Boyet.  So  you  grant  pasture  for  me. 

[Offering  to  kiss  her. 

Mar.  Not  so,  gentle  beast ; 

Mv  lips  are  no  common,  thoug-h  several'  they  be. 

JBoyet.  Belonging  to  whom  f 

■Mar.  To  my  fortunes  and  me. 

Prin.  Good  wits  will  be  jangling:  but,  gentles, 
agree : 
The  cItII  war  of  wits  were  much  better  used 
On  Navarre  and  his  book-men ;  for  here  'tis  abused. 

Boyet.   If  my  observation  (wluch  very  seldom 
lies,) 
By  the  heart's  still  rhetoric,  disclosed  with  eyes, 
Deceive  me  not  now,  Navarre  is  infected. 

Prin.  With  what? 

Boytt.  With  that  which  we  lovers  entitle,  afiected 

Prtn.  Your  reason? 

Boyet.  Why,  all  his  behaviours  did  make  then- 
retire 
To  the  court  of  his  eye,  peeping  thorough  desire  : 
His  heart,  like  an  agate,  with  your  print  impressed. 
Proud  with  his  form,  in  his  eye  pride  expressed. 
His  tongue,  all  impatient  to  speak  and  not  see, 
Did  stumble  with  haste  in  his  eve-sight  to  be  ; 
All  senses  to  that  sense  did  m.-ike  their  repair, 
To  feel  only  looking  on  fairest  of  fair  : 
Methought,  all  his  senses  were  lock'd  in  his  eye. 
As  jewels  in  crystal  for  some  prince  to  buy : 
Who,  tendering  their  own  worth,  from  where  they 

were  glass'd. 
Did  point  you  to  buy  them,  along  as  you  pass'd. 
His  face's  own  margcnt  did  quote  such  amazes. 
That  all  eyes  saw  his  eyes  enchanted  with  gazes  : 
I'll  give  you  Aquitain,  and  all  that  is  his. 
An  you  give  him  for  my  sake  but  one  loving  kiss. 

Prin.  Come,  to  our  pavilion :  Boyet  is  dispos'd — 

Boyet.   But  to  speak  that  in  words,  which  his 
eye  hath  disclos'd : 
I  only  have  made  a  mouth  of  his  eye. 
By  addin?  a  tongue  which  I  know  will  not  lie. 

Ros.  Thou  art  an  old  love-monger,  and  speak'st 
skilfully. 

Mar.    He  is' Cupid's   grandfather,  and  learns 
news  of  him. 

Ros.  Then  was  Venus  like  her  mother ;  for  her 
father  is  but  grim. 

Boyet.  Do  you  hear,  my  mad  wenches  ? 

Mar.  No. 

Boyet.  'WTiat  then,  do  you  see  ? 

Ros.  Ay,  our  way  to  be  gone. 

Boyet.  You  are  too  hard  for  me. 

[£xeun(. 


ACT  in. 

SCEJ^E  I.—Jinolher  part  of  the  same.    Enter 
Armado  and  Moth. 

,Srm.  Warble,  child ;  make  passionate  my  sense 
of  hearing. 

Moth.   Concolinel [Singinfr. 

»inn.  Sweet  air! — Go,  tenderness  of  years;  take 
this  key,  give  enlargement  to  the  s«  ain,  bring  him 
fostinately*  liither ;  I  must  employ  him  in  a  letter 
to  my  love. 

Moth.  Master,  wiQ  you  win  your  love  with  a 
French  brawl  ?' 

(I)  A  quibble,  sereral  signified  unenclosed  lands. 
<})  Hastilr.  (3)  A  kind  9f  dance. 


I  «5rm.  How  means't  thou  7  brawling  in  French  ? 
I  Jdoth.  No,  my  complete  master:  but  to  jig  oflF 
a  tune  at  the  tongue's  end,  canary*  to  it  with  your 
feet,  humour  it  witli  turning  up  your  eyelids ;  sigh 
'a  note,  and  sing  a  note;  sometime  through  the 
throat,  as  if  you  swallowed  love  with  singinar  love ; 
sometime  through  the  nose,  as  if  you  snulTed  up 
love  by  smelling  love  ;  with  your  hat  penthouse- 
like, o'er  the  shop  of  your  eyes  ;  with  your  arms 
crossed  on  your  thin  belly -doublet,  like  a  rabbit  on 
a  spit ;  or  your  hands  in  your  pocket,  like  a  man 
after  the  old  painting ;  and  keep  not  too  long  in 
one  tunc,  but  a  snip  and  away:  These  are  com- 
plements, tliese  are  humours ;  these  betray  nice 
wenches — that  would  be  betraved  without  these : 
and  make  them  men  of  note  (tlo  you  note,  men?) 
that  are  most  affected  to  these. 

..irm.  How  hast  thou  purchased  this  experience  ? 

Moth.  By  my  penny  of  observation. 

.^rin.  But  O,— but  O,— 

Moth.  — the  hobby-horse  is  forgot. 

^rm.  Callest  thou  my  love,  hobby-horse? 

Moth.  No,  master ;  the  hobby-horse  is  but  a  colt, 
and  your  love,  perhaps,  a  haciuiey.  But  have  you 
forgot  your  love  ? 

»3rm.  Almost  I  had. 

Moth.  Negligent  student !  learn  her  by  heart. 

Jinn.  By  heart,  and  in  heart,  boy. 

Moth.  And  out  of  heart,  master :  all  those  three 
I  will  prove. 

Jlrm.  What  wilt  thou  prove  ? 

Moth.  A  man,  if  I  live :  and  this,  by,  in,  and 
without,  upon  the  instant :  By  heart  you  love  her, 
because  your  heart  cannot  come  by  her ;  in  heart 
you  love  her,  because  your  heart  is  in  love  with  her ; 
and  out  of  heart  you  love  her,  being  out  of  heart 
thiit  you  cannot  enjoy  her. 

..irm.  I  am  all  these  three. 

Moth.  And  three  times  as  much  more,  and  yet 
nothing  at  all ! 

^rm.  Fetch  hither  the  swain  ;  he  must  carry  mo 
a  letter. 

Moth.  A  message  well  sympathised  j  a  horse  to 
be  ambassador  for  an  ass ! 

.Inn.  Ha,  ha !  what  sayest  thou  ? 

Moth.  Marry,  sir,  you  must  send  the  ass  upon 
the  horse,  for  he  is  very  slow-gaited :  But  I  go. 

w3rOT.  The  way  is  but  short ;  away. 

Moth.  As  swift  as  lead,  sir. 

^irm.  Thy  meaning,  pretty  ingenious? 
Is  not  lead  a  metal  heavy,  dull,  and  slow  ? 

Moth.  Minimi,  honest  master ;  or  rather,  ma«> 
ter,  no. 

Ann.  I  say,  lead  is  slow. 

Moth.  You  are  too  swift,'  sir,  to  say  so ; 

Is  tlrat  lead  slow  which  is  fir'd  from  a  gun  ? 

Jinn.  Sweet  smoke  of  rhetoric ! 
He  reputes  me  a  cannon ;  i.nd  the  bullet,  that's 

he: — 
I  shoot  thee  at  the  swain. 

Moth.  Thump  then,  and  I  flee. 

[Exit. 

Arm,  A  most  acute  juvcnal ;  voluble  and  free 
of  grace ! 
By  thy  favour,  sweet  welkin,  I  must  sigh  in  thy  face; 
Most  rude  melancholy,  valour  gives  thee  place. 
My  herald  is  return'd. 

Re-enter  Moth  and  Costard. 

Moth.   A  wonder,  master;    here's  a  Coitard* 
broken  in  a  shin. 

(4)  Canary  was  the  name  of  a  sprightly  dancet 
(6)  Quick,  read7.  (6)  AbMd, 


SetruJ. 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


165 


»3rm.  Some  enigma,  some  i.ddle:   come, — thy 

r  envoy ;' — begin. 
Cost.  No  e^ma.  no  riddle,  no  P envoy ;  no  salve 
in  the  mail,  sir :  O,  sir,  plantain,  a  plain  plantain  ; 
no  Venvoy,  no  Penvoy.  no  salve,  sir,  but  a  plantain  ! 
»4rin.  By  virtue,  thou  enforcest  laugrhter ;  thy 
silly  thought,  my  spleen  ;  the  heaving  of  my  lungs 
provokes  me  to  ridiculous  smiling :  0,  pardon  me, 
my  stars !  Doth  the  inconsiderate  take  salve  for 
Penvoy,  and  the  word,  Peiivoy,  for  a  salve  ? 

,\[oik.   Do  the  ^vise  think  them  other?    is  not 
Penvoy  a  salve  ? 
^irm.  No,  page :  it  is  an  epilogue  or  discourse 
to  make  plain 
Some  obscure  precedence  that  hath  tofore  been 

sain. 
I  will  example  it : 

The  fox,  the  ape,  and  the  humble-bee, 
Were  still  at  odds,  being  but  three. 
There's  the  moral :  Now  the  Penvoy. 

.Vot/j.  I  will  add  the  Penvoy:    Say  the  moral 
again. 
^inn.  The  fox,  the  ape,  and  the  humble-bee, 

Were  still  at  odds,  being  but  three : 
JtfbtA.  Until  the  goose  came  out  of  door, 
And  stay'd  the  odds  by  adding  four. 
Now  will  I  begin  your  moral,  and  do  you  follow 
with  my  Penvoy. 

The  fox,  the  ape.  and  the  humble-bee, 
Were  still  at  odas,  being  but  three : 
^nn.  Until  the  troose  came  out  of  door, 

Staying  the  odds  by  adding  four. 
Jtfo<A.  A  ffood  Penvoy,  ending  in  the  goose ; 
Would  you  desire  mere  / 

Cost.  The  boy  hath  sold  him  a  bargain,  a  goose, 
that's  fiat : — 
Sir,  your  pennyivorth  is  good,  an  vour  goose  be 

fat- 
To  sell  a  bargain  well,  is  as  cunning  as  fast  and 

loose  : 
Let  me  see  a  fat  Penvoy ;  ay,  that's  a  fat  goose. 
Arm.  Come  hither,  come'  hither ;  How  did  this 

argument  becrin  ? 
Moth.  By  saying  that  a  Costard  was  broken  in 
a  shin^ 
Then  call'd  you  for  the  Penvoy. 

Cost.  True,  and  I  for  a  plantain ;  Thus  came 
your  argument  in ; 
Then  the  boy's   fat  Penvoy,  the  goose  that  you 

bought ; 
And  he  ended  the  market. 

Jlrm.    But  tell  me;  how  was  there  a  Costard 
broken  in  a  shin  ? 
Moth,  I  will  tell  vou  sensibly. 
Cost.  Thou  hast'  no  feeling  of  it.  Moth ;  I  will 
speak  that  Penvoy : — 

I,  Costard,  running  out,  that  was  safely  within, 
Fell  over  the  thresnold,  and  broke  my  shin. 
Arm.  We  will  talk  no  more  of  this  matter. 
Cost.  Till  there  be  no  more  matter  in  the  shin 
.'Inn.  Sirrah  Costard,  I  will  enfranchise  thee. 
Cost.  O,  marry  me  to  one  Frances : — I  smell 
some  Penvoy,  some  goose,  in  this. 

Jirm.  Bv  my  sweet  soul,  I  mean,  setting  thee  at 
liberty,  cnlreedoming  thy  person  ;  thou  wert  im- 
mured, restrained,  captivated,  bound. 

Cost.  True,  true  ;  and  now  you  will  be  my  pur- 
gation, and  let  me  loose. 
Arm.  I  give  thee  thy  liberty,  set  thee  from  du- 

(1)  An  old  French  term  for  concluding  rerses, 
which  served  either  to  convey  the  moral,  or  to  ad- 
dress the  poem  to  some  person. 

(2)  DelightfuL  C3)  Reward. 


ranee ;  and,  in  lieu  thereof,  impose  on  thee  nothin? 
but  this :  Bear  this  significant  to  the  country-maia 
Jaquenetta  .*  there  is  remuneration ;  [Giving  him 
money.]  for  the  best  ward  of  mine  honour,  is,  re- 
warding my  dependents.  Moth,  follow.  [Exit, 
Moth.    Like   the  sequel,  L — Signior  Costard,       ^ 

adieu. 
Cost.  My  sweet  ounce  of  man's  flesh !  mv  incony* 

Jew  !—  [Exit  Moth. 

Now  will  I  look  to  his  remuneration.  Remunera- 
tion !  O,  that's  the  Latin  word  for  three  farthings  : 
three  farthing-s — remuneration. — WhaPs  the  price 
of  this  inkle  J  a  penny: — J^o,  IHl  give  you  a  re- 
muneration :  v.hy,  it  carries  it. — Remuneration ! — 
why,  it  is  a  fairer  name  than  French  crown.  1  will 
never  buy  and  sell  out  of  tiiis  word. 

Enter  Biron. 

Biron.  O,  my  good  knave  Costard !  exceedingly 
well  met. 

Cost.  Pray  you,  sir,  how  much  carnation  ribbon 
may  a  man  buy  for  a  remuneration  ? 

Biron.  What  is  a  remuneration  ? 

Cost.  Marry,  sir,  half-penny  farthing. 

Biron.  0,  why  then,  three-farthings-worthof  silk. 

Cost.  I  thank  your  worship :  God  be  with  you ! 

Biron.  O,  stay,  slave ;  1  must  employ  thee : 
As  thou  wilt  win  my  favour,  good  my  knave, 
Do  one  thing  for  me  that  I  shall  entreat.  * 

Cost,  When  would  you  have  it  done,  sir? 

Biron.  O,  this  afternoon. 

Cost.  Well.  I  will  do  it,  sir :  Fare  you  well. 

Biron.  O,  thou  knowest  not  what  it  is. 

Cost.  I  shall  knoiv,  sir,  when  I  have  done  it. 

Biron.  Why,  villain,  thou  must  know  first 

Cost.  I  will  come  to  your  worship  to-morrow 
morning. 

Biron.  It  must  be  done  this  aAernoon.  Hark, 
slave,  it  is  but  this  ; — 

The  princess  comes  to  hunt  here  in  the  park. 
And  m  her  train  there  is  a  gentle  ladv ; 
When  tongues  speak  sweetly,  then  they  name  her 

name, 
And  Rosahne  they  call  her ;  ask  for  her ; 
And  to  her  white  hand  see  thou  do  commend 
This  seal'd-up  counsel.  There's  thy  guerdon ;'  go- 
[Gives  him  money. 

Cost.  Guerdon,— O  sweet  c^ierdon  !  better  than 
remuneration  ;  eleven-pence  farthing  better :  Most 
sweet  guerdon ! — 1  will  do  it,  sir,  in  print.* — Guer- 
don— remuneration.  [Exit. 

Biron.  Q  I — And  I,  forsooth,  in  love  !    i,  that 
have  been  love's  whip  ; 
A  very  beadle  to  a  humourous  sigh ; 
A  critic  ;  nay,  a  night-watch  constable; 
A  domineering  pedant  o'er  the  boy. 
Than  whom  no  mortal  so  magnificent! 
This  whimpled,' whining,  purblind,  wayward  boy; 
This  sL-nior-junior,  giant-dwarf,  Dan  Cupid ; 
Regent  of  love-rhymes,  lord  of  folded  arms, 
The  anointed  sovereign  of  sighs  and  groans, 
Liege  of  all  loiterers  and  malcontents. 
Dread  prince  of  plackets,*  king  of  coapicces. 
Sole  iinperatorj  and  great  general 
Of  trotting  paritors,'— O  my  little  heart!— 
And  I  to  be  a  corporal  of  his  field, 
And  wear  his  colours  like  a  tumbler's  hoop ! 
What  ?  I !  1  love !  I  sue  !  I  seek  a  wife ! 
A  woman,  that  is  like  a  German  clock, 

(4)  Vv'ith  the  utmost  exactness. 

(5)  Hooded,  veiled.        (6)  Petticoats. 

(7)  The  officers  of  the  spiritual  courts  who  bmt* 
citatious. 


1G8 


XOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


Jietir, 


Still  a  repairing ;  ever  out  of  frame ; 

And  neTer  going  aright,  being  a  watch, 

But  being  w  atch'd  tnat  it  may  still  go  right  ? 

IVay,  to  be  perjur'd,  which  is  worst  of  all ; 

And,  among  three,  to  love  the  worst  of  all  j 

A  whilely  wanton  with  a  velvet  brow, 

AVith  two  pitch  balls  stuck  in  her  face  for  eyes ; 

Av,  and,  by  heaven,  one  tiiat  will  do  the  deed, 

Though  Argus  were  her  eunuch  and  her  guard : 

And  I  to  sigh  for  her !  to  watch  for  her ! 

To  pray  for  her !  Go  to  ;  it  is  a  plague 

That  Cupid  will  impose  for  my  neglect 

Of  liis  almighty  dreadful  little' might. 

Well,  1  will  love,  write,  sigh,  pray,  sue,  and  groan  ; 

Some  men  must  love  my  lady,  and  some  Joan. 

[Exit. 


ACT  IV. 

SC£A*E  I.—^lnother  part  of  the  same.  Enter 
the  Princess,  Rosaline,  Maria,  Kathaiine,  Boyet, 
Lords,  allendanls,  and  a  Forester. 

Prin.  Was  that  the  king,  that  spurr'd  hjs  horse 
so  hard 
Against  the  steep  uprising  of  tho  hill  ? 

Botfet.  I  knov/  not ;  but,  I  think,  it  was  not  he. 
*    'Prm.  Whoe'er  he  was,  he  show'd  a  mounting 
mind. 
Well,  lords,  to-day  we  shall  have  our  despatch ; 
On  Saturday  we  will  return  to  France. — 
Then,  forester,  my  friend,  where  is  the  bush. 
That  we  must  stand  and  play  the  murderer  in  ? 

For.  Here  by,  upon  the  edge  of  yonder  coppice ; 
A  stand,  where  you  may  make  tlie  fairest  shoot. 

Prin.  I  thank  my  beauty,  I  am  fair  that  shoot, 
And  thereupon  thou  speak'st,  the  fairest  shoot. 

For.  Pardon  me,  madam,  for  I  meant  not  so. 

Pnn.  What,  what  ?  first  praise  me,  and  again 
say.  no  ? 
O  short-liv'a  pride !  Not  fair  ?  alack  for  wo ! 

For.  Yea,  madam,  fair. 

Prin.  Nay,  never  paint  me  now ; 

AVhere  fair  is  not,  praise  cannot  mend  the  broiv. 
Here,  good  my  glass,  take  tliis  for  telling  true ; 

[Givins;  htm  money. 
Fair  payment  for  foul  words  is  more  than  due. 

For.  "Nothing  but  fair  is  that  which  you  inherit. 

Prin.  See,  see,  my  beauty  will  be  sav'd  by  jnerit. 
O  heresy  in  fair,  fit  for  these  days ! 
A  giving  hand,  though  foul,  shall  have  fair  praise. — 
But  come,  the  bow : — Now  mercy  poes  to  kill, 
A  shootinjr  well  is  then  accounted  ill. 
Thus  will  I  save  my  credit  in  the  shoot : 
Not  wounding,  pity  would  not  lot  me  do't ; 
If  wounding,  then  it  was  to  show  my  skill. 
That  more  for  praise,  than  purpose,  meant  to  kill. 
And,  out  of  question,  so  it  is  sometimes  ; 
Glorv  grows  guilty  of  detested  crimes ; 
When,  for  fame's  sake,  for  praise,  an  outward  part, 
We  bend  to  that  the  working  of  the  heart : 
As  I,  for  praise  alone,  now  seek  to  spill 
The  poor  deer's  blood,  that  my  heart  means  no  ill. 

Boyet.  Do  not  curst  wives  hold  that  self-sove- 
reignty 
Onlv  for  praise'  sake,  when  they  strive  to  be 
Lords  o'er  their  lords  ? 

Prin.  Only  for  praise :  and  praise  we  may  afiford 
To  any  lady  that  subdues  a  lord. 

i\\  God  give  you  good  even. 

(2)  Open  tliisletter.    (3)  Illustrious. 


Enter  Costard. 

Prin.  Here  comes  a  member  of  the  common- 
wealth. 

Cost.  God  dig-you-den*  all!  Pray  you,  which  w 
the  head  lady  ? 

Prin.  Thou  shalt  know  her,  fellow,  by  the  rest 
that  have  no  heads. 

Cost.  Which  is  the  greatest  lady,  the  highest  ? 

Prin.  The  thickest,  and  the  tallest. 

Cost.  The  thickest,  and  the  tallest !  it  is  so ;  truth 
is  trutli. 
An  your  waist,  mistress,  were  as  slender  as  my  wit. 
One  of  these  maids'  girdles  for  your  waist  should 

befit. 
Are  not  you  the  chief  woman?  you  are  the  thickest 
'  here. 

Prin.  What's  vour  will,  sir?   whal's  your  will  ? 

Cost,  I  have  a  letter  from  monsieur  Ciron,  to  one 
lady  Rosaline. 

Prin.  O,  thy  letter,  thy  letter ;  he's  a  good  friend 
of  mme : 
Stand  aside,  good  bearer. — Bcyct,  you  can  carve  ; 
Break  up  this  capon.* 

Boyet.  ^     I  am  bound  to  serve.— 

This  letter  is  mistook,  it  importeth  none  here; 
It  is  writ  to  Jaquenctta. 

Prin.  We  will  read  it,  I  swear: 

Break  the  neck  of  the  wax,  and  every  one  gi>e  ear. 

Boyet.  [Reads.]  By  hearen,  thai  thou  art  fair, 
is  most  infallible ;  true,  that  thou  art  beauteovs ; 
truth  itself,  that  thou  art  lovely  :  JSIore  fairer  than 
fair,  beautiful  than  beauteous;  truer  than  trxith 
itself,  have  commiseration  on  thy  heroical  vassal ! 
The  magnanimous  and  most  illustrate^  king  Co- 
phetua  set  eye  upon  the  pernicious  and  iudiibitate 
beggar  Zenelopnon ;  and  he  it  was  that  might 
rightly  say,  veni,  vidi,  vici ;  ichich  to  anatomize  in 
the  viilgar{0  base  and  obscure  vulgar  .')  videlicet, 
he  came,  saic,  and  overcame :  he  came,  one  ;  saw, 
hco ;  overcame,  three.  Who  came  ?  the  king  ; 
Why  did  he  come  ?  to  see ;  Why  did  he  see  ?  to 
overcome :  To  whom  came  he  7  to  the  beggar ; 
What  saio  he?  the  beggar;  Who  overcame  he? 
the  beggar:  The  conclusion  is  victory ;  Omchose 
side  ?  the  king^s :  the  captive  is  enriched  ;  On  whose 
side  ?  the  beggar^ s ;  Trie  catastrophe  is  a  nuptial; 
On  whose  side  ?  the  hinges — no,  on  both  in  one,  or 
one  in  both.  I  am  the  king  ;  for  so  stands  the  com- 
parison :  thou  the  beggar;  for  so  witnesselh  thy 
lowliness.  Shall  J  command  thy  love  1  I  may  : 
Shall  I  enforce  thy  love  ?  I  could:  Shall  I  entreat 
Iky  love  ?  I  will.  What  shalt  thou  exchange  for 
ra^s?  robes;  For  tittles,  titles:  For  thvsclf,  me. 
Thus,  expecting  thy  reply,  I  profane  my  tips  on  thy 
foot,  my  ryes  on  thy  picture,  and  my  heart  on  thy 
every  pari. 

Thine,  in  the  dearest  design  ofindusti'y, 
Don  Adriano  de  Armado. 
Thus  dost  thou  hear  the  Neniean  lion  roar 
I     'Gainst  thee,  thou  lamb,  that  standest  as  his  prey  ; 
Submissive  fall  his  princely  feet  before. 

And  he  from  forage  will  incline  to  play : 
But  if  thou  strive,  poor  soul,  what  art  tliou  then  ? 
Food  for  his  rage,  repasture  for  his  den. 

Prin.  What  plume  of  feathers  is  he,  that  indited 
this  letter  ? 
What  vane?  what  weathercock  ?  did  you  ever  hear 
better? 

Boyet.   I  am  much  deceived,^  but  I  remember 
the  style. 

Prin.  Else  your  memory  is  bad,  going  o'er  it 
erewliilc.* 

(4)  Just  now. 


Sctne  11. 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


167 


Boyet.  Th:'.   Armado  is  a  Spaniard,  that  keeps 
here  ii;  court ; 
A  phantasm,  a  Monarcho,  and  one  that  makes  sport 
To  the  prince,  and  his  book-mates. 

Prin.  Thou,  fellow,  a  word : 

Who  gave  thee  this  letter  ? 

Cost.  I  told  you  ;  my  lord. 

Prin.  To  whom  should'st  thou  give  it  ? 

Cost.  From  my  lord  to  my  lady. 

Prin.  From  which  lord,  to  which  lady? 

Cost.  From  mv  lord  Biron,  a  good  master  of  mine, 
To  a  ladv  of  France,  that  he  call'd  Rosaline. 

Prill.  Thou  hast  mistaken  iiis  letter.     Come, 
lords,  away. 
Here,  sweet,  put  up  this ;  'twill  be  thine  another 
dnv.  [Exit  Princess  and  Tj-am. 

Boytt.  Who  is  the  suitor  ?  who  is  the  suitor  ? 

Jios.  Shall  I  teach  you  to  know  ? 

Bovet.  Av,  my  continent  of  beauty, 

Res,         '  "'"-  --"-- 1^^ 


\Vhcn  it  comes  so  smoothly  off,  so  obscenely,  as  it 

were,  so  fit. 
Armatho  o'  the  one  side, — O,  a  most  dainty  man! 
To  see  him  walk  before  a  lady,  and  to  bear  ner  fan  I 
To  see  him  kiss  his  hand !  and  how  most  sweetly 

a'  will  swear  I — 
And  his  page  o'  t'other  side,  that  handful  of  wit! 
Ah,  heavens,  it  is  a  most  pathetical  nit ! 
'Solo,  sola  1  [Shouting  vnthin. 

[Exit  Costara,  running. 

S  C£JV£  II.— The  sam  e.    Enter  Holofemes,  Hir 
Nathaniel,  and  DulL 


J^'alh.  Very  reverent  sport,  truly ;  and  done  in 
the  testimony  of  a  good  con.science. 

Uol.  The  Seer  was,  as  you  know,  in  sang^iis, — 

blood  ;  ripe  as  a  pome  water,'  who  now  hangetU 

like  a  jewel  in  the  car  of  caio, — the  sky,  the  welkin, 

the  heaven;  and  anon  falleth  like  a' crab,  on  tiie 

Why,  she  that  bears  the  bow.  face  of  terra, — the  soil,  the  land,  the  earth. 

Xath.   Trulv,  master  Holofemes,  tl»e  epithcta 


Finely  put  off! 
Bo'uit.  My  lady  goes  to  kill  horns ;  Jiut,  if  thou!  are  sweetly  varied,  like  a  scliolar  at  the  least:  But, 
marry,  jsii-  I  assure  ye,  it  was  a  buck  of  the  lirst  head. 

Hans:  me  by  the  neck,  if  horns  that  year  miscarry.!     Ho/.  Sir  Natlianiel,  Aa«c/ cre</o. 

Finely  put  on !  '        Jhdl.  'Twas  not  a  hai'd  credo,  'twns  a  pricket. 

Ro'j.  Well  then,  I  am  the  shooter.  Hoi.  Most  barbarous  intimation !  yet  a  kind  of 

Boxfel.  And  who  is  your  deer?] insinuation,  as  it  were,  in  via,  in  way,  of  explica- 

Ros,  If  we  choose  by  the  horns,  yourself:  come  tion  ;  factre,  as  it  were,  replication,  or,  rather, 

near.  \oslenlure,  to  show,  as  it  were,  his  inclination, — after 

Finely  put  on,  indeed ! —  Ibis  undressed,  unpolish'd,  uneducated,  uiipruned, 

.Mar.  You  still  wrangle  with  her,Boy';t,  and  slieitm'rainrd,  or  rather  nnkttered,  or  rdthcrest,uncon 


strikes  at  the  brow 
Boyet.  But  she  herself  is  hit  lower :  Have  I  hit 

her  now  ? 
Jtos.  Shall  I  come  upon  thee  with  sn  old  saying, 
that  was  a  man  when  Kinsr  Pepin  of  France  was  a 
little  boy,  as  touching  the  hit  it  ? 

Boytt.  So  I  may  answer  thee  with  one  as  old, 
that  ^vas  a  woman  when  queen  Guinever  of  Britain 
Ka.s  a  little  wench,  as  touching  the  hit  it. 
Ros.  Thou  canst  not  hit  it,  hit  it,  hit  it.  [Singing. 

Thou  canst  not  hit  it,  my  good  man. 
Boyet  ^in  I  cannot,  cannot,  cannot, 
»in  I  cannot,  another  can. 

[Exeitnt  Ros.  and  Kath. 

Cost.  By  my  troth,  most  pleasant !  how  both  did 

fit  it! 
^ar.  A  mark  marvellous  well  shot;   for  they 

botii  did  hit  it. 
Boyet.  A  mark !    O,  mark  but  that  mark ;   A 

mark,  says  my  lady ! 
Let  the  mark  have  a  prick  in't,  to  mete  at,  if  it 

mav  be. 
J^ar.  W'ide  o'  the  bow  hand !  I'faith,  your  hand 

is  out. 
Cost.  Indeed,  a'  must  shoot  nearer,  or  he'll  ne'er 

hit  the  clout. 
Boyet.  An  if  my  hand  be  out,  then,  belilie  yoiu- 

hand  is  in. 
Cost.  Then  will  she  get  the  upshot  by  cleaving 

the  pin. 
►V(ir.  Con-.e,  come,  you  talk  greasily,  your  lips 

prow  foul. 
Cost.  She's  too  hard  for  you  at  pricks,  sir ;  chal- 

lr.n2;e  her  to  bowl. 
Bo-jcl.  I  fear  too  much  rubbins: ;  Good  nicht,  my 

good  owl.  [£rei(;iiT5oyci  and  Maria. 

Coil.  By  my  soul,  a  swain !  a  most  simnle  clown  ! 


firmed  fashion — to  insert  again  my  haitd  credo  for 
a  deer. 

Dull.  I  said,  the  deer  was  not  a  haud  credo; 
'twas  a  pricket. 

Hoi.  Twice  sod  simplicity,  bis  eoctus ! — O  thou 
monster  ignorance,  how  deformed  dost  thou  look ! 
Arti/t.  air,  he  hath  never  fed  of  the  dainties  that 
are  bred  in  a  book ;  he  hath  not  eat  paper  as  it 
xvere  ;  he  hath  not  drunk  ink  :  his  intellect  is  not 
replenished  ;  he  is  only  an  animal,  only  sensible  in 
the  duller  parts ; 
And  such  barren  plants  are  set  before  u.%  that  we 

thankful  should  be 
(WTiich  we  of  taste  and  feeling  are)  for  those  parti 

that  do  fructify  in  us  more  than  he. 
For  as  it  would  ili  become  me  to  be  vain,  indiscreet, 

or  a  fool, 
So,  were  there  a  patch*  set  on  learning,  to  see  him 

in  a  school : 
But,  omne  be7ie,  say  I ;  being  of  an  old  father's  mind, 
Mwiy  can  brook  the  weather,  that  love  not  the 
wind. 
Dull.  You  two  are  book-men :  Can  you  tell  by 
your  wit. 
What  was  a  month  old  at  Cain's  birth,  that's  not 
five  weeks  old  as  yet  ? 
Hul.  Dictynna,  good  man  Dull ;  Dictjima,  good 

man  Dull. 
DttU.  WTiat  is  Dictynna  ? 
.VatA.  A  title  to  Phoebe,  to  Luna,  to  the  moon. 
Hoi.  The  moon  was  a  month  old,  when  Adam 
was  no  more ; 
And  raught'  not  to  five  wc^ks,  when  he  ciune  to  fire 

score. 
The  allusion  holds  in  the  exchange. 

Ditil.  'Tis  true  indeed ;  Ihc  collusion  holds  in  t!ie 
exchange.  ; 

]loL  God  comfort  thy  capacity !  I  say,  the  allu- 


Lord,  lord!  how  the  ladies  and  I  have  put  him  down  Ision  holds  in  the  exchange. 
^' my  trol'n,  most  sweet  jests!  most  incony  vulgar      DxUl.  And  I  say  the  pollution  holds  inthecx- 
wit  <  change;  for  the  moon  b  never  but  a  month  old: 


(1)  A  species  of  apple.  (2)  A  low  felloir.    ' 


(3)  Reached. 


laB 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


4cf  jr. 


and  I  say  beside,  that  'twas  &  pricket  that  the  prin- 
cess kill'd. 

Hoi.  Sir  Nathaniel,  will  you  hear  an  extemporal 
epitaph  on  the  death  of  the  deer  ?  and,  to  humour 
the  iffnorant,  I  have  call'd  the  deer  the  princess 
kill'd,  a  pricket. 

Nath.  Perge,  good  master  Holofernes,  perge ; 
BO  it  shall  please  you  to  abrogate  scurrility.    ' 

Hoi.  I  Avill  something  affect  the  letter ;  for  it 
argues  facility. 

Tm  praisifui  princess  pierced  and  pricked  a  pretty 
pleasing  pricket; 

Some  say,  a  sore ;  but  not  a  sore,  till  now  made 
sore  loith  shooting. 
The  dogs  did  yell ;  put  L  to  sore,  then  sorel  jumps 
from  thicket; 

Or  pricket,  sore,  or  else  sorel;  the  people  fall  a 
hooting. 
If  sore  be  sore,  then  L  to  acre  makes  fifty  sores;  0 

sore  L  ! 
Of  one  sore  I  a  hundred  make,  by  adding  but 
one  more  L. 

Jfath.  A  rare  talent ! 

DuU.  If  a  talent  be  a  claw,  look  how  he  claws 
him  with  a  talent. 

Hoi.  This  is  a  gift  that  I  have,  simple,  simple ; 
a  foolish  extravagant  spirit,  full  of  forms,  figures, 
f"  shapes,  objects,  ideas,  apprehensions,  motions, 
revolutions :  these  are  begot  in  the  ventricle  of 
memory,  nourished  in  the  womb  oCpia  mater;  and 
deilver'd  upon  the  mellowing  of  occasion  :  But  the 
^n.  is  good  in  those  in  whom  it  is  acute,  and  I  am 
thankful  for  it. 

^ath.  Sir,  I  praise  the  Lord  for  you  ;  and  so 
may  my  parishioners ;  for  their  sons  are  well  tutor'd 
by  you,  and  their  daughters  profit  very  greatly  un- 
der you :  you  are  a  good  member  of  the  common 
wealth. 

Hoi.  Mehercle,  if  their  sons  be  ingenious,  they 
•hall  want  no  instruction :  if  their  daughters  be 
capable,  I  will  put  it  to  them:  But,  virsapit,  qui 
pauca  loquitur :  a  soul  feminine  saluteth  us. 

Enter  Jaquenetta  and  Costard. 

Jaq.  God  give  you  good  morrow,  master  person. 

Hoi.  Master  parson, — qiiasi  pers-on.  And  if  one 
■hould  be  pierced,  which  is  the  one  ?  » 

Cost.  Marry,  master  schoolmaster,  he  that  is 
likest  to  a  hogshead. 

Hoi.  Of  piercing  a  hogshead!  a  good  lustre  of 
conceit  in  a  turf  of  earth ;  fire  enough  for  a  flint, 
pearl  enough  for  a  swine :  'tis  pretty ;  it  is  well. 

Jan.  Good  master  parson,  be  so  good  as  read  me 
this  letter ;  it  was  given  me  by  Costard,  and  sent 
Die  from  Don  Armatho  :  I  beseech  you,  read  it. 

Hoi.  Fauste,  precor  gelid&  quando  pecus  omne 
sub  umbra. 
JRuminrt/,— and  so  forth.    Ah,  good  old  Mantuan  ! 
I  may  speak  of  thee  as  the  traveller  doth  of  Venice : 
— -  Vinegia,   Vinegia, 
Chi  non  le  vede,  ei  nmi  te  pregin. 
Old  Mantuan !  old  Mantuan !  Who  understandeth 

thee  not,  loves  thee  not. — Ut,  re,  sol,  la,  mi,  fa. 

Under  pardon,  sir,  what  are  the  contents?  or,  rather, 
as  Horace  says  in  his — What,  my  soul,  verses  ? 

J^ath.  Ay,  sir,  and  very  learned. 

Hoi.  Let  me  hear  a  staff,  a  stanza,  a  verse ;  Lege, 
domine. 

J^ath.  If  love  make  me  forsworn,  how  shall  I 
swear  to  love  ? 

Ah,  never  faith  could  hold,  if  not  to  beauty 
vowed ! 

(I)  Horse  adorned  with  ribbands.  i 


Though  to  myself  forsworn,  to  thee  I'll  faithAil 
prove ; 

Those  thoughts  to  nte  were  oaks,  .to  thee  like 
osiers  bowed. 
Study  liis  bias  leaves,  and  makes  his  book  Uiuie 
eyes; 

Where  all  those  pleasures  live,  that  art  would 
comprehend  : 
If  knowledge  be  the  mark,  to  know  thee  shall  suf- 
fice; 

Well  learned  is  that  tongue,  that  well  can  thee 
commend : 
All  ignorant  that  soul,  that  sees  thee  without  won- 
der ; 

(Which  is  to  me  some  praise,  that  I  thy  parts 
admire;) 
Thy  eye  Jove's  lightning  bears,    thy  voice  his 
dreadful  thunder. 

Which,  not  to  anger  bent,  is  music,  and  sweet  fire. 
Celestial,  as  thou  art,  oh  pardon,  love,  this  wrong. 
That  sings  heaven's  praise  with  such  an  earthly 
tongue ! 

Hoi.  You  find  not  the  apostrophes,  and  so  miss 
the  accent :  let  me  supervise  the  canzonet.  Here 
ate  only  numbers  ratified  ;  but,  for  the  elegancy, 
facility,  and  golden  cadence  of  poesy,  caret.  Ovi- 
dius  Naso  was  the  man  :  and  why,  indeed,  Naso ; 
but  for  smelling  out  the  odoriferous  flowers  of  fancy, 
the  jerks  of  invention?  ImUari,  is  nothing:  so  doth 
the  hound  his  master,  the  ape  his  keeper,  the  tired 
horse'  his  rider. — But  damosella  virgin,  was  this 
directed  to  you  ? 

Jaq.  Ay,  sir,  from  one  monsieur  Biron,  one  of 
the  strange  queen's  lords. 

Hoi.  I  will  overglance  the  superscript.  To  the 
snow-iohite  hand  of  the  most  beauteous  Lady  Rosa- 
line.  I  will  look  again  on  the  intellect  of  the  letter, 
for  the  nomination  of  the  party  writing  to  the  person 
written  unto : 

Your  ladyship's  in  all  desired  employment, 

BIRON. 
Sir  Nathaniel,  tliis  Biron  is  one  of  the  votaries  with 
the  king ;  and  here  he  hath  framed  a  letter  to  a  se- 
quent of  the  stranger  queen's,  which,  accidentally, 
or  by  the  way  of  progression,  hath  miscarried.— 
Trip  and  go,  my  sweet  •  deliver  this  paper  into  the 
royal  hand  of  the  king;  it  may  concern  much :  Stay 
not  thy  compliment ;  I  forgive  thy  duty  ;  adieu  ! 

Jaq.  Good  Costard,  go  with  me.— Sir,  God  save 
your  life ! 

Cost.  Have  with  thee,  my  trirl. 

[Exeunt  Cost,  and  Jin. 

JVa</t.  Sir,  you  have  done  this  in  the  fear  of  God, 
very  religiously ;  and,  as  a  certain  father  saith . 

Ho'..  Sir,  tell  not  me  of  the  father,  I  do  fear 
colourable  colours.  But  to  return  to  the  verses  ; 
Did  they  please  you,  sir  Nathaniel  ? 

^nlh.  Marvellous  well  for  the  pen. 

Hoi.  I  do  dine  to-day  at  the  father's  of  a  certain 
pupil  of  mine  ;  where  if,  before  repast,  it  shall 
please  you  to  gratify  the  table  with  a  grace,  I  will, 
on  my  privilege  I  have  with  the  parents  of  the  fore- 
said child  or  pupil,  undertake  vour  hen  venuto  ; 
where  I  will  prove  those  verses  to  be  very  unlearn- 
ed, neither  savourins  of  poetry,  wit,  nor  invention  : 
I  beseech  your  society. 

J^atk.  And  thank  you  too:  for  society  (saith  the 
text)  is  the  happiness  of  life. 

Hoi.  And  certx;s,»  the  text  most  infallibly  con- 
cludes it.— Sir,  [To  Dull.]  I  do  invite  you  too;  you 
shall  not  say  me,  nay :  pauca  verba.  Away ;  the 
gentles  are  at  their  game,  and  we  will  to  our 
recreation.  [Exeunt. 

(3)  In  truth. 


Scmt  III 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


SCEJ^E  III  —Jlnolher  part  of  the  taw. 
Biron,  tcitn  a  paper. 


E;iier]  These  numbers  will  I  tear,  and  write  in  prose. 

I     Biron.  Inside.]  O,  rhymes  are  guards  on  wanton 
Cupid's  hose; 


Biron.  The  Icing  he  is  hunting  the  deer;  I  am  I  Disfigure  not  his  slop, 
coursmg  myself:  they  have  pitch'd  a  toil;  I  ami     x^=^.  This  same  snail  m.- 

toiUng  in  a  pitch ;  pitch  that  defiles ;  defile !  a  foul  ^jjg  ^eads  the  sonnet. 


ord.  \Vel ,  set  thee  down,  sorrow !  for  so,  they  Ijjij  ^/  /Ae  heacetdy  rhetoric  of  thine  eye 
say  the  fool  said,  and  so  say  I.  and  I  the  fool.  ('G«mt  whom  the  world  cannot  lioldat 
Well  proved,  wit !  By  the  lord,  this  love  is  as  mad!pe^,„<^  ^y  heart  to  this  fahe  perjury  1 


ar^ment,^ 


as  Ajax  :   it  kills  sheep  ;  it  kdls  me.  I  a  sheep  :i     Yows,  for  thee  broke,  de'sene'no'l  punishment. 

Well  proved  again  on  my  side  !  I  will  not  love :  il ^  woman  I  forswore ;  but,  I  will  prove, 

I  do,  hang  me  ;  I'faith,  I  will  not.  O,  but  her  eye,—      ^Aou  bein^  a  goddess,  1  forswore  not  thee  ; 

by  this  light,  but  lor  her  eye,  1  would  not  love  her ;  \My  ^^^  was  eartldy,  thou  a  heavenly  love  ; 

yes,  for  her  two  eves.    W  ell,  I  do  nothing  ui  the      J^Au  gface  being  gained,  cures  aU  dis^ace  in  mt. 

world  but  he,  and  he  m  my  throaL    By  heaven,  I  p^os  are  bid  breallu  and  breath  a  vapour  is  : 

do  love :  and  it  hath  taught  me  to  rhyme,  and  to      j-hen  thou,    fair  sun,  which  on  my  earth  doth 

be  melancholy ;  and  here  is  part  of  my  rhyme,  and  shine 

here  my  melancholy.    Well,  she  hath  one  o'  iny\£xhaCst  this  vapour  voio  ;  in  thee  Uis: 

sonnets  already ;  the  clown  bore  it,  the  fool  sent  it,      jf  broken  then,  UUno  fauU  of  mine  : 

and  the  lady  hath  it:  sweet  clown,  sweeter  lool,|//-]^„  ,««  ftroA.,-,  What  fool  is  not  so  wise, 

sweetest  lady !   By  the  world,  1  would  not  care  a  -fo  lose  an  oath  to  toin  a  paradise  ? 


pin  if  the  other  three  were  in :   Here  comes  one 
with  a  paper ;  God  give  him  grace  to  groan ! 

[Gels  up  into  a  tree. 

Enter  the  King,  with  a  paper. 

King.  Ah  me ! 

Biron.  [.iside.]  Shot,  by  heaven  ! — ^Proceed, 
sweet  Cupid  ;  thou  hast  thump'd  him  with  thy 
bird-bolt  under  the  left  pap : — I'faith  secrets. — 

iking'.  [Reads.]  So  sweet  a  kiss  the  golden  sun 
gives  not 

To  lliose  fresh  morning  drops  upon  the  rose, 
Jis  thy  eye-beams,  when  Uieir  fresh  raijs  have  smote 

The  night  of  dew  lltcU  on  my  cheeks  doicn  flows : 
.W  shiius  the  silver  moon  one  half  so  bright 

Through  the  transparent  bosom  of  the  deep, 
^s  doth  Ihyface  through  tears  of  mine  give  Ught; 

Thou  shtn'st  in  every  tear  that  I  do  weep : 
J^o  drop  but  as  a  coach  doth  carry  thee. 

So  ridest  tlun^  triumphing  in  my  wo  : 
Do  but  behold  the  tears  that  stoell  in  me, 

And  they  thy  glory  through  thy  grief  wiU  show : 
But  do  not  love  thyself;  then  thou  wilt  keep 
.\Iy  tears  for  glasses,  and  still  make  me  weep. 
0  queen  of  queens,  how  far  dost  thou  excel  ! 
.Vo  thmigiU  can  think,  nor  tongue  of  mortal  tell. — 
How  shall  she  know  my  grief?  I'll  drop  the  paper : 
Sweet  leaves,  shade  folly.  Who  is  he  comes  here  ? 

[Siejas  aside. 

£rUer  Longaville,  toith  a  paper. 

IVhat,  Lon^aville !  and  reading !  listen,  ear. 
Biron.  Now,  in  thy  likeness,  one  more  fool, 
appear !  [Aside. 

Long.  Ah  me !  I  am  forsworn. 
jBiron.  VVhy,  he  comes  in  like  a  perjure,  wear- 
ing papers.  [Aside. 
King.  In  love,  I  hope ;  Sweet  fellowship  in 
shame !  [Aside. 
Biron.  One  drunkard  loves  another  of  the  name  ? 

[Aside. 

1/mg.  Am  I  the  first  that  have  been  perjur'd  so  ? 

Biron.  [Aside.]  I  could  put  thee  in  comfort;  not 

bv  two,  that  I  know  : 

Thou    mal<'st   the  triumviry,    the  comer-cap  ofi 

society, 
The  shape  of  love's  Tyburn  that  hangs  up  sim- 
plicity. 
Long.  I  fear  these  stubborn  lines  lack  pvwer  to 
move : 
0  Bweet  Maria,  empress  of  my  love ! 

(I)  Outstripped,  surpassed.  i 


( paradL 

Biron.   [Aside.]   This  is  the  liver  vein,  which 
makes  ilesh  a  deity ; 
A  green  goose  a  goddess :  pure,  pure  idolatry. 
God  amend  us,  God  amend  !  we  are  much  out  o* 
the  way. 


Enter  Dumain,  with  a  paper. 


Lons 


By  whom  shall  I  send  this  ? — Company ! 
stay.  [^Stepping  aside. 

Biron.  [Asidt.]  All  hid,  all  hid,  an  old  infant 
play : 
Like  a  demi-god  here  sit  I  in  the  sky, 
And  wretched  fools'  secrets  heedfully  o'er-eye. 
More  saclis  to  the  mill!  O  heavens,  I  have  my  wish  t 
Dumain  transform'd  :  four  woodcocks  in  a  dish  ! 
Dum.O  most  divine  Kate ! 
Biron.  O  most  profane  coxcomb  !     [Aside. 

Dum.  By  heaven,  the  wonder  of  a  mortal  eye ! 
Biron.  By  eartli,  she  is  but  corporal ;  there  yon 
lie.  ^  [Aside, 

Dum,  Her  amber  hairs  for  foul  have  amber 

coted.' 
Biron.  An  amber-colour'd  raven  was  well  noted. 

[Aside. 
Dum.  As  upright  as  the  cedar. 
*Biron.  Stoop,  I  say ; 

Her  shoulder  is  with  child.  [Aside. 

Dum.  As  fair  as  day. 

Biron.  Ay,  as  some  days  ;  but  then  no  sun  must 
shine.  [Aside. 

Dum.  O  that  I  had  my  wish ! 
lAtng.  And  I  had  mine !    [Aside. 

Kiiig.  And  I  mine  too,  good  Lord !  [Aside, 

Biron,  Amen,  so  I  had  mine :  Is  not  that  a  srood 
word  ?  [.iside, 

Dum.  I  would  forget  her ;  but  a  fever  she 
Reigns  in  my  blood,  and  will  remember'd  be. 
Biron.  A  fever  in  your  blood,  why,  then  inci- 
sion 
Would  let  her  out  in  saucers ;  Sweet  misprision  ! 

[Aside. 
Dum.  Once  more  I'll  read  the  ode  that  I  hare 

writ, 
Biron.  Once  more  I'll  mark  how  love  can  vary 
wit.  [Aside. 

Dum.  On  a  day  {alack  the  day .') 

Love,  xohose  month  is  ever  .Voy, 
Spied  a  blossom,  passing  fair. 
Playing  in  the  tcanton  atr  : 
Through  the  velvet  leaves  the  wind^ 
AU  unseen,  ^gan  passage  find; 
That  the  lover,  sick  to  death, 
Wish'd  himself  the  htavtn't  brtalh, 
Y 


170 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


Jetiy 


Jlir,  quoth  he,  thy  cheeks  may  blow  i 
Mvy  wouid  I  might  triumph  so ! 
But  alack,  my  /utnd  is  sworn, 
•\e'fr  to  pliKK  thee  from  thy  tlwm : 
Vmc,  alack,  for  youth  utimeet; 
Youth  so  apt  to  pluck  a  sweet. 
Do  not  cull  it  sin  in  me, 
Tliat  I  am  forsworn  for  thee : 
Thou  for  whom  even  Jove  would  swear, 
Juno  out  an  Ethiop  were; 
And  deny  himself  for  Jove,  ^ 
Turning  mortal'j'or  thy  love. — 
This  will  I  send ;  and  sometliin!^  else  more  plain, 
That  shall  esprcis  my  true  love's  Ikstincr  pam. 
Oj  would  the  King,  Biron,  and  Lonjjaville, 
W  ere  lovers  too !  Ill,  to  example  ill. 
Would  from  my  forehead  wipe  a  perjur'd  note ; 
For  none  oifend,  where  all  alike  do  note. 
Long.  Dumain,  [aJranctng^.]  thy  love  is  far  from 
charit}', 
That  in  love's  grief  uesir'st  society : 
You  may  look  pale,  but  I  should  iilush,  I  know, 
To  be  o'crhcrird,  and  taken  napping  so. 
King.   Come,  sir,  [advancing.]  you  blush;  as 
his  your  casn  is  such ; 
You  cliide  at  liini,  offending'  twice  as  much: 
You  do  not  love  Maria ;  Lonjcaville 
Did  never  sonnet  for  her  sake  compile ; 
Nor  never  lay  liis  wreathed  arms  athwart 
His  lovinjj  bosom,  to  keep  down  hfs  heart. 
I  have  been  closely  shrouded  in  this  busk. 
And  mark'd  you  both,  and  for  you  botli  did  blush. 
I  heard  vour  suilty  rhymes,  observ'd  your  fashion  ; 
Saw  sisrhs  recK  from  you,  noted  well  your  passion : 
Ah  me !  says  one  ;  O  Jove  !  the  other  cries  ; 
One,  her  hairs  were  gold,  crvstal  the  other's  eyes : 
You  would  for  paradise  break  faith  and  troth ; 

[To  Long. 
And  Jove,  for  your  love,  would  infringe  an  oath. 

{To  Dumain. 
What  will  Biron  say,  when  that  he  shall  hear 
A  faith  infrintj'd,  which  such  a  zeal  did  swear  7 
How  will  he  scorn  ?  how  will  he  spend  his  wit  7 
How  will  he  triumph,  leap,  and  laugh  at  it  7 
For  all  the  wealth  that  ever  I  did  see, 
I  would  not  have  him  know  so  much  by  me. 

Biron.  Now  step  I  forth  to  whip  hypocrisy. — 
Ah,  good  my  liege,  I  pray  thee  pardon  me : 

[Descends  from  the  tree. 
Good  heart,  what  grace  liast  thou,  thus  to  reprove 
These  worms  for  lovinjr,  that  art  most  in  love  ? 
Your  eyes  do  make  no  coaches ;  in  your  tears. 
There  is  no  certain  princess  that  appears  : 
You'll  not  be  perjur'd,  'tis  a  hateful  thing; 
Tush,  none  but  minstrels  like  of  sonneting. 
But  are  you  not  asham'd  ?  nay,  are  you  not, 
All  three  of  you,  to  be  thus  much, o'ershot? 
You  found  his  mote ;  tiic  king  your  mote  did  see ; 
But  I  a  beam  do  find  in  each  of  three. 
O,  what  a  scene  of  foolery  I  have  seen. 
Of  sighs,  of  groans,  of  sorrow,  and  of  teen  !' 
O  me,  with  what  strict  patience  hare  I  sat. 
To  see  a  Idng  transformed  to  a  gnat ! 
To  see  great  Hercules  whipping  a  gigg. 
And  profound  Solomon  to  tune  a  ji^g. 
And  Nestor  play  at  push-pin  with  the  boys, 
And  critic'  Timon  laugh  at  idle  toys ! 
Where  lies  thy  grief,  O  tell  me,  ^ood  Dumain  ? 
And,  gentle  LongaviUc,  where  lies  thy  pain  7 
And  where  my  liege's  7  all  about  the  breast  :— 
A  caudle,  ho ! 
King.  Too  bitter  is  thy  jest. 

(1)  Grief.    (2)  Cynic.    (3)  In  trinuning  myself. 


Are  we  betray'd  thus  to  thy  over- view  7 

Biron.  Not  you  by  me,  but  I  betray'd  to  you ; 
L  that  am  honest ;  I,  that  hold  it  sin 
To  break  the  vow  I  am  engaged  in  ; 
I  am  betrayed,  by  keeping  company 
With  moon-hko  men,  of  strange  inconstancy. 
When  shall  you  see  me  write  a  thing  in  rhyme? 
Or  groan  for  Joan  ?  or  spend  a  minute's  time 
In  pruning'  me  7  When  shall  you  hear  that  I 
Will  praise  a  hand,  a  toot,  a  face,  an  eye, 
A  ^ait,  a  state,  a  brow,  a  breast,  a  waut, 
A.  leg,  a  limb  7 — 

King.  Soft ;  Whither  awav  so  fast? 

A  true  man,  or  a  thief,  that  gallops  so  ^ 
Biron.  I  post  from  love ;  good  lover,  let  me  go. 

Enter  Jaquenetta  and  Costard. 
Jaq.  God  bless  tlie  king ! 
Jibing.  What  present  hast  thou  there  ? 

Cost.  Some  certain  treason. 
King.  AVhat  makes  treason  here? 

Cost.  Nay,  it  makes  nothing,  sir. 
Kins.  If  it  iiiar  nothing  neither, 

The  treason,  and  you,  f^o  in  peace  away  together. 
Jaq.  I  beseech  your  grace,  let  this  letter  be  read ; 
Our  ])arson  misdoubts  it;  'twas  treason,  he  said. 

King.  Biron.  read  it  over.  [Giving  him  the  letter. 
Wliere  hadst  tnou  it  7 
Jitq.  Of  Costard. 
King.  Where  hadst  thou  it  ? 
Cost.  Of  Dun  Adramadio,  Dun  Adramadio. 
King.    How  now!   what  is  in  you?  why  dost 

thou  tear  it  ? 
Biron.  A  toy,  my  liege,  a  toy ;  your  grace  needs 

not  fear  it. 
Long.  It  did  move  him  to  passion,  and  therefore 

let's  hear  it. 
Dum.  It  is  Biron's  writing,  and  here  is  his  name. 
[Picks  up  the  pieces. 
Biron.  Ah,  you  whoreson  loggerhead,  [To  Co»« 
/  tard.]  you  were  born  to  do  me  shame. 

Guilty,  my  lord,  guilty ;  I  confess,  I  confess. 
King.  What? 

Bircm.  That  you  three  fools  lack'd  me  fool  to 
make  up  the  mess  : 
He,  he,  and  you,  mv  liege,  and  I, 
Are  pick-purses  in  fove,  and  we  deserve  to  die. 
0,  dismiss  this  audience,  and  I  shall  tell  you  more. 
Dum.  Now  the  number  is  even. 
Biron.  True,  true;  we  are  four: — 

Will  these  turtles  be  gone  7 
King.  Hence,  sirs,  away. 

Cost.  Walk  aside  the  true  folk,  and  let  the  trai- 
tors st-dy.  [Exeunt  Cost,  and  Jaq. 
Biron.  Sweet  lords,  sweet  lovers,  O  let  us  em- 
brace ! 
As  true  we  arc,  as  flesh  and  blood  can  be : 
The  sea  will  ebb  and  flow,  heaven  show  his  face ; 

Young  blood  will  not  obey  an  old  decree : 
We  cannot  cross  the  cause  v^hy  we  were  bom ; 
Therefore,  of  all  hands  must  we  be  forsworn. 
King.    What,  did  these  rent  lines  show  some 

love  of  thine  ? 
Biron.    Did  thev,  quoth  you?   Who  sees  the 
heavenly  Rosaline,  , 

That,  like  a  rude  and  savage  man  of  Inde, 

At  the  first  openinfc  of  the  gorgeous  east. 
Bows  not  his  vassal  head  ;  and,  strucken  blind, 

Kisses  the  base  ground  with  obedient  breast? 
What  peremptory  eagle-sighted  eye 

Dares  look  upon  the  heaven  of  her  brow, 
That  is  not  blinded  by  her  majesty? 
KiJig.  What  zeal,  what  fury  hath  inspir'd  thee 
now? 


Scene  UI. 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


m 


My  loTC,  her  mistress,  is  a  gracious  moon  j 
She,  an  attending  star,  scarce  seen  a  hsrht. 
Biron.  Mv  eyes  are  then  no  eyes,  nor  I  Bir6n : 
O,  but  tor  my  love,  dav  would  turn  to  night! 

Of  all  complexions  the  cull'd  sovereignty 
Do  meet,  as  at  a  lair,  in  her  fair  cheek ; 

Where  several  ivortliies  make  one  dignity  ; 


!    Long.  O,  some  authority  how  to  proceed ; 
Some  tricks,  some  quillets,'  how  to  cheat  the  devil. 
j     Dum.  Some  salve  for  perjury. 
I    Biron.  O,  'tis  more  than  need  t— 

j  Have  at  you  then,  affection's  men  at  anns : 
j  Consider,  what  you  lirst  did  swear  unto  ;— 
To  fast, — to  study,— and  to  see  no  woman  ;— 
Where  uothmg  wants,  that  want  itself  doth'Flat  treason 'painst  the  kingly  state  of  youth. 

seek.  Say,  can  you  fast  ?  your  stomachs  are  too  young ; 

Lend  me  tiie  flourish  of  all  s;ent!e  tonsiues, —  lAnd  abstinence  engenders  maladies. 

Fie,  painted  rhetoric  !  0,  she  needs  it  not :       |  And  where  that  you  have-vow'd  to  study,  lords, 
To  things  of  sale  a  seller's  praLse  belongs ;  In  that  each  of  you  hath  forsworn  his  book : 

She  passes  praise  ;  Uieu  praise  too  short  doth  Can  you  still  dream,  and  pore,  and  thereon  look? 


blot. 
A  vsither'd  hermit,  five-score  winters  worn. 

Might  shake  off  fifty,  looking  in  iier  eye: 
Beauty  doth  varnish  age,  as  if  new-born. 

And  ijives  the  crutch  the  cradle's  iniancy. 
O,  'tis  1!m;  sun,  tliat  maketh  all  thuigs  shine  ! 
King.  By  heaven,  thy  love  is  black  as  ebony. 
Biron.  Is  ebony  like  her?  O  wood  divine! 
A  wife  of  such  wood  were  felicity. 
O,  who  can  ^ive  an  oath  ?  where  is  a  book  ? 

That  I  may  swear^  beauty  doth  beauty  lack. 
If  that  she  learn  not  ol  her  eye  to  look  : 
No  face  is  fair,  that  is  not  full  so  black. 
King.  O  paradox  !  Black  is  the  badge  of  hell, 
The  hue  of  dungeons,  and  the  scowl  of  nigiit ; 
And  beautv's  crest  becomes  the  heavens  well 


For  when  ^vould  you,  my  lord,  or  you,  or  you, 

Have  found  the  ground  of  study's  excellence, 

Witliout  the  beauty  of  a  woman's  face  ? 

From  women's  eyes  tliis  doctrine  I  derive : 

Tliey  are  the  ground,  the  books,  the  academes. 

From  whence  dotli  spring  the  true  Promethean  fire. 

Why,  universal  plodding  prisons  up 

The  nimble  spirits  in  the  arteries ; 

As  motion,  and  long-durin^r  action,  tires 

The  sine^vy  viifour  of  the  traveller. 

Now.  for  not  looking  on  a  woman's  face, 

You  have  in  that  forsworn  the  use  of  eyes ; 

And  study  too,  the  causer  of  your  vow : 

For  where  is  any  author  in  the  world. 

Teaches  sucli  beauty  as  a  woman's  eye  7 

Learning  is  but  an  adjunct  to  oursell. 


Biron.  Devils  soonest  tempt,  resembling  spirits!  And  where  we  are,  our  learning  likewise  is 


of  light. 
0,  if  in  black  rny  lady's  brows  be  decktj 

It  mourns,  that  painting,  and  usurpmg  hair. 
Should  ravish  doters  with  a  false  aspect ; 

And  therefore  is  she  born  to  make  black  fair 
Her  favour  turns  the  fashion  of  the  days  ; 

For  native  blood  is  counted  painting  now  ; 
And  therefore  red,  that  would  avoid  dispraise. 

Paints  itself  black,  to  imitate  her  brow, 


Then,  when  ourselves  we  sec  in  ladies'  eyes. 
Do  we  not  likewise  see  our  learning  there  ? 
O,  we  have  made  a  vow  to  study,  lords ; 
And  in  that  vow  we  have  forsworn  our  books ; 
For  when  would  you,  my  liege,  or  you,  or  you. 
In  leaden  contemplation,  have  found  out 
Such  fiery  numbers,  as  the  prompting  eyes 
Of  beauteous  tutors  have  enrich'd  you  with? 
; Other  slow  arts  entirely  keep  the  brain  ; 


Dum.  To  look  like  her,  arc  chimney-sweepers!  And  therefore  finding  barren  practisers. 


black 
Long.  And,  since  her  time,  are  colliers  counted 

bright. 
King.  And  Ethiops  of  their  sweet  complexion 

crack. 
Dum.  Dark  needs  no  candles  now,  for  dark  is 

light. 
Biron.  Your  mistresses  dare  never  come  in  rain, 
For  fear  their  colours  should  be  wash'd  away. 
King.  'Twere  good,  yours  did ;  for,  sir,  to  tell 

you  plain, 
I'll  find  a  fairer  face  not  wash'd  to-dav, 


Biron.    I'll  prove  her  fair,  or  talk  till  dooms-day 

here. 
King.  No  devil  will  fright  thee  then  so  much  as | For  valour^  is  not  love  a  Hercules, 

she.  Still  climbing  trees  in  the  Hesperides  ? 


Scarce  show  a  harvest  of  their  heavy  toil : 
But  love,  first  learned  in  a  lady's  eyes. 
Lives  not  alone  immured  in  the  brain  ; 
But  with  the  motion  of  all  elements. 
Courses  as  swift  as  thought  in  every  power , 
And  gives  to  every  power  a  double  power. 
Above  their  functions  and  their  offices. 
It  adds  a  precious  seeing  to  the  eye  j 
A  lover's  eyes  will  gaze  an  eagle  bhnd  ; 
A  lover's  ear  will  hear  the  lowest  sound. 
When  the  suspicious  head  of  theft  is  stopp'd  ; 
Love's  feeling  is  more  soft,  and  sensible. 
Than  are  the  tender  horns  of  cockled  snails ; 
Love's  tongue  proves  dainty  Bacchus  gross  in  taste: 


Subtle  as  sphinx  ;  as  sweet,  and  musical, 
As  bright  Apollo's  lute,  strung  with  his  hair ; 
And,  ^vhen  love  speaks,  the  voice  of  all  the  gods 


Dum.  1  never  knew  man  hold  vile  stuff  so  dear 
Long.   Look,  here's  thy  love  :  my  foot  and  her 
face  see.  [Slwwing  his  shoe. 

Biron.  O,  if  the  streets  were  paved  with  thuiej Makes  heaven  drowsy  with  the  harmony 
eyes,  l  Never  durst  poet  touch  a  pen  to  write, 

Her  feet  were  much  too  dainty  for  such  tread  !  'Until  his  ink  were  tcmper'd  with  love's  sighs ; 
Dwn.  O  vile!  then  as  she  goes,  what  upward jO,  then  his  line^  would  ravisli  savage  ears, 
lies  I  And  plant  in  tyrants  mild  humility. 

The  street  should  see  as  she  walk'd  over 'From  women's  eves  this  doctrine  I  derive: 


head. 

King.  But  what  of  this?  Are  we  not  all  in  love? 

Biron.  O,  nothing  so  sure ;  and  thereby  all  for- 
sworn. 

King.   Then  leave  t'»is  chat ;  and,  good  Bir6n, 
now  prove 
Our  loving  lawful,  and  our  faith  not  torn. 

Dum.  Ay,  marry,  there ;— some  flattery  for  this, 
evil. 


They  sparkle  still  the  rigiit  Promethean  fire ; 
They  arc  the  books,  the  arts,  the  academes. 
That  show,  contain,  and  nourish  all  the  world : 
Else,  none  at  all  in  aught  proves  excellent : 
Then  fools  you  were  these  women  to  forswear ; 
Or,  keeping  what  is  sworn,  you  will  prove  fools. 
For  ivisdom's  sake,  a  word  that  all  men  love ; 

(1)  Law  chicane. 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


-^iwn 


Or  for  love's  sate,  a  word  that  loves  all  men ; 
Or  for  men's  sake,  the  author's  of  these  women  ; 
Or  women's  sake,  by  whom  we  men  are  men ; 
Let  us  once  lose  our  oaths,  to  find  ourselves, 
Or  else  we  lose  ourjelves  to  keep  our  oaths : 
It  is  religion  to  be  thus  forsworn : 
For  charity  itself  fulfils  the  law ; 
And  who  can  sever  love  from  charity  ? 
King.  Saint  Cupid,  tlien!  and,  soldiers,  to  the 

field! 
Biron.  Advance  your  standards,  and  upon  them, 
lords ; 
Pell-mell,  down  with  them !  but  be  first  advis'd. 
In  conflict  that  you  get  the  sun  of  them. 

Long.  Now  to  plain-dealin'jT ;  lav  these  glozes  by : 
Shall  we  resolve  to  woo  these  girls  of  France  ? 

King.  And  win  them  too :  therefore  let  us  devise 
Some  entertainment  for  them  in  their  tents. 
Biron.  First,  from  tlie  park  let  us  conduct  them 
thither  : 
Then,  homeward  every  man  attach  the  hand 
Of  his  fair  mistress :  in  the  afternoon 
We  will  with  some  strange  pastime  solace  them, 
Such  as  the  shortness  of  the  time  can  shape  ; 
For  revels,  dances,  masks,  and  merry  hours, 
Fore-run  tair  love,  strcwinij  her  way  with  flowers. 

King.  Away,  away !  no  time  shall  be  omitted, 
That  will  be  lime,  and  may  by  us  be  fitted. 
Biron.  Allans !  Allois ! — Sow'd  cockle  reap'd 
no  corn  ; 
And  justice  alwaj-s  whirls  in  equal  measure : 
Light  wenches  may  prove  plagues  to  men  forsivom  ; 
If  so,  our  copper  buys  no  better  treasure. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  V. 


SCEJ^E  I.— Another  part  of  tht  same.     Enter 
Holofernes,  Hir  Nathaniel,  and  Dull. 

Hoi.  Salis  quod  sxtfficit. 

J^ath.  I  praise  God  for  you,  sir:  your  reasons' 
at  dinner  have  been  sharp  and  sententious  ;  plea- 
sant without  scurrility,  witty  without  affection,'-' 
audacious  without  jmpudency,  learned  without 
opinion,  and  stransrc  ivithout  neresy.  I  did  con- 
Terse  this  quondam  day  ivith  a  companion  of  ).he 
kind's,  who  is  intituled,  nominated,  or  called,  Don 
Adriano  de  Armado. 

Hoi.  J^ovi  hominem  tanquam  te :  His  humour 
is  lofty,  his  discourse  peremptory,  his  tonffue  filed, 
his  eye  ambitious^  his  pait  majestical,  and  his  prenc- 
ral  behanour  vam,  ridiculous,  and  thrasonical. =' 
He  is  too  picked,*  too  spruce,  too  afiectcd,  too  odd, 
AS  it  were,  too  perigrinate,  as  I  may  call  it. 

J^ath.  A  most  singular  and  choice  epithet. 

[Takes  out  his  table-book. 

Hoi.  He  draweth  out  the  thread  of  his  verbosity 
finer  than  the  staple  of  his  ariument.  I  abhor  sucli 
f.inatical  phantasms,  such  insociable  and  point-de- 
vise* companions  ;  such  rackers  of  orthotjraphy,  as 
to  spealf,  dout,  fine,  when  hd  should  say  doubt ; 
det,  when  he  should  pronounce  debt ;  d,  e,  b,  t ; 
not  d,  c,  t:  he  clepcth  a  calf,  cauf;  half,  hauf; 
neighbour,  vocatnr,  nebour  ;  neifrh,  abbreviated, 
ne  T  This  is  nbhoniinabic  (which  he  would  call 
abominable,)  it  insinuatcth  me  of  insanie  ;  .^'*« 
intelligis  donine  ?  to  make  frantic,  lunatic. 

Nath.  Lau.1  deo,  bone  inlelligo. 

(1)  Discourses.  (2)  Affectation. 

(S)  Boastful.  (4)  Over-dressed. 

(5)  Finical  exactness. 


Hoi.  Bone  ? hont,  for  bene :  PrUc{4m  &  little 

scratch'd ;  'twill  serve. 

Enter  Armado,  Moth,  and  Costard. 

Nath.  Videsne  quis  venit  ? 

Hoi.  Video,  et  gaudeo. 

./?nn.  Chirra !  [ToMotL 

Hoi.  Q,uare  Chirra,  not  sirrah? 

Arm.  Men  of  peace,  well  encounter'd. 

Hoi.  Most  mihtary  sir,  salutation. 

Moth.  They  have' been  at  a  threat  feast  of  lan- 
guages, and  stolen  the  scraps.    ^To  Costard  aside. 

Cost.  O,  they  have  lived  lonjT  m  the  alms-basket 
of  words !  "I  marvel,  thy  master  hath  not  eaten 
thee  for  a  word  ;  for  thou  art  not  so  long  by  tJie 
head  as  honorificabUitudinitalibus :  thou  art  easier 
swallowed  than  a  flap-dragon.'' 

JHotft.  Peace ;  tliepeal  begins. 

Jinn.  Monsieur,  [To  Ho!.]  are  you  not  letter'd  ? 

Moth.  Yes,  yes ;  he  teaches  boys  the  hornbook : — 
What  is  a,  b,  spelt  backward,  'with  a  horn  on  hisi 
head  ? 

Hoi.  Ba,  pu2rilia,  with  a  horn  added. 

Aloth.  Ba,  most  silly  sheep,  with  a  horn  : — ^Yoo 
hear  his  learning. 

Hoi.  Q,uis,  quis,  thou  consonant  ? 

Jdolh.  The  third  of  the  five  vowels,  if  you  re  • 
peat  them ;  or  the  fidh,  if  I. 

Hoi.  I  will  repeat  them,  a,  e,  i. — 

jMoth.  The  sheep :  the  other  two  concludes  it ; 
0,  u.  , 

Arm.  Now,  by  the  salt  wave  of  the  Mediterra  •       J 
ncum,  a  sweet  touch,'  a  quick  venew  of  wit :  snip,       I 
snap,  quick  and  home  ;  it  rcjoiceth  my  intellect : 
true  wit 

Jilola.  Offcr'd  by  a  child  to  an  old  man ;  which 
is  wit-old. 

Hoi.  What  is  the  figure?  what  is  the  figure  7 

Jiloth.  Horns. 

Hoi.  Thou  disputes!  lilce  an  infant :  g-o,  whip 
thy  ^ig. 

\Moth.  Lend  me  your  horn  to  make  one,  and  I 
v.ill  whip  about  your  infamy  cucio.'i  circa  ;  A  gig 
of  a  cuckold's  horn  ! 

Cost.  An  I  had  but  one  penny  in  the  world, 
thou  should'st  have  it  to  buy  gingerbread  :  hold, 
there  is  the  very  remuneration  I  had  of  thy  master, 
thou  half-penny  purse  of  wit,  thou  pigeon-egg  of 
discretion.  0,  an  the  heavens  were  so  pleased,  that 
thou  wert  but  my  bastard  !  what  a  joyful  father 
would'st  thou  make  me  !  Go  to  ;  thou  hast  it  ad 
dunghill,  at  the  fingers'  ends,  as  they  say. 

Hoi.  0,  I  smell  false  Latin  ;  dunghill  for  «?i- 
guem. 

Arm.  Arts-man,  prccambida  ;  we  will  be  singled 
from  the  barbarous.  Do  you  n't  educate  youth  at 
the  charje-house*  on  the  top  of  the  mountain  7 

Hoi.  Or,  mo7is,  the  hill. 

Arm.  At  your  sweet  pleasure,  for  the  mountain. 

Hoi.  I  do,  sans  question. 

.^nn.  Sir,  it  is  the  king's  most  sweet  pleasure 
and  affection,  to  congratulate  the  princess  at  her 
pavilion,  in  the  posteriors  of  this  day ;  which  the 
rude  multitude  call  the  afternoon. 

Hoi.  The  posterior  of  the  day,  most  generous 
sir,  is  liable,  congruent,  and  measurable  for  J.ho 
afternoon  :  the  word  is  well  cuU'd,  chose ;  sweet 
and  apt,  I  do  assure  you,  sir,  I  do  assure. 

Ann.  Sir,  the  king  is  a  noble  gentleman ;  and 
my  familiar,  I  do  assure  yov,  very  good  friend : — 

(6)  A  small  inflammable  substance,  swallowed 
in  a  glass  of  wine.  i 

f  (7)  A  hit  (8)  Frec-schooL 


Scene  11. 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 
Prin. 


in 


For  what  is  inward'  between  us,  let  it  pass: — I  do|    Prin.  Nothing  but  thii  7  yes,  as  much  lore  in 

beseech  Ihee,  remember  thr  courtesy ; — I  beseechj  rhyme 

thee,  apparel  thy  head  ;  and  amon;^  other  importu-.  As  would  be  craram'd  up  in  a  sheet  of  paper, 

nate  and  most  serious  designs, — and  of  great  im-IWrit  on  both  sides  the  leaf,  marsent  ana  all ; 

port,  indeed,  too  ; — but  let  that  pass : — for  I  mustlThat  he  was  fain  to  seal  on  Cupid's  name. 

tell  thee,  it  will  please  his  grace  (by  the  %vor!d)'     lio^.  That  was  the  way  to  make  his  god-head 


sometime  to  lean  upon  my  poor  shoulder ;  and  v.ith 
his  royal  fing^er,  thus,  dally  with  my  excrement,'' 
with  niy  musiachio :  but  sweet  heart  j  let  tliat  pass. 
By  tlie  world,  I  recount  no  fable ;  some  certain 
special  honours  it  pleaseth  his  greatness  to  impart 
to  Armado,  a  soldier,  a  man  of  travel,  that  hath 


wax;* 

For  he  hath  been  five  thousand  years  a  boy. 
Kath.  Ay,  and  a  shrewd  unhappy  fallows  too. 
Ros.  You'll  ne'er  be  friends  %vith  him ;  he  kill'd 

your  sister. 
K(Uh.  He  made  her  melancholr,  sad,  and  heaty ; 


seen  the  world:  but  let  that  pass. — The  rerj'  all  ofj  And  so  she  died  :  had  she  been  light,  like  you, 


all  is, — but,  swedt  heart,  I  do  implore  secrecy, — 
that  the  kincr  would  have  me  present  the  princess, 
sweet  chuck,'  with  some  delightful  ostentation,  or 
show,  or  pageant,  or  antic,  or  fire-work.  Now, 
understanding  that  the  curate  and  your  sweet  self, 
are  good  at  such  eruptions,  and  sudden  breaking 
out  of  mirth,  as  it  were,  I  have  acquainted  you 
withal,  to  the  end  to  crave  your  assistance. 

Hoi.  Sir,  you  shall  present  before  her  the  nine 
worthies. — Sir  Nathaniel,  as  concerning  some  en- 
tertainment of  time,  some  show  in  the  posterior  of 
this  day,  to  be  rendered  by  our  assistance, — ^the 
king's  command,  and  this  most  gallant,  illustrate, 
ancT  learned  gentleman, — before  the  princess ;  I 
say,  none  so  fit  as  to  present  the  nine  worthies. 

J^alh.  Where  will  you  find  men  worthy  enough 
to  present  them  ? 

tiol.  Joshua,  yourself:  myself,  or  this  gallant 
gentleman,  Judas  Maccabaeus;  this  swain,  because 
of  liis  great  limb  or  joint,  shall  pass  Pompey  the 
great ;  the  pasre,  Hercules. 

Arm.  Pardon,  sir,  error :  he  is  not  quantity 
enough  for  that  worthy's  thumb  :  he  is  not  so  big 
&«  the  end  of  his  club. 

Hoi.  Shall  I  have  audience?  he  shall  present 
Hercules  in  minority ;  his  enter  and  exit  shall  be 
strangling  a  snake ;  and  I  will  have  iin  apology  for 
that  purpose. 

Moth.  An  excellent  device '  so,  if  any  of  the 
audience  hiss,  you  may  cry  :  xceU  done,  Hercules ! 
note  thou  crvshtth  the  snake  !  that  is  the  way  to 
make  an  offence  gracious ;  though  few  have' the 
grace  to  do  it. 

»4rHi.  For  the  rest  of  the  worthies  ? 

Hoi.  I  will  play  three  myself. 

Moth.  Thrice-worthy  gentleman ! 

Arm.  Shall  I  tell  you  a  thing  ? 

Hoi.  We  attend. 

Arm.  We  will  have,  if  this  fadge*  not,  an  antic. 
I  beseech  you,  follow. 

Hoi.  rid,'  good  man  Dull !  thou  has  spoken  no 
word  all  this  while. 

Dull.  Nor  understood  none  neither,  sir. 

Hoi.  Allans !  we  will  employ  thee. 

Dull.  I'll  make  one  in  a  dance,  or  so  :  or  I  will 
play  on  the  tabor  to  the  wortliies,  ana  let  them 
dance  the  hay. 

Hoi.  Most" dull,  honest  Dull,  to  our  sport,  away. 

[Exeunt. 

SCEXE  H.—*9nother  part  of  the  same.  Before 
the  Princess's  Pavilion.  Enter  the  Princess, 
Katharine,  Rosaline,  and  Maria. 

Prin.  Sweet  hearts,we  shall  be  rich  ere  we  depart. 
If  fairings  come  thus  plentifully  in  : 
A  lady  walled  about  with  diamonds  ! — 
Look  you,  what  I  have  from  the  loving  king. 

Ros.  Madam,  came  nothing  else  along  with  that  ? 

(1)  Confidential.        (2)  Beard.        (3)  Chick. 
(4)  Suit.  (5)  Courage,  (6)  GtoMt, 


Of  such  a  merry,  nimble,  stirring  spirit. 

She  might  have  been  a  grandam  ere  she  died : 

And  so  may  you ;  for  a  light  heart  lives  long. 

Ros.  What's  your  dark  meaning,  mouse,'  of  thii 
light  word  ? 

Kath.  A  light  condition  in  a  beauty  dark. 

Ros.  We  need  more  light  to  find  your  meaning 
out. 

Kath.  You'll  mar  the  light,  by  taking  it  in  snuff;* 
Therefore,  I'll  darkly  end  the  argument. 

Ros.  Loolq  what  you  do,  you  do  it  still  i'  the  dark. 

Kath.  So  CO  not  you ;  for  you  are  a  light  wench. 

Ros.  Indeed,  I  weigh  not  you ;  and  therefore  light. 

Kath.  You  weigh  me  not, — 0,  that's,  you  care  not 
for  me. 

Ros.  Great  reason  ;  for.  Past  cure  is  still  past  care. 

Prin.  Well  bandied  both ;  a  set  of  wit  well  play'd. 
But  Rosaline,  you  have  a  favour  too : 
Who  sent  it  ?  and  what  is  it  ? 

Roi:  I  would,  you  kneir . 

An  if  my  face  were  but  as  fair  as  yours. 
My  favour  were  as  great ;  be  witness  Uiis. 
Nay,  I  have  verses  too,  I  thank  Bir6n  : 
The  numbers  true  ;  and,  were  the  numb'ring  too, 
I  were  the  fairest  goddess  on  the  ground  ; 
I  am  compar'd  to  twenty  thousand  fairs. 
O,  he  hatli  drawn  my  picture  in  his  letter ! 

Prin.  Any  thinsr  like  ? 

Ros.  Much,  in  the  letters ;  nothing  in  the  praise. 

Pri7i.  Beauteous  as  ink  ;  a  good  conclusion. 

Kath.  Fair  a.s  text  B  in  a  copy-book. 

Ros.  'Ware  pencils  I  How  ?  'let  me  not  die  your 
debtor, 
My  red  dominical,  my  golden  letter : 
O,  that  your  face  were  not  so  full  of  O's ! 

Kath.  A  pox  of  that  jest!  and  beshrew  all  shrews ! 

Prin.  But  what  was  sent  to  you  from  fair  Uu- 
main  ? 

Kath.  Ma(iam,  this  glove. 

Prin.    __  Did  he  not  send  you  twain  I 

Kath.  Yes,  madam ;  and  moreover. 
Some  thousand  verses  of  a  faithful  lover : 
A  huge  translation  of  hvpocrisy. 
Vilely  compil'd,  profound  simplicity. 

Mar.  This,  and  these  pearls,  to  me  senl  Longa  • 
ville ; 
Thf?  letter  b  too  long  by  half  a  mile. 

Prin.  I  think  no'lcsi :  Dost  thou  not  wish  in 
heart. 
The  chain  were  longer,  and  the  letter  short  ? 

Mar.  Av,  or  I  would  these  hands  might  nerer 
part.        _  ^ 

Prin.  We  are  wise  girls,  to  mock  our  lovers  so. 

Ros.  Thev  are  worse  fools  to  purchase  mocking  so. 
That  same  Bir6n  I'll  torture  ere  I  go. 
0,  that  I  knew  he  were  but  in  by  the  week ! 
How  would  I  make  him  fawn,  and  beg^  and  seek, 
And  wait  the  season,  and  observe  the  tmies, 
And  spend  his  prodigal  wits  in  bootless  rhymea ; 

(7)  Formerly  a  term  of  eadearmentt   (8)  In  angtr« 


m 


LOVE'S  LAR3UR'S  LOST. 


Je/r. 


And  ihape  his  service  wiiolly  to  my  behests  ; 
And  make  him  proud  to  make  me  proud  that  jests ! 
So  portent-like  would  I  o'ersway  his  state, 
That  he  should  be  my  fool,  and  I  his  fate. 

Fnn.  None  are  so  surely  cauyht,  when  they  are 
catch'd. 
As  wit  turn'd  fool :  folly,  in  wisdom  hatch'd, 
Hath  wisdom's  warrant,  and  the  help  of  school ; 
And  wit's  own  grace  to  grace  a  learned  fool. 

Ros.  The  blood  of  youth  burns  not  with  such 
excess, 
As  araTiU's  revolt  to  wantonness. 

Mar,  Folly  in  fools  bears  not  so  strong  a  note. 
As  foolery  in  the  wise,  when  wit  doth  dote ,  I 

Since  all  the  power  thereof  it  doth  apply, 
To  prove,  by  wit,  worth  in  simplicity. 

Enter  Boyet. 

Prin,  Here  comes  Boyet,  and  mirth  is  in  his  face, 

Boyet.  O,  I  am  stabb'd  with  laughter!  Where's 
her  grace  ? 

Prin.  Thy  news,  Boyet  ? 

Boyet.  Prepare,  madam,  prepare ! — 

Arm,  wenches,  arm  ;   encounters  mounted  are 
Against  your  peace :  Love  dolh  approach  disguis'd, 
Arm'd  in  arguments  ;  you'll  be  surpris'd  : 
Muster  your  wits  ;  stand  in  your  own  defence  ; 
Or  hide  your  heads  like  cowards,  and  fly  hence. 

Prin.  "Saint  Dennis  to  saint  Cupid!  What  are 
they, 
That  charge  their  breath  against  us  ?  say,  scout,  say. 

Boyet.  Under  the  cool  shade  of  a  sycamore, 
I  though  to  close  mine  eyes  some  half  an  hour : 
When,  lo  !  to  interrupt  my  purpos'd  rest. 
Toward  that  shadc'I  might  behold  addrest 
The  king  and  his  companions  :  warily 
I  stole  into  a  neighbour  thicket  by, 
And  overheard  what  you  shall  overhear ; 
That,  by  andJbj',  disguis'd  they  will  be  here. 
Their  herald  is  a  prelty  knavish  fiage. 
That  well  by  heart  hath  conn'd  his  embassa.gc : 
Action,  and  accent,  did  they  teach  him  there ; 
Thus  mitst  thou  speak,  and  thus  thy  body  bear  : 
And  ever  and  anon  they  made  a  doubt. 
Presence  majestical  would  put  him  out : 
For,  quoth  the  king,  an  angel  shalt  thottsee; 
Yet  fearnot  thou,  but  speak  audaciously. 
The  boy  replied,  ^n  angel  is  not  evil ; 
I  should  havefearUl  hrr,  had  she  been  a  devil. 
With  that  all  laugh'd,  and  clapp'd  hun  on  the 

shoulder ; 
Making  the  bold  wag  by  their  praises  bolder. 
One  rubb'd  his  elbo\v,,thus ;  and  flccr'd,  and  swore, 
A  better  speech  was  never  spoke  before : 
Another,  with  his  finger  and  his  thumb, 
Cry'd,  Via  !  we  tcill  doH,  come  tchat  will  come  : 
The  third  he  caper'd,  and  cried,  .M  goes  well : 
The  fourth  turn'd  on  the  toe,  and  down  he  felL 
With  that,  they  all  did  tumble  on  the  ground, 
With  such  a  zealous  laughter,  so  profound, 
That  in  this  spleen  ridiculous  appears. 
To  check  their  folly,  passion's  solemn  tears. 

Frin.  But  what,  but  what,  come  they  to  visit  us  ? 

Bovet.  Thevdo,  theydo;  andareapparel'dthus, — 
Like~Muscovites,  or  Russians  :  as  1  guess. 
Their  purpose  is,  to  parle,  to  court,  and  dance : 
And  every  one  his  love-feat  will  advance 
Unto  his  several  mistress ;  which  they'll  know 
By  favours  several  which  they  did  bestow. 

Prin.  And  will  they  so  ?  the  gallants  shall  be 
Usk'd:— 
For,  ladies,  we  will  every  one  be  mask'd  ; 
And  not  a  man  of  them  shall  have  the  grace, 
pwpitc  of  (uit,  to  see  a  lady's  face.-^ 


'Hold,  Rosaline,  this  favour  thdu  shalt  wear; 
And  then  the  king  will  court  thee  for  his  dear  5 
Hold,  take  thou  this,  my  sweet,  and  give  me  thine  ; 
So  shall  Bir6n  take  im  for  Rosaline. — 
And  change  you  favours  too  ;  so  shall  your  loves 
Woo  contrary,  deceiv'd  by  these  removes. 

Ros.  Comeonllien;  wear  the  favours  most  in  sight. 

Kath.  But,  in  this  changing,  %vhat  Ls  your  intent  7 

Prin.  The  effect  of  my  intent  is,  to  cross  theirs  : 
They  do  it  but  in  mocking  merriment ; 
And  mock  for  mock  is  onTv  my  intent. 
Their  several  counsels  they  unbosom  shall 
To  loves  mistook ;  and  so  be  mock'd  withal, 
Upon  the  next  occasion  that  ne  meet. 
With  visages  display'd,  to  talk,  and  greet. 

Rds.  But  shall  we  dance,  if  they  desire  us  to't  I 

Prin.  No ;  to  the  death,  we  will  not  move  a  foot : 
Nor  to  their  penn'd  speech  render  we  no  grace  ; 
But,  while  'tis  spoke,  each  turn  away  her  face. 

Boyet.  Whj',  thatcontenipt  will  kill  the  speaker's 
heart. 
And  quite  divorce  his  memory  from  his  part. 

Prin.  Therefore  I  do  it ;  and,  I  make  no  doubt. 
The  rest  will  ne'er  come  in,  if  he  be  out. 
There's  no  such  sport,  as  sport  by  sport  o'erthrown ; 
To  make  theirs  ours,  and  ours  none  but  our  own : 
So  shall  we  stay,  mocldng  intended  game  ; 
And  they,  well  mock'd,  dfjjart  away  with  shame. 
[Trumpets  sound  within. 

Boyet.    The  trumpet  sounds  :    be  mask'd,  tho 
maskers  come.  [The  ladies  mask. 

Enter  the  King,  Biron,  Longaville,  and  Dumaui, 
in  Rjissian  habits,  and  masked;  Moth,  tnusi- 
cians,  and  attendants. 

Moth.  »^W  hail !  the  richest  beauties  on  the  earth  ! 

Boyet.  Beauties  no  richer  than  rich  taffeta. 

Moth.  w3  Iwly  parcel  of  the  fairest  dames, 

[The  ladies  turn  their  backs  to  him. 
That  ever  turned  their — backs — to  mortal  views ! 

Biron.  Their  eyes,  villain,  their  eyes. 

Moth.  That  ever  turned  their  eyes  lo  mortal  vieva  ! 
Out— 

Boyet.  Tru9 ;  out,  indeed. 

Moth.    Out  of  your  favours,   heavenly  spirils, 
vouchsafe 
^"01  to  behold — 

Biron.  Once  to  behold,  rogue. 

Moth.    Once  to  behold  with  your  sun-heaniid 
eyes, icith  your  sun-beamed  eyes — 

Boyet.  They  will  not  answer  to  that  epithet ; 
You  were  best  call  it,  daughter-beamed  eyes. 

J^loth.  They  do  not  mark  me,  and  that  bring^a 
me  out. 

Biron.  Is  this  your  perfectness?  be  gone,  yon 
rogue. 

Ros.  What  would  these  strangers  ?  know  their 
minds,  Boyet : 
If  they  do  speak  oiir  language,  'tis  our  will 
That  some  plain  man  recount  their  purposes : 
Knoiv  what  they  would. 

Boyet.  What  would  you  with  the  princess  ? 

Biron.  Nothing  but  peace,  and  gentle  visitation. 

Ros.  What  would  they,  say  they  ? 

Boyet.  Nothing  but  peace,  and  gentle  visitation. 

Ros.  Why,  that  they  have  ;  and  bid  them  so  be 
pone. 

Boyet.  She  says,  you  have  it,  and  you  maybe  gone. 

King.  Say  to  her,  we  have  meas'ur'd  many  miles, 
To  tread  a  measure  with  vou  on  this  grass.' 

Boyet.  They  say,  that  they  have  measur'd  many 
a  mile, 
To  tread  a  measure  with  you  on  this  grass. 

Ros.  It  is  not  so :  ask  them  how  many  inches 


Sitnell. 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


173 


Is  in  one  mile :  if  thc}*  hare  measur'd  manj, 
The  measure  then  of  one  is  easily  told. 

Boyet.  If,  to  come  hither  you  have  measur'd  miles, 
And  many  miles  ;  the  princecs  bids  you  tell, 
How  many  inches  do  tiil  up  one  mile. 

Biron.  Tell  her,  we  measure  them  by  wearj-  steps. 

Boyet.  She  hears  herself. 

Ros.  How  many  weary  steps. 

Of  many  weary  miles  you  have  o'er^oiie, 
Are  number'd  in  the  travel  of  one  mile? 

Biron.  We  number  nothing  that  we  spend  foryouj 
Our  duty  is  so  rich,  so  infinite, 
That  we  may  do  it  still  without  accompt. 
Vouchsafe  to  show  the  sunshine  of  your  face, 
That  Wf,  like  saraffes,  may  worship  it. 

Jios.  My  face  is  but  a  moon,  and  clouded  too. 

Kin^.  Blessed  are  clouds,  to  do  as  such  clouds  do! 
Vouclxsafe,  bright  moon,  and  these  thy  stars,  to  shine 
(Those  clouds  remov'd,)  upon  our  wat'ry  eyne. 

Ros.  O  radn  petitioner !  bejj  a  «jrcater  matter ; 
Thou  now  request'st  but  moonsliiiie  in  the  water. 

King.  Then,  in  our  measure  do  but  vouchsafe 
one  change  : 
Thou  bid'st  me  be? ;  this  begging  is  not  strange. 

Ros.  Play,  music,  then  :   nay,  you  must  do  it 

soon.  "    '  [.Viwjc pints. 

Not  yet ; — no  dance :  — thus  change  I  like  the  moon. 

King.  Will  you  not  dance  ?  How  come  you  thus 
estrang'd  7 

Ros.  You  took  the  moon  at  full ;  but  now  she's 
chang'd. 

King.  Yet  still  she  is  the  moon,  and  I  the  man. 
The  music  plays  ;  vouchsafe  some  motion  to  iL 

Rm.  Our  ears  vouchsafe  it. 

King.  But  your  le^  should  do  it. 

Ros.  Since  you  are  strangers,  anci  come  here  by 
chance. 
We'll  not  be  nice :  take  hands ; — we  will  not  dance. 

King.  Why  take  we  hands  then  ? 

Ros.  Only  to  part  friends : — 

Court'sy,  sweet  hcirts ;  and  so  the  measure  ends. 

King.  More  measure  of  this  measure ;  be  not  nice. 

Ros.  We  can  afford  no  more  at  such  a  price. 

King.  Prize  you  yourselves;  What  buys  your 
company  ? 

Ros.  Your  absence  only. 

King.  That  can  never  be. 

J?  OS.  Then  cannot  we  be  bougrht :  and  so  adieu; 
Twice  to  vour  visor,  and  half  once  to  vou ! 

King.  If  you  deny  to  dance,  let's  hold  more  chat. 

Ros.  In  private  then. 

King.  I  am  best  plcas'd  with  that. 

[Tkey  converse  apart. 

Biron.  White-handed  mistress,  one  sweet  word 
with  thee. 

Prin.   Honey,  and  milk,  and  sugar;   there  is 
three. 

Biron.  Nay  then,  two  treys  (an  if  you  grow  so 
nice,") 
Metheglin,  wort,  and  malmsey ; — Well  run,  dice ! 
There's  half  a  dozen  sweets. 

Prin.  Seventh  sweet,  adieu ! 

Since  you  can  cog,'  I'll  play  no  more  with  you. 

Biron.  One  word  in  secret, 

Prin.  Let  it  not  be  sweet. 

Biron.  Thou  griev'st  mv  gall. 

Prin.  '  Gall?  bitter. 

Biron.  Therefore  meet. 

[They  converse  apart. 

Dum,  Will  you  Touchsafe  with  me  to  change  a 
word  / 

'1)  Falsify  dice.  He. 

(t)  A  quibble  on  the  Frtnch  adrerb  ornes&Uoiu 


Mar.  Name  It 

Dum.  Fair  ladr,— 

Mar.  Say  you  so?  Fair  lord,— 

Take  that  for  your  fair  lady. 

Dum.  Please  it  you, 

As  much  in  private,  and  I'll  bid  adieu. 

[They  converse  apart. 
Kath.    What,  was  your  visor  made  without  a 

tongue  ? 
Lon^.  I  know  the  reason,  lady,  why  you  ask. 
Kath.  O,  for  your  reason  ?  quickly,  sir :  I  long. 
Long.   You  have  a  double  toague  within  your 
mask. 
And  would  aftbrd  my  speechless  >Tsor  half. 
Kath.  Veal,  quoth  the  Dutchman  ; — Is  not  real 

a  calf? 
jA>ng.  A  calf,  fair  lady  ? 
Katn.  No,  a  fair  lord  calf. 

Jx/ng.  Let's  oart  the  word. 
Kath.  '  •  No,  I'll  not  be  your  half: 

Take  all,  and  wean  it ;  it  may  prove  an  ox. 
Long.   Look,  how  you  butt  yourself  ia  these 
sharp  mocks ! 
Will  you  irive  horns,  chaste  lady  ?  do  not  so. 
Kath.  Then  die  a  calf,  before  your  horns  do  grow. 
Long.  One  word  in  private  with  you,  ere  I  die. 
Kath.  Bleat  soflly  then,  the  butcher  hears  you 
crv.  [They  converse  apart. 

Boyet.  The  tongues  of  mocking  wenches  are  as 
keen 
As  is  the  razor's  edire  invisible. 
Cutting  a  smaller  hair  than  may  be  seen  ; 
Above  the  sense  of  sense :  so  sensible 
Seemeth  their  conference ;    their  conceits  have 

wings. 
Fleeter  than  arrows,  bullets,  wind,  thought,  swifter 
things. 
Ros.  Not  one  word  mere,  mj  maids ;  break  o^ 

break  off. 
Biron.  By  heaven,  all  dr}-beaten  with  pure  scofTI 
King.  Farewell,  mad  wenches ;  you  have  simple 
wits, 

[Exeunt  King,  Lords,  Moth,  music, 
and  attendants. 
Prin.  Twenty  adieus,  my  frozen  Muscovites.— 
Are  these  the  breed  of  wits  fo  wonder'd  at  ? 
Boyet.  Tapers  they  are,  with  your  sweet  breath* 

puffed  out 
Ros.  Well-iiking  wits  they  hare ;   gross,  gross 

fat,  fat. 
Prin.  O  poverty  in  wit,  kingly-poor  flout ! 
Will  they  not,  think  you,  hang  themselves  to-night  ? 

Or  ever,  but  in  visors,  show  their  faces  ? 
This  pert  Birdn  was  out  of  countenance  quite. 
Ros.  O!  they  were  all  in  lamentable  cases! 
The  king  was  weeping-ripe  for  a  good  word. 
Prin.  Bir6n  did  swear  himself  out  of  all  suit. 
Mar.  Dumain  was  at  my  service,  and  his  sword  : 
^o point,-  quoth  I :  my  serrnnt  straight  wss  mute. 

hath.  Lord  Longaville  f^aid,  I  came  o'er  his  heart; 
And  trow  you,  w  hat  he  call'd  me  ? 
Prin.  Qualm,  perhaps. 

Kaih.  Yes,  in  good  faith. 

Prin.  Go,  sickness  as  thou  art ! 

Ros.  Well,  better  wits  have  worn  plain  statute- 
caps.* 
But  will  you  hear?  the  king  is  my  love  sworn. 
Prin.  And  quick  Bir6n  hath  plighted  faith  to  me. 
Kath.  And  Longaville  was  for  my  service  born. 
Mar.  Dumain  is  mine,  as  sure  as  bark  on  tree. 
Boyet.  Madam,  and  pretty  mistresses, give  ear: 
Inunediately  they  will  again  be  here 

(3)  Better  wits  maj  be  found  amon;  citlzenSt 


JH 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOSt. 


Jet  tr. 


In  their  own  shapes  ;  for  it  can  never  be, 
They  will  digest  this  harsh  indignity. 

Prill.  Will  they  return  ? 

Boyet.  They  will,  they  will,  God  knows ; 

And  leap  for  joy,  though  they  are  lame  with  blows: 
Therefore,  change  favours ;'  and  when  they  repair, 
Blow  like  sweet  roses  in  the  summer  air. 

Prin.  How  blow  ?  how  blow  ?  speak  to  be  un- 
derstood. 

Boyet.  Fair  ladies,  mask'd,  are  roses  in  their  bud : 
Dismask'd,  their  damask  sweet  commixture  shown. 
Are  angels  veiling  clouds,  or  roses  blown. 

Prin.  Avaunt,  perplexity !  What  shall  we  do, 
If  they  return  in  their  own  shapes  to  woo  ? 

Ros.  Good  madam,  if  by  me  you'll  be  advis'd, 
Let's  mock  them  still,  as  well  known,  as  disguis'd : 
Let  us  complain  to  them  what  fools  were  here, 
Disffuis'd  like  Muscovites,  in  shapeless!*  gg^r . 
And  wonder  what  they  were  ;  and  to  what  end 
Tiieir  shallcw  shows,  and  prologue  vilely  penn'd, 
And  their  rough  carriao:e  so  ridiculous. 
Should  be  presented  at  our  tent  to  us. 

Boyet.   Ladies,  withdraw ;   the  gallants  are  at 
hand. 

Prin.  Whip  to  our  tents,  as  roes  run  over  land. 
[£xeim(  Princess,  Ros.  Kath.  and  Maria. 

Enter  the  King,  Biron,  Longaville,  and  Dumain, 
in  their  proper  habits. 

King.   Fair  sir,  God  sate  you !   Where  is  the 
princess  ? 

Boyet.  Gone  to  her  tent :  Please  it  your  majesty, 
Command  me  any  service  to  her  thither? 

King.  That  she  vouchsafe  me  audience  for  one 
word. 

Boyet,  I  will ;  and  so  will  she,  I  know,  mv  lord. 

'[Exit. 

Biron.  This  fellow  pecks  up  wit,  as  pigeons 
peas  ; 
And  utters  it  a^in  when  God  doth  please : 
He  is  wit's  pedlar;  and  retails  his  wares 
At  wakes,  and  wassels,'  meetings,  markets,  fairs ; 
And  we  that  sell  by  gross,  the  Lord  dolh  know. 
Have  not  the  grace  to  grace  it- with  such  show. 
This  gallant  pms  the  wenches  on  his  sleeve ; 
Had  he  been  Adam,  he  had  tempted  Eve  : 
He  can  carve  too,  and  lisp :  Why,  this  is  he. 
That  kiss'd  away  his  hand  in  courtesy ; 
This  is  the  ape  of  form,  monsieur  the  nice. 
That  when  he  plays  at  tables,  chides  the  dice. 
In  honourable  terms  !  nay,  he  can  sing 
A  mean^  most  meanly ;  and,  in  ushering, 
Mend  him  who  can :  the  ladies  call  him,  sweet ; 
The  stairs,  as  he  treads  on  them,  kiss  iiis  feet : 
This  is  the  flower  that  smiles  on  every  one. 
To  show  his  teeth  as  white  as  whale's  bone :' 
And  consciences,  that  will  not  die  in  debt. 
Pay  him  the  due  of  honey-tongued  Boyet. 

King.  A  blister  on  his  sweet  tongue,  with  my 
heart. 
That  put  Armado's  page  out  of  his  part ! 

Enter  the  Princess,  vsher^d  by  Boyet ;  Rosaline, 
Maria,  Katharine,  ajid  attendants. 

Biron.  See  where  it  comes ! — Behaviour,  what 

wert  thou. 
Till  this  man  show'd  thee  ?  and  what  art  thou  now  ? 
King.  All  hail,  sweet  madam,  and  fair  time  of 

day! 
Prin.  Fair,  in  all  hail,  is  foul,  as  I  conceive. 


l\)  Features,  countenances. 
iSJ  Rustic  merry-meetings. 
(4)  Tbe  tenor  ia  music. 


(2)  Uncouth. 


King.  Construe  my  speeches  better,  if  you  may. 
Prin.  Then  wish  me  belter,  I  will  give  you  leave. 
King.  Wc  came  to  visit  you ;   and  purpose  now 

To  lead  you  to  our  court :  vouchsafe  it  then. 
Prin.  This  field  shall  hold  me ;  and  so  hold  your 
vow  : 
Nor  God,  nor  I,  delight  in  perjur'd  men. 
King.  Rebuke  me  not  for  that  which  you  pro- 
voke ; 
The  virtue  of  your  eye  must  break  my  oath. 
Prin.  You  nick-name  virtue:  vice  you  should 
have  spoke ; 
For  virtue's  office  never  breaks  men's  troth. 
Now.  by  my  maiden  honour,  yet  as  pure 

As  the  unsullied  lily,  I  protest, 
A  world  of  torments  though  I  should  endure, 

I  would  not  yield  to  be  your  house's  guest ; 
So  much  I  hate  a  breaking  cause  to  be 
Of  heavenly  oaths,  vow'd  with  integrity. 
King.  O,  you  have  liv'd  in  desolation  here, 

Unseen,  unvisited,  much  to  our  shame. 
Prin.  Not  so,  my  lord  ;  it  is  not  so,  I  swear. 
We  have  had  pastimes  here,  and  pleasant  game ; 
A  rness  of  Russians  left  us  but  of  late. 
King.  How,  madam  ?  Russians  7 
Prin.  Ay,  in  truth,  my  lord ; 

Trim  gallants,  full  of  courtship,  and  of  state. 

Ros.  Madam,  speak  true  : — It  is  not  so,  my  lord ; 
My  lady  (to  the  manner  of  the  days,*) 
In  courtesy,  gives  undeserving  praise. 
We  lour,  indeed,  confronted  here  with  four 
In  Russian  habit :  here  they  stay'd  an  hour, 
And  talk'd  apace  ;  and  in  that  hour,  my  lord, 
They  did  not  bless  us  with  one  happy  word. 
1  dare  not  call  them  fools  :  but  this  I  think. 
When  they  are  thirsty,  fools  would  fain  have  drink. 
Biron.   This  jest  is  dry  to  me— Fair,  gentle 
s%veet. 
Your  wit  makes  wise  things  foolish ;  when  we  fp'eet 
With  eyes  best  seeing  heaven's  fiery  eye. 
By  light  we  lose  light :  Your  capacity 
Is  of  that  nature,  that  to  your  huge  store 
Wise  things  seem  foolish,  and  ricii  thincs  but  poor. 
Ros.  This  proves  you  wise  and  rich,  for  in  my 

eye,— 
Biron.  I  am  a  fool,  and  full  of  poverty. 
Ros.  But  that  you  take  what  doth  to  you  belong, 
It  were  a  fault  to  snatch  words  from  my  tongue. 
Biron.  O,  I  am  yours,  and  all  that  I  possess. 
Ros.  All  the  fool  mine  ? 

Biron.  I  cannot  give  you  less. 

Ros.  Which  of  the  visors  wJis  it,  that  vou  wore  7 
Biron.  Where?   when?  what  visor?'  why  de- 
mand vou  this  ? 
Ros.  There,  then,  that  visor ;  that  superfluous  case, 
That  hid  the  worse,  and  show'd  the  better  face. 
King.  We  are  aescried:  they'll  mock  us  now 

downright. 
Dtim.  Let  us  confess,  and  turn  it  to  a  jest. 
Prin.  Amaz'd,  rny  lord  ?  Why  looks  your  high- 
ness sad  ? 
Ros.  Help,  hold  his  brows !  he'll  swoon .'  Why 
look  you  pale  ? — 
Sea-sick,  I  Ihmk,  commg  from  Muscovy, 
Biron.  Thus  pour  the  stars  down  plagues  for 
perjury. 

Can  any  face  of  brass  hold  longer  out  ? 

Here  stand  I,  lady  ;  dart  thy  skill  at  me  : 

Bruise  me  with  scorn,  confound  me  with  a  flout ; 
Thrust  thy  sharp  wit  quite  through  my  ignorance ; 
Cut  me  to  pieces  with  thy  keen  conceit; 

i5^  The  tooth  of  the  horse-whale. 
6)  AAer  the  fashion  of  tbe  timeVf 


SeeruJI. 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


177 


And  I  will  wish  thee  never  more  to  dance, 
Nor  never  more  in  Russian  habit  wait. 

0  !  never  will  I  trust  to  speeches  pcnn'd, 

Nor  to  the  motion  of  a  school-boy's  tongue  ; 
Nof  never  come  in  visor  to  my  friend  ;' 

Nor  woo  in  rhvme,  like  a  blind  harper's  song 
Taffata  phrases,  silken  terms  precise, 

Three-pil'd  hyperboles,  spruce  affectation, 
Figures  pedantical ;  these  summer- flies 

Have  blown  me  full  of  maggot  ostentation  : 

1  do  forswear  them :  and  I  here  protest, 

By  this  %vhite  glove,  (how  wliite  the  hand,  God 
knows ! ) 
Henceforth  my  wooing  mind  shall  be  express'd 

In  russet  yeas,  and  honest  kersey  noes  : 
And,  to  begin,  wench, — So  God  help  mc,  la ! — 
Mv  love  to  thee  is  sound,  sans  crack  or  flaw. 

Ros.  Sans  sans,  I  pray  you. 

Biron.  Yet  I  have  a  trick 

Of  the  old  rage: — bear  with  me,  I  am  sick; 
I'll  leave  it  by  degrees.     Soft,  let  us  see ; — 
Write,  Lord  have  mercy  en  us,  on  those  three  ; 
They  are  infected,  in  their  hearts  it  lies  ; 
They  have  the  plague,  and  caught  it  of  your  eyes : 
These  lords  are  visited  ;  you  are  not  free, 
For  the  Lord's  tokens  on  you  do  I  see. 

Prin.  No,  they  are  free',  tliat  gave  these  tokens 
to  us. 

Birmi.  Our  states  are  forfeit,  seek  not  to  undo  us. 

Ros.  It  is  not  so  ;  For  how  can  this  be  true, 
That  you  stand  forfeit,  being  those  that  sue  ? 

Biron.  Peace ;  for  I  will  not  have  to  do  with  you. 

Ros.  Nor  shall  not,  if  I  do  as  I  intend. 

Biron.   Speak  for  yourselves,  my  wit  is  at  an 
end. 

King.  Teach  us,  sweet  madam,  for  our  rude 
transgression 
Some  fair  excuse. 

Prin.  The  fairest  is  confession. 

Were  you  not  here,  but  even  now,  disguis'd  ? 

King.  Madam,  I  was. 

Prin.  And  were  you  well  advk'd  ? 

King.  I  was,  fair  madam. 

Prin.  When  you  then  were  here. 

What  did  you  whisper  in  your  lady's  ear  ?  ] 

King.  That  more  than  all  the  ivorld  I  did  respect 
her. 

Prin.  When  she  shall  challenge  this,  you  will  re- 
ject her. 

King.  Upon  mine  honour,  no. 

Prin.  Peace,  pe^ce,  forbear ; 

Your  oath  once  broke,  you  force'  not  to  forswear. 

King.  Despise  me,  when  I  break  this  oath  ofmine. 

Prin.  I  will ;  and  therefore  keep  it: — Rosaline,i 
What  did  the  Russian  whisper  in  your  car  7 

Ros.  Madam,  he  swore,  that  he  did  hold  me  dear 
As  precious  ej-e-sight ;  and  did  value  me 
Above  this  world  :  adding  thereto,  moreover, 
That  he  would  wed  me,  or  else  die  my  lover. 

Prill.  God  give  thee  joy  of  him !  the  noble  lord 
Most  honourably  doth  uphold  his  word. 

King.  What  mean  you,  madam  ?  by  my  life,  my 
troth, 
I  never  swore  this  lady  such  an  oath. 

Ros.  By  heaven,  you  did  ;  and  to  confirm  it  plain, 
You  gave  me  this  :  but  take  it,  sir,  again. 

King.  My  faith,  and  this,  the  princess  I  did  give  ; 
I  knew  her  by  this  jewel  on  her  sleeve. 

Prin.  Pardon  me,  sir,  this  jewel  did  she  wear; 
And  lord  Bir6n,  I  thank  him,  is  my  dear : — 
VVhat ;  will  you  have  me,  or  your  pearl  again  ? 

Biron.  Neither  of  ciUier  ;  I  remit  both  twain. 

(1)  Mistress.         (2)  Make  no  difficultjr. 


I  see  the  trick  on't ; — Here  was  a  consent* 

(Knowing  aforehand  of  our  merriment,) 

To  dash  it  like  a  Christmas  comedy : 

Some  carry-tale,  some  pleasc-man,  some  sligbt 

zany,* 
Some  mumble-news,  some  trencher-knight,  some 

Dick, — 
That  smiles  his  cheek  in  years  ;  and  knows  the  trick 

To  malte  my  lady  laugh,  when  she's  dispos'd, 

Told  our  intents  before :  Which  once  disclos'd, 
The  ladies  did  change  favours  ;  and  then  we. 
Following  the  signs,  woo'd  but  the  sign  of  she. 
Now,  to  our  perjury  to  add  more  terror, 
AVe  are  again  forsworn  ;  in  will,  and  error. 
Much  upon  tliis  it  is : — And  might  not  you, 

[ToBoyet. 
Forestal  our  sport,  to  make  us  thus  untrue  ? 
Do  not  you  know  my  lady's  foot  by  the  squire,* 

And  laugh  upon  the  apple  of  her  eye  ? 
And  stand  between  her  back,  sir,  and  the  fire. 

Holding  a  trencher,  jesting  merrily  ? 
You  put  our  page  out :  Go,  you  are  allow'd  ; 
Die  when  you  will,  a  smock  shall  be  your  shrOUd. 
You  leer  upon  me,  do  you  ?  there's  an  eye, 
Wounds  like  a  leaden  sword. 

Boyet.  Full  merrily 

Hath  this  brave  manage,  this  career,  been  run. 

Biron.  Lo,  he  b  tiitmg  straight !  Peace ;  I  batt 
done. 

Enter  Costard. 

Welcome,  pure  wit !  thou  partest  a  fair  fray. 

Cost.  0  Lord,  sir,  they  would  know, 
Whether  the  three  worthies  shall  come  in,  or  no. 

Biron.  What,  are  there  but  three. 

Cost.  No,  sir ;  but  it  is  vara  fine« 

For  every  one  pursents  three. 

Biron.  And  three  limes  thrice  is  nine. 

Cost.  Not  so,  sir ;  under  correction,  sir ;  I  hope, 
it  is  not  so : 
You  cannot  beg  us,  eir,  I  can  assure  y6u,  sir;  wfc 

know  what  we  know  : 
I  hope,  sir,  three  times  thrice,  sir, — 

Biron.  Is  not  nine. 

Cost.  Under  correction,  sir,  we  know  whereuntil 
it  doth  amount. 

Biron.  By  Jove,  I  always  took  three  threes  for 
nine. 

Cost.  O  Lord,  sir,  it  were  pity  you  should  gtt 
your  living  by  reckoning,  sir. 

Biron.  How  much  is  it  ? 

Cost.  O  Lord,  sir,  the  parties  themselves,  the 
actors,  sir,  will  show  w  hereuntil  it  doth  amount  : 
for  my  own  part,  I  am,  as  they  say,  but  to  parfect 
one  man, — e'en  one  poor  man ;  Pompion  the  great, 
sir. 

Rtroii.  Art  thou  one  of  the  worthies? 

Cost.  It  pleased  them,  to  think  me  worthy  of 
Pompion  the  great :  for  mine  own  part,  I  know  not 
the  degree  of  the  worthy :  but  I  am  to  stand  for  him. 

Biron.  Go,  bid  them'  prepare. 

Cost.  We  will  turn  it  finely  off",  sir ;  we  will  take 
some  care.  [Exit  Costard. 

King.  Bir6n,  they  will  sharae  us,  let  them  not 
approach. 

Biron.  We  are  shame-proof,  my  lord:  and 'tis 
some  policy 
To  have  one  show  worse  than  the  king's  and  his 
company. 

King.  I  say,  they  shall  not  come. 

Prin.  Nay,  my  good  lord,  let  me  o'er-rule  you 
now; 

(3)  Conspiracy.       (4)  Buffoon.       (()  Oute, 
Z 


m 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST, 


yict  r. 


That  sport  best  pleases,  that  doth  leait  know  how: 
'^     Where  zeal  strives  to  content,  and  the  contents 
Die  in  the  zeal  of  them  which  it  presents. 
Their  form  confounded  makes  most  form  in  mirth  ; 
When  great  things  labouring  perish  in  their  birth. 
BiroTi.  A  ri2;ht  description  of  our  sport,  my  lord. 

Enter  Armado. 

Jlrm.  Anointed,  I  implore  so  much  expense  of 
thy  royal  sweet  breath,  as  will  utter  a  brace  of  words. 
I  Armado  cmiverses  icilh  the  King,  and  delivers 
him  a  paper. 
Prin.  Doth  tliis  man  serve  God  ? 
Biron.  Why  ask  you  ? 

Frin.  He  speaks  not  lilie  a  man  of  God's  making.-. 
,1rm.  That's  all  one,  my  fair,  sweet,  lioney 
monarch :  for,  I  protest,  the  school-master  is  vx- 
cecdinp  fantastical ;  too,  too  vain  ;  too,  too  vain  : 
But  we  will  put  it,  as  tliey  ssy,  to  Jurtuna  c'tUu 
gturra.  I  wish  you  tiie  peace  of  mind,  most  royal 
couplement !       '  [Exit  Armailo. 

King.  Here  is  like  to  be  a  good  presence  of  wor- 
thies :  He  presents  Hector  of  Troy ;  the  swaui, 
Pompey  the  great ;  the  parisli  curate,  Alexander ; 
Armado's  page,  Hercules ;  the  pedant,  Judas 
Machabaeus. 

And  if  these  four  worthies  in  their  first  show  thrive. 
These  four  will  change  habits,  and  present  the 
other  five. 
Siron.  There  is  five  in  the  first  show. 
Ming.  You  are  deceiv'd,  'tis  not  so. 
Biron.   The  pedant,  the  braggart,  the  hedge- 
priest,  the  fool,  and  the  boy:— 
Abate  a  throw  at  novum ; '   and  the  whole  world 

again, 
Cannot  pnck*  out  five  such,  take  each  one  in  liis  vein. 
King,  The  ship  is  under  sail,  and  here  she  comes 
amain. 

[Seats  brought  for  the  King,  Princess,  ^c. 
Pageant  of  the  J^ine  fVorthies.     Enter  Costard 
arin^'f,  for  Pon);>cy. 

Cost.  /  Pompey  am, 

Boyet.  You  lie,  you  are  not  he. 

<         Cost.  /  Pompey  am, "  • 

Boyet.       *  With  libbard's  head  on  knee. 

Biron.  Well  said,  old  mocker ;  I  must  n««ds  be 

friends  with  thee. 
Cost  I  Pompey  am,  Pompey  sttmam'd  the  big, — 
Dum.  The  great 

Cost    It  is  great,  sir; — Pompey  sttmam'd  the 
great; 
That  oft  infield,  tcilh  targe  atid  shield,  did  make 

mti  foe  to  sweat  : 
wind^  travelling  along  thin  coast,  I  here  am  eome 

by  chance ; 
And  lay  mu  arms  before  the  legs  of  this  sweet  lass 

of  France. 
If  your  ladvship  would  say.  Thanks,  Pompey,  I 
had  done. 
Prin.  Great  thanks,  great  Pompev. 
Cost.  'Tis  not  so  much  worth ;  but,  I  hope,  I 
was  perfect :  I  made  a  little  fault  in,  great. 

Biron.  My  hat  to  a  halfpenny,  Pompey  proves 
the  best  worthy. 

Enter  Nathaniel  arm^d,  for  Alexander. 

Nath.    When  in  the  world  I  liv^d,  I  was  the 
world's  commander  ; 
By  east,  west,  north,  and  south,  I  spread  my  con- 
quering might  : 

i\)  A  game  with  dice.        (2)  Pick. 
a)  A  mI(U«;'«  powder-bora. 


Myjscutcheon  plain  deelarts,  that  I  am  Alisandeu 

Boyet.  Your  nose  says,  no,  you  are  not ;  for  it 
stands  too  right. 

Biron.  Your  nose  smells,  no,  in  this,  most  ten- 
der-smelling knight. 

Prin.  The  conqueror  is  dismay'd :  Proceed, 
good  Alexander. 

Nalh.  When  in  the  world  I  liv'd,  I  was  tlie 
world's  commander; — 

Boyet.  Most  true,  'tis  right ;  you  were  so,  Ali- 
sander. 

Biron.  Pompey  the  great, 

Cost.  V  our  servant,  and  Costfird. 

Biron.  Take  away  the  conqueror,  take  away 
Alisander." 

Cost.  O,  sir,  [To  Nath.l  you  have  overthrown 
AlLsander  the  conqueror  ?  You  will  be  scraped  out 
of  the  painted  cloth  for  tliis  :  your  linn,  that  holds 
his  poll-ax  sitting  on  a  close-srool,  will  be  given  to 
A-jax,  he  will  be  the  ninth  worthy.  A  conqueror, 
and  afcard  to  speak !  rim  away  for  shame,  AlLsan- 
der. (Nalh.  retires.]  There,  an't  shall  ple.xse  you : 
a  foolish  mild  man  ;  an  honest  man,  look  you,'  and 
soon  dash'd  !  He  is  a  jnarvellou.s  good  neighbour, 
in  sooth  ;  and  a  very  good  bowler :  but,  for  Alisan- 
der,  alas,  you  see,  liow  'ti<! ; — a  little  o'erparted : — 
But  there  are  %vorthies  a  coming  will  speak  their 
mind  in  some  other  sort. 

Prin.  Stand  aside,  good  Pompey. 

Enter  Holofernes  ann'd,  for  Judas,  and  Motb 
arm' d,  for  Hercules. 

Hoi.  Great  Hercnlen  is  prfsented  by  this  imp, 
Whose  club  kill'd  Cerbtrus,  that  'three-luaded 
canus ; 
And,  when  he  was  a  babe,  a  child,  a  shrimp. 

Thus  did  he  strangle  serpents  in  his  manus : 
Quoniam,  he  seemeth  vi  miiivriiij , 
Ergo,  /  come  with  this  apology.— 
Keep  some  state  in  thy  exit,  and  vanish.  [Ex.  Motb. 

Hoi.  Judas  I  am, — 

Dum.  A  Judas ! 

Hoi.  Not  Iscariot,  sir. — 
Judas  I  am,  ycleved  J^lachahanis: 

Dum.  Judas  Machabaeus  cHpt,  Is  plain  Judas. 

Biron,  A  kissing  traitor : — How  art  thou  prov'd 
Judas  ? 

Hoi.  Judas  I  am, — 

Dum,  The  more  shame  for  you,  Judas. 

Hoi.  What  mean  you,  sir  ?  ' 

Bovct.  To  make  Judas  hang  himself. 

Hoi.  Begin,  sir ;  yon  arc  my  elder. 

Biron.  Well  follbw'd:  Judas  was  hang'd  on 
an  elder. 

Hoi.  I  will  not  be  put  out  of  countenance. 

Biron.  Because  thou  hast  no  face. 

Hd.  What  is  this? 

Boyet.  A  citteni  head. 

Dum.  The  head  of  a  bodkin. 

Biron.  A  death's  face  in  a  rinjr. 

Long.  The  face  of  an  old  Roman  coin,  scarce 
seen. 

Bmjet.  The  pummel  of  Caesar's  faulchion. 

Diem.  The  carv'd-bone  face  on  a  flask.' 

Biron.  St  George's  half-cheek  in  a  brooch.* 

Dtm.  Ay,  and  in  a  brooch  of  lead. 

Biron.  Ay,  and  worn  in  the  cap  of  a  tooth-drawer* 
And  now,  forward ;  for  we  have  put  thee  in  coun- 
tenance. 

Hoi.  You  have  put  me  out  of  countenance. 

Biron.  False ;  we  have  given  thee  faces. 


lb' 


An  omunentftl  bucl(l«  for  (utcoing  )»t* 


Scene  //. 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


170 


Hoi.  But  you  nave  oul'Aic'd  them  all. 
Biron.  An  thou  wert  a  lion,  we  would  do  so. 
Boyet.  Therefore,  as  he  is,  an  ass,  let  him  g-o. 
And  so  adieu,  sweet  Jude  !  nay,  why  dost  thou  stay? 
Dum.  For  the  latter  end  of  his  name. 
Biron.  For  the  ass  to  the  Jude  ;  give  it  him : — 

Jud-as,  away. 
Hoi.  Tins  is  not  generous,  not  penile,  nothumhle. 
Boyet.    A  lifrht  for  Monsieur  Judas:    it  grows 

dark,  he  may  stumble, 
Prin.  Alas,  poor  ]'ilachaba;us,  how  hath  he  been 

baited  I 

Enter  Armado  arni'd,  for  Hector. 

Biron.  Hide  thy  head,  Achilles :  her>».  comes 
Hector  in  arms. 

Dum.  Thoug:h  my  mocks  come  home  by  me,  I 
will  now  l)e  merry. 

A'tn?-.  Hector  was  but  a  Trojan  in  respect  of  tliis. 

Boyel.  But  is  this  Hector  ! 

Dum.  I  think,  Hector  was  not  so  clcan-Umber'd. 

Lmig.  His  lesT  is  too  hisr  for  Hector. 

Jhun.  More  calf,  certain. 

Botjet.  No  ;  hr  is  best  indued  in  the  small. 

Bii-on.  This  cannot  be  Hector. 


Pompcy  I  Pompey  the  huge ! 

Diim.  Hector  trembles. 

Biron.  Pompey  is  mov'd : — More  Ates,»  moid 
Atcs ;  stir  them  on  !  stir  them  on  ! 

Diim.  Hector  will  challenge  him. 

Biron.  Ay,  if  he  have  no  more  man's  blood  in'» 
belly  than  will  sup  a  flea. 

Arm.  By  the  north  pole,  I  do  challenge  thee. 

Cost.  I  "will  not  fightwith  a  pole,  like  a  northern 
man  ;=  I'll  slash ;  I'll  do  it  by  the  sword  : — I  pray 
you,  let  me  borrow  my  arms  again. 

Dum.  Room  for  the  incensed  worthies. 

Cost.  I'll  do  it  in  my  shirt. 

Dur.i.  Most  resolute  Pompey ! 

J\loth.  Master,  let  me  take  you  a  button-hole 
lower.  Do  you  not  see,  Pompey  is  uncasing  for 
the  combat  ?  What  mean  you  ?  you  will  lose  your 
reputation. 

Arm.  Gentlemen,  and  soldiers,  pardon  me :  I 
will  not  combat  in  my  shirt. 

Di«7)i.  You  may  not  deny  it:  Pompcy  hath 
made  the  challenge. 

Ami.  Sweet  bloods,  I  botli  maj'  and  will. 

Biron.  What  reason  have  you  ibr't  ? 
_       Arm.  The  naked  truth  of  it  is,  I  have  no  shirt ; 

i>i«>K  He'Tagod  o7a7ainte7rfor  he  makes  faces.  J I  ?^  .  .  ,j  , .      .     „ 

Arm.  The  armipotent  ^Mars,  of  lances'  the  ai-l     •^<'!/«'-  True,  and  it  was  enjoin  d  lum  in  Rome 

rinzhty  I''"'  want  ol  linen:  since  when.  111  be  sworn,  he 

Gave  Hector  a^'H  ft wore  none,  but  a  dish-clout  of  Jacquenetta's;  and 

Dum.  A  "ilt  liutmeg  ^^"^^  '>^  ivears  next  his  heart,  for  a  favour. 

Biron.  A  lemon. 

Long.  Stuck  with  cloves. 

Dum.  No,  cloven. 

Arm.  Peace. 
The  armipotent  JMars,  oflanres  thr  ahnis:hly, 

Gave  Hector  a  gift,  the  heir  of  llion  ; 
A  man  so  breathed,  that  certain  he  tcould  fight,  yea 

from  mom  till  night,  out  of  his  piirilioh. 
I  am  thatjloicer, — 

Dum.  That  mint. 

Long.  That  columbine. 

Arm.  Sweet  lord  Longaville,  rein  thy  tongue. 

Long.  I  must  rather  give  it  the  rein  ;  for  it  runs 
against  Hector. 

Dum.  Ay,  and  Hector's  a  greyhound. 

Arm.  The  sweet  war-man  is  "drad  and  rotten  ; 
sweet  chucks,  beat  not  the  bonr^  of  the  buried : 
when  he  breath'd,  he  was  a  man — But  I  will  for- 
ward with  my  device :  Sweet  royalty,  [to  the  Prin- 
cess.] bestow  on  me  the  sense  of  hearing. 

[Biron  ichispers  Costard.jFor  all  your  fair  endeavours  ;  and  entreat, 

Prin.  Speak,  brave  Hector  ;  we  are  much  de-  Out  of  a  new-sad  soul,  that  you  vouchsafe 
lighted.  In  your  ricli  wisdom,  to  excuse,  or  hide, 

Arm.  I  do  adore  thy  sweet  grace's  slipper.  The  liberal^  opposition  of  our  spirits  : 

Boyet.  Loves  her  by  the  foot. 

Dum.  He  mav  not  by  the  yard. 

Arm.  This  Hector  far  surmounted  Hannibal,-— 

Cost.  The  party  is  L'one,  fellow  Hector,  she  is 
gone  ;  she  is  two  months  on  her  way. 

tlnn.  Wh;it  meanest  tiiou  ?  *■ 

Cost.  Faith,  unless  you  play  the  Iioncst  Trojan, 
the  poor  wench  is  cast  a^vav :  she's  quick ;  the 
child  brajri  in  her  belly  already  ;  'tis  yours. 

Arm,  Dost  thou  infanionize  nie  among  poten- 
tates? fhoushalt  die. 
Cost.  Then  shall  Hector  be  whipp'd,  for  Jacque-  Forbid  the  smiling'  courtesy  of  \o\c, 
netta  that  is  quick  by  him  ;    and  hang'd,  for  Pom-lThe  lioly  suit  which  fain  it  would  convince ; 
pev  that  is  dead  by  Him.  I  Yet,  since  love's  argument  was  first  on  foot, 

i)um.  Most  rare  Pompey  !  iLet  not  the  cloud  of  sorrow  justle  it 

Boyet.  Renowned  Pompey !  From  what  it  purposed ;  since,  to  wail  friends  lost, 

Biron.  Greater  than  great,  great,  great,  great, 


Enter  Mcrcade. 

Mer.  God  save  you,  madam ! 

Prin.  Welcome,  Mercade  ; 
But  that  thou  interrupt'st  our  merriment. 

Jiler.  I  am  sorrj",  madam  ;  for  the  news  I  bring. 
Is  heavy  in  my  tongue.    The  king  your  father — 

Prin.  Dead,  for  my  life. 

.Mer.  Even  so  ;  my  tale  is  told. 

Biron.  Worthies,  away;  the  scene  begins  to 
cloud. 

Ann.  For  mine  own  part,  I  breathe  free  breath: 
I  have  seen  the  day  of  wrong  through  the  little 
hole  of  discretion,  and  I  will  risjht  myself  like  a 
soldier.  [Exeurit  Worthiet. 

King.  How  fares  your  majesty  ? 

Prin.  Boyet,  prepare  ;  I  will  away  to-night. 

King.  Madam,  not  so ;  I  do  beseech  you,  stay. 

Prin.    Prepare,  I  say, — I  thank  you,  gracious 
lords. 


If  ovcr-boldly  we  have  borne  ourselves 
In  the  converse  of  breath,  your  gentleness 
Was  guilty  of  it. — Farewell,  worthy  lord  ! 
A  heavy  heart  bears  not  an  humble  tongue : 
Excuse  me  so,  coming  so  short  of  thanks 
For  my  great  suit  so  easily  obtain'd. 

King.  The  extreme  parts  of  time  extremely  ronn 
All  causes  to  the  purpose  of  his  speed ; 
And  often,  at  his  very  loose,  decides 
That  which  long  process  could  not  arbitrate : 
And  though  the  mourning  brow  of  progeny 


(1)  Lance»mcn. 

(t)  At4  wa«  the  joddew  o(  discord. 


\«-. 


Is  not  by  mucii  so  wholesome,  profitable, 
(3)  A  clown.  (4)  Clothed  m  wool,  without  Unen« 


(5)  Free  to  excess. 


jW 


iOVt'i  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


AhK 


As  to  rejoice  at  friends  but  neuly  found. 

Prin.    I  undersUnd  yon  noi:    my  friefs  tre 
double. 

Biron.    Honest  plain  words  best  pierce  the  ear 
of  grief; — 
And  by  these  badges  understand  the  lung. 
For  your  fair  sakcs  have  we  neg-lected  time, 
Play'd  foul  play  with  our  oaths ;  your  beauty,  ladies, 
Math  much  deform'd  us,  fashioning  our  humours 
Even  to  the  opposed  cud  of  our  intents: 
And  what  in  us  hath  secm'd  ridiculous, — 
As  love  is  full  of  uiibefittin^j  strains ; 
All  wanton  as  a  child,  skipping,  and  vaih ; 
Form'd  by  tlie  eye,  and,  therefore,  like  the  eye 
Full  of  sfranjre  shapes,  of  habits,  and  of  foiint^ 
Varying  in  subjects  as  the  eye  doth  roll 
To  every  varied  object  in  his  glance : 
Which  party-coated  presence  of  loose  love 
Put  on  by  us,  if,  in  your  heavenly  eyes, 
Have  misbecom'd  our  oaths  and  gravities, 
Those  heavenly  eye.s.  that  look  into  these  faults, 
Suggested'  us  to  mala  :  Therefore,  ladies, 
Our  love  being  yours,  the  error  that  love  makes 
Is  likewise  yours  :  we  to  ourselves  prove  false. 
By  being  once  false  for  ever  to  be  true 
To  those  that  make  us  both : — fair  ladies,  you : 
And  even  that  falsehood,  in  itself  a  sin, 
Thus  purifies  itself,  and  turns  to  cnace. 

Prin.  We  have  receivM  your  klters  full  of  lore; 
Your  favours  the  embassadors  of  love  ; 
And,  in  our  maiden  council,  rated  them 
At  courtship,  pleasant  jest,  and  courtesy, 
As  bombast,  and  as  lining  to  the  time : 
But  more  devout  than  this,  in  our  respects, 
Have  we  not  been  ;  and  tiierefore  met  your  loves 
In  their  own  fashion,  like  a  merriment. 

Dum.  Our  letters,  madam,  show'U  much  more 
than  jest. 

Long-.  So  did  our  looks. 

Rot.  We  did  not  quoted  them  80, 

King.  Now,  at  the  latct  minute  of  the  hour, 
Grant  us  your  loves. 

Prin.  A  time,  methinks,  too  short 

To  make  a  world-without-end  bargain  in ; 
No,  no,  my  lord,  vour  grace  is  pcrjnr'd  much, 
Full  of  dear  guiltiness  ;  and,  therefore,  thisj — 
If  for  mv  love  (as  there  is  no  such  cause) 
You  wilf  do  auffht,  this  shall  you  do  for  me : 
Your  oath  I  will  not  trust ;  but  po  with  speed 
To  some  forlorn  and  naked  herinitayc, 
Remote  from  all  the  pleasures  fif  the  worM ; 
There  stay  until  the  twelve  celestial  signs 
Have  brought  about  their  annual  rcckouing  ; 
If  this  austere  insociablc  lift; 
Change  not  your  ofter  nii^le  in  hrnt  nf  blood ; 
If  frosts,  an3  fasts,  Inrd  lodging,  and  tliiii  weeds,' 
Nip  not  the  gaudy  blossoms  of  your  love, 
But  that  it  bear  this  trial,  and  last  love  : 
Then,  at  the  expiration  of  tiic;  year, 
Come  challenge,  ehalleiiEre  me  by  these  deserts. 
And,  by  this  virgin  palm  now  kissin;j-  thine, 
I  will  be  thine  ;  and  till  that  instant,  slmt 
My  woful  self  up  in  a  mourning  hcuse  ; 
Raining  the  tears  of  lamentation, 
For  the  remembrance  of  my  father's  death. 
If  this  thou  do  deny,  let  our  hands  part ; 
Neither  intitled  in  the  other's  heart. 

King.  If  this,  or  more  than  this,  I  would  deny. 
To  flatter  up  these  powers  of  mine  with  rest, 
The  sudden  hand  of  death  close  up  mine  eye  ! 
Hence  even  then  my  heart  is  in  thy  breast. 


(I)  Tempted. 
(3)  Clothing. 


f2j  Re<^ard. 
(4)  Vehement. 


1    Biron.   And  what  to  me,  my  lore?  and  what 
to  me  ? 

Ros.  You  must  be  purged  too,  your  sins  are  rank ; 
You  are  attaint  with  faults  and  perjury  ; 
Therefore,  if  you  my  favour  mean  to  get, 
A  twelvemonth  shall  you  spend,  and  never  rest. 
But  seek  the  woary  beds  of  people  sick. 

/>ijm.  But  what  "to  me,  my  love  ?  but  what  to  me? 

Kath.  A  wife! — A  beard,  fair  health,  and  ho- 
nesty ; 
With  three-fold  love  I  wish  you  all  these  three. 

Dtim.  O,  shall  I  sav,  I  thank  you,  gentle  wife  ? 

Kalh.  Not  so,  my  lord; — a  twelvemonth  and  a 
day 
I'll  mark  no  words  that  smooth-fac'd  wooers  say: 
Come  when  the  king  doth  to  my  lady  come. 
Then,  if  I  have  much  love,  I'll  give  you  some. 

Dum.  I'll  serve  thee  true  and  faithfully  till  then. 

Kath.  Yet  swear  not,  lest  vou  be  forsw'orn  again. 

Long.  What  says  Maria  ? 

Mar.  '  At  the  twelvemonth's  end, 

I'll  change  my  black  gown  for  a  faithful  friend. 

Lon^.'VW  stay  with  patience;  but  the  time  u 
long. 

J\Iar.  The  liker  you  ;  few  taller  arc  so  young. 

hiron.  Studies  my  lady  ?  mistress,  look  on  me. 
Behold  the  window  "of  my  heart,  mine  eye, 
Wiiat  humble  suit  attends  thv  answer  there ; 
Impose  some  service  on  me  (or  thy  love. 

Ros.  Oft  have  I  heard  of  you.  my  lord  Bir6n, 
Before  I  saw  you  :  and  the  world's  large  tongue 
Proclaims  you  for  a  man  replete  with  mocks  j 
Full  of  comparisons  and  wounding  flouts  ; 
Which  you  on  all  estates  will  execute. 
That  lie  within  the  mercy  of  your  wit : 
To  Aveed  this  wormwood  from  vour  fruitful  brain , 
And.  therewithal,  to  win  me,  if  you  pleasej 
(Without  tile  which  I  am  not  to" be  won,) 
Yon  vliall  tliis  twelvemonth  term  from  day  to  day 
Visit  the  speechless  sick,  and  still  converse 
VVith  groaning  wretches ;  and  your  task  sliall  be. 
With  all  the  fierce*  endeavour  of  your  wit. 
To  enforce  the  pained  impotent  to  smile. 

Biron.   To  move  wild  laughter  in  the  throat  of 
death  ? 
It,  cannot  be ;  it  is  impossible : 
Mirth  cannot  move  a  soul  in  agony. 

Ros.  WTiy,  that's  the  way  to  choke  a  gibing  spirit. 
Whose  influence  is  begot  of  that  loose  grace. 
Which  shallow  lauirhiinr  hearers  give  to  fools : 
A  jest's  prosperity  lies  in  the  ear 
Of  him-tnat  hears  it,  never  in  the  tongue 
Of  him  that  makes  it:  then,  if  sickly  ears, 
Deaf'd   with  the   clamours   of  their  own  dear* 

groans. 
Will  hear  your  idle  scorns,  continue  then. 
And  I  will  have  yon,  and  that  fault  withal ; 
But,  if  they  will  not,  throw  awav  that  spirit, 
And  I  shall  find  you  empty  of  that  fault, 
Riffht  joyful  of  your  reformation. 

Biron'.   A  twelvemonth?  well,  befall  what  will 
befall, 
I'll  jest  a  tivelvcmonth  in  an  hospital. 

Prin.   Ay,  sweet  my  lord;   and  so  I  take  my 
leave.  [To  the  King. 

King.   No,  madam  :  we  will  bring  you  on  your 
way. 

Biron.  Our  wooing  doth  not  end  like  an  old  play ; 
Jack  hath  not  .1111 :  these  ladies'  courtesy 
Micrht  well  have  made  our  sport,  a  comedj'. 

King.  Come,  sir,  it  wants  a  twelvemonth  and  a 
day, 

{i)  Immediate. 


Scent  II. 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


181 


And  then  'twill  end. 
Birm.  That's  too  long  for  a  play. 

Enter  Armado. 

Jirm.  Sweet  majesty,  Touchsafe  me, — 

Prin.  Was  not  that  Hector  ? 

Dum.  The  worthy  knight  of  Troy. 

Jirm.  I  will  kiss  thy  royal  finger,  and  take 
leave :  I  am  a  votary ;  1  have  vowed  to  Jaquenettal 
to  hold  the  plouirh  for  her  sweet  love  three  years.} 
But,  most  esteemed  greatness,  will  you  hear  thej 
dialogue  that  the  two  learned  men  have  compiled,! 
in  praise  of  the  owl  and  the  cuckoo?  It  should 
have  followed  in  the  end  of  our  show. 

Kinp;.  Call  them  forth  quickly,  we  will  do  so. 

^irnu  Holla!  approach. — 

Enier  Holofernes,  Nalhaniol,  Moth,  Costard,  <md\ 
others. 

This  side  is  Hiems,  winter ;  this  Ver,  the  sprinpr ; 
the  one  maintain'd  by  the  owl,  the  other  by  the 
euckoo.    Ver,  begin. 


Cuckoo,  cuekoe, — 0  vsord  offeca', 
Unpleasing  to  a  married  ear  ! 

IIL 

Winter.  When  icicles  hanz  by  the  Kail, 

Jlnd  Dick  the  shepherd  blmcs  his  nail, 
^nd  Tom  bears  logs  into  the  hall, 

And  milk  comes  frozen  home  in  pail. 
When  blood  is  nipped,  and  ways  befoul, 
Then  Rightly  sings  the  staring  owl, 

To-wlw ; 
Tu-whit,  to-wlio,  a  merry  note, 
If'hUe  i;reasy  Joan  dolh  ketl'  the  poL 

When  all  aloud  the  wind  doth  blow, 

.And  coughing  drowns  the  parson's  saw, 
And  birdi  sit  brooding  in  the  snow, 
%di 


SONG. 

Spring.    When  dmsits  pied,  and  violets  blue, 
And  lady-smocks  all  silver-while. 
And  cuckoo-buds  of  yellow  hue. 

Do  paint  the  meadows  with  delight. 
The  cuckoo  then,  on  every  tree, 
Mocks  ma)Tied  men,  fur  thus  sings  he. 

Cuckoo  ; 
Cuckoo,  cuckoo, — 0  word  of  fear, 
Unpleasing  to  a  mamed  ear ! 

"■ 

When  shepherds  pipe  en  oaten  straxcs. 
And    merry    larks    are     ploughmen's 
clocks, 
When  turtles  tread,  and  rooks,  and  dawf, 
And    maidens    bleach     their    summer 
smocks. 
The  euckoo  then,  on  erert/  tree. 
Mocks  married  men,  for  thus  sings  he, 
Cuckoo  ; 


To-who  ; 
T>t-irhit,  to-who,  a  merry  note. 
While  g%-eusy  Joan  doth  ketl  the  pot. 

Arm,  The  words  of  Mercury  are  harsh  after  the 
songs  of  ,\ polio. — You,  that  way ;  we,  this  way. 

[ExeunL 


(1)  Cool. 


(«)  Wild  apples. 


In  this  play,  which  all  the  editors  hare  concur- 
red to  f ensure,  and  some  have  rejected  as  unwor* 
thy  of  our  poet,  it  must  be  confessed  that  there  are 
many  passages  mean,  childish,  and  vulgar:  and 
some  which  ought  not  to  have  been  exhibited,  as 
wc  are  told  th-  y  ^vf-re,  to  a  maiden  queen.  But 
there  are  scattered  through  the  whole  many  sparks 
of  frenius ;  nor  is  there  any  plav  that  has  mora 
CTident  marks  of  the  hand  of  Shaaspeare. 

JOHNSON. 


(    182    ) 


iMERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


DuUc  of  Venice. 

Prince  of  J>fo»-occo,  I  ^^Uors  to  Portia. 

rrinccolJlrragmi,  ) 

Antonio,  the  mercliant  of  Venice. 

IJassanio,  his  friend.        ' 

Saiatiio,      ) 

.Salarino,    yfnends  to  »5jifonu)  and  Bassav.io. 

Gratiano,  ) 

Lorenzo,  in  love  with  Jessica. 

Shylock,  a  Jeic. 

Tubal,  a  Jnr,  his  friend. 

Laitncclot  Goblio,  a  clovm,  servant  to  S^iylock. 

Old  Gohho,  fallwr  to  Launcetot. 


Salerio,  a  messenger  from  Venice. 
Leonardo,  iervant  to  liassanio. 

liX^^:\^^rvants  to  Portia. 

Portia,  a  rich  heiress. 
Nerissa,  her  Mailing-maid. 
Jessica,  daxighUr  to  Shylock. 

JUagtuficocs  of  Venice,  officers  of  the  conrt  ofJua- 
ticc,  jailer,  servants,  and  other  attendants. 

Scene,  parlly  at  Venice,  and  partly  at  Belmont,  th^ 
scat  of  Portia,  on  the  continent. 


ACT  I. 

SCEJ^'E  /.—Venice.     ,9  street.    Enter  Antonio, 
Salarino,  and  Salanio. 

Jlntonio. 

In  sooth,  I  know  not  why  I  zm  so  sad ; 
It  wearies  mc  ;  you  say,  it  wearies  you ; 
But  how  I  raufriit  it,  found  it,  or  caine  by  it. 
What  stuff 'tis  made  of,  whereof  it  is  born, 
1  am  to  Icaru  ; 

And  such  a  w;int-wit  sadness  makes  of  nie. 
That  I  ha^e  much  ado  to  know  myself. 

Salar.  Your  mind  is  tossincr  onthe  ocean ; 
There,  where  your  argosies'  witii  portly  sail, — 
Like  sijiniors  and  rich  burghers  of  the  flood, 
Or,  as  it  were  the  pageants  of  the  sea, — 
I)o  overpeer  the  petty  tralKckers, 
That  curt'sv  to  them,  do  them  reverence, 
As  they  flv  W  them  with  their  woven  winars, 

Satan,  ^elieie  me,  sir,  had  I  such  venture  forth, 
The  better  part  of  my  atfeclions  would 
Be  with  my  hopes  abroad.     I  should  be  still 
Plucking  the  grass,  to  know  ^viiere  sits  the  wind ; 
Peering  in  maps,  for  ports,  and  piers,  and  roads  ; 
And  every  object,  that  mi:;ht  make  me  fear 
Misfortune  to  my  ventures,  out  of  doubt, 
Would  make  me  sad. 

Solar.  My  wind,  Goolini;  my  broth, 

Would  blow  me  to  an  ague,  when  I  thought 
What  harm  a  iviiid  too  prent  might  do  at  sea. 
I  should  not  see  the  sandy  hour-glass  run, 
But  I  should  think  of  shallows  and  of  flats  ; 
And  see  my  wealthy  Andre^v  dock'd  in  sand, 
Vailing-  her  high-top  lower  than  her  ribs, 
To  kiss  her  burial.     Sliould  I  yo  to  church, 
And  sec  the  holy  edifice  of  stone. 
And  not  bethink  me  straight  of  danfrerous  rocks  ? 
Which  touching  but  my  pentle  vessel's  side, 
Would  scatter  all  her  spices  on  the  stream  ; 
Enrobe  the  roaring  waters  with  my  silks ; 
And,  in  a  word,  but  even  now  worth  this. 
And  now  worth  nothing  ?  Shall  I  have  the  thought 
To  think  on  this ;  and  shall  I  lack  the  thought, 

(1)  Ships  of  large  buKhen.        (2)  Lowering. 


That  such  a  thing,  hechanc'd,  would  make  me  sad  ? 
But,  tell  not  me  ;  I  know,  Antonio 
Is  sad  to  think  uj)on  his  merchandise. 

Jhit.  Believe  iix':,  no :  I  thank  iny  fortune  for  it, 
My  ventures  arc  not  in  one  bottom  trusted. 
Nor  to  one  place;  nor  is  my  whole  estate 
Upon  the  fortune  of  this  present  year: 
Therefore,  my  merchandise  makes  me  not  sad. 

Salaii.  Why  then  you  arc  in  love. 

Jlnt.  Fie,  fie ! 

Salan.  Not  in  love  neither  ?  Then  let's  say,  you 
are  sad. 
Because  you  arc  not  merry :  and  'twere  as  easy 
For  you  to  lau<rh,  and  leap,  and  say,  vou  are  merry. 
Because  you  are  not  sacl.    Now,  by  two-headed 

Janus, 
Nature  hath  fram'd  strange  fellows  in  her  time : 
Some  that  will  evermore  peep  throuijh  their  eyes. 
And  laugh,  like  parrots,  at  a  ba<r-pipcr ; 
And  other  of  such  vineaar  asjMJct, 
That  they'll  not  show  their  teeth  in  way  of  smile, 
Though  Nestor  swear  the  jest  be  laughable. 

filter  Bassanio,  Lorenzo,  otkI  Gratiano. 

Salan.  Here  comes  Bassanio,  your  most  noble 
kinsman, 
Graliano,  and  Lorenzo  :  Fare  you  well ; 
We  leave  you  now  witJi  bettor  i-ompanv. 
Solar,  r would  have  staid  till  1  had  made  you 
merry. 
If  worthier  trlend,  had  not  prevented  me. 

Jlnt.  Your  worth  is  very  dear  in  my  regard. 
I  take  it,  your  own  business  calls  on  you. 
And  you  embrace  the  occasion  to  dcjiart. 
SnJfar.  Good  morroiv,  my  crood  lords. 
Bass.  Good  sii^niors  both,'when  shall  we  laugh  ? 
Say,  yhcn  ? 
You  CTOw  exceeding  strange :  Must  it  be  so  ? 
Solar.   We'll  make  our  leisures  to  attend  on 
yours.        [Exeunt  Salarino  and  Salanio. 
Lor.  Mf  lord  Bassanio,  since  you  have  found 
Antonio, 
We  two  v/iil  leave  you  :  but,  at  dinner-time, 
I  pray,  you,  have  in  mind  where  me  must  meet. 
Bass,  I  will  not  fail  you 


MERCHANT. OF  VENICE. 
Acl  IIL—Scme  3. 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 

Act  IV.— Scene  3. 


^ 


Setnt  11. 


MERCHANT  OP  VENICE. 


113 


Gra,  You  look  not  well,  signlor  Antonio  ; 
You  have  too  much  respect  upon  the  world : 
They  lose  it,  that  do  buy  it  with  much  care. 
Believe  me,  you  are  marvellously  chang'd. 

«3iii.  I  hold  the  %vorld  but  as  the  world,  Gra- 
tiano ; 
A  stage,  where  every  man  must  play  a  part, 
And  mine  a  sad  one. 

Gra.  Let  me  play  the  fool  : 

AVith  mirth  and  lauahter  let  old  wrinkles  come ; 
And  let  my  liver  rather  heat  with  wine. 
Than  my  heart  cool  with  mortifying  groans. 

Why  should  a  man,  whose  blood  is  Vvarm  within,  JTo  shoot  another  arrow  that  self  way 
Sit  like  his  graiidsire  cut  in  alabaster?  ! Which  you  did  shoot  the  first,  I  do  not  doubt, 

As  1  will  watch  the  aim,  or  to  i'ind  both. 

Or  bring  your  latter  hazard  back  agnin, 


Within  the  eye  of  honour,  be  assur'd. 
My  purse,  my  person,  my  cxtremest  means, 
Lie  all  unlock'd  to  your  occasions. 
Bass.  In  my  school-days,  when  I  had  lost  snc 
shaft, 
I  shot  his  fellow  of  the  self-same  flight 
The  self-same  way,  with  more  advised  watch, 
To  find  the  other  ibrth ;  and  by  advent'ring  both, 
I  oft  found  both :  I  urge  this  childhood  proof, 
Because  what  follows  is  pure  innocence. 
I  owe  you  much  ;  and,  like  a  wilful  youth, 
That  which  I  owe  is  lost :  but  if  you  please 


Sleep  when  lie  wakes  ?  and  creep  into  the  jaundice 

By  being  peevish  ?  I  tell  thee  what,  Antonio, — 

1  love  Ihee,  and  it  is  my  love  that  speaiis  ; — 

There  are  a  .«ort  of  men,  whose  visages 

Do  cream  and  mantle,  like  a  standing  pond ; 

And  do  a  %vilful  stillness'  entertain, 

With  purpose  to  be  dress'd  in  an  opinion 

Of  wisdom,  gravity,  profound  conceit ; 

As  who  should  say,  /  am  sir  Oracle, 

»l7t(l,  xchen  I  ope  my  lips,  let  no  dog  barli ! 

(),  my  Antonio,  I  do  know  of  these,     ' 

That  therefore  only  arc  reputed  wise, 

For  saying  nothing  ;  who,  I  am  very  sure, 

If  they  should  speak,  would  almost  damn  those  ears, 

Which,  hearing  thein,  would  call  their  brothcri^, 

fook^.  ■ 
I'll  tell  thee  more  of  this  another  tim?  : 
But  fish  not  with  this  melancholy  bait, 
For  this  fool's  gudgeon,  this  opinion. — 
Come,  good  Lorenzo  : — Fare  ye  well,  a  Vihile ; 
I'll  end  mv  exhortation  after  dinner. 

Lar.  Well,  we  will  leave  you  then  till  dinner- 
time : 
I  must  be  one  of  these  same  dumb  wise  men, 
For  Gratiano  never  lets  me  speak. 

Gra.   \We\\,  keep  me  company  but  two  years 
more, 
Thou  shult  not  kno^v  the  sound  of  tliine  own 
tongue. 

Jlnt.  Farewell :  I'll  gi-ow  a  talker  for  this  gear. 

Gra,  Thanks,  i'faith;  for  silence  is  only  com- 
mendable 
In  a  neat's  tongue  dried,  and  a  maid  not  vendible. 
[Exeunt  Gratiano  and  Lorenzo. 

Jint,  Is  that  any  tiling  no%v  ? 

Bass.  Gratiano  speaks  an  infinite  deal  of  nothing. 


\nd  thankfully  rest  debtor  for  the  first. 

Ant.  You  know  mc  well ;  and  herein  spend  but 
time. 
To  wind  about  my  love  with  clreumsfancc ; 
And,  out  of  doalit,  yoii  do  me  now  more  wrong. 
In  making  question  of  my  uttermost, 
Than  if  you  had  made  waste  of  all  I  have : 
Then  do  but  say  to  me  wiiut  I  should  do. 
That  in  your  kifcQwWdsrc  jnay  hv  me  be  done, 
Anvl  I  am  prert-  unto  it:  tliere!"bre,  speak. 

liass.  In  Belmont  i^  a  lady  richly  leil. 
And  she  is  fair,  and,  fairer  tiian  that  word. 
Of  ivondrous  virtues :  sometimes^  from  her  eyes 
!  d;d  receive  fair  sfiterhless  mespages : 
\h:-  name  is  rortij. ;  noiiiina  undervalued 
To  Cato's  daughter,  lirntus'  Porti.i.     . 
Nor  is  tho  wide  world  ignorant  of  her  worth ; 
For  the  four  winds  blow  in  from  every  coast 
Renowned  suitors  ;  and  her  sunny  locks 
Hang  on  httr  temples  like  a  golden  fleece  ; 
Which  nwkes  her  seat  of  Belmont,  ColchOs'  strand. 
And  many  Jasons  come  in  quest  of  her. 

0  my  Antonio,  had  I  but  the  means 
To  hold  a  rival  place  with  one  of  them, 

1  have  a  mind  presages  me  such  thrift. 
That  I  should  questionless  be  fortunate. 

Jint.  Thou  know'st,  tliat  all  my  fortunes  are  at 

sea  ; 

Nor  have  I  money,  nor  commodity 

To  raise  a  present  sum :  therefore  go  forth; 

Try  what  my  credit  can  in  Venice  do ; 

That  shall  be  rack'd,  even  to  the  uttermost. 

To  furnish  thee  to  Belmont,  to  fair  Portia. 

Go,  presently  inquire,  and  so  will  I, 

more  than  any  man  in  all  Venice :  His  reasons  an;!  Where  money  is  ;  and  I  no  question  make, 

as  two  grains  of  wheat  hid  in  two  bushels  of  chaff";  |  To  have  it  of  my  trust,  or  for  my  sake.      [Exeuni. 

YOU  shall  seek  all  day  ere  you  find  them;  and,  when     ci/-tr.-./.n    r»     t»  ,        ^         ■,  •     -r.    ,.  . 

"'      •  '         -      ■'        ^ '        '  SCEJ^E  //.—Belmont.      »i  room  rn  Portia's 

hoiise.    Enter  Portia  and  Nerissa. 

For.  By  my  trotli,  Nerissa,  my  little  body  is 
aweary  of  this  great  ^vorld. 

.\'er.  You  would  be,  sweet  madam,  if  your  mise- 
ries were  in  the  same  abundance  as  your  good  for- 
tunes are :  And  yet,  for  aught  I  see,  they  are  -ds 
sick,  that  surfeit  with  loo  much,  as  they  that  stane 
with  nothing :  It  is  no  mean  happiness  therefore,  to 
be  seated  in  the  mean  ;  superfluity  comes  sooner  by 
white  hairs,  but  competency  lives  longer. 

Pnr.  Good  sentences,  and  well  pronounced. 

J^tr.  They  Would  be  better,  if  well  followed. 

Por.  If  to  do  were  as  easy  as  to  know  what  were 
good  to  do,  chapels  had  been  churches,  and  poor 
men's  cottages,  princes'  palaces.  It  is  a  good  divine 
that  follows  his  own  instructions :  I  can  easier  teach 
twenty  what  were  good  to  be  done,  than  be  one  qf 
the  twenty  to  follow  mine  own  teaching.  The  brain 


you  have  them,  they  arc  not  M-orth  the  search. 

Ant.  Well ;  tell  me  now,  what  lady  is  this  same 
To  whom  you  swore  a  secret  pilgrimage, 
That  you  to-day  promis'd  to  tell  me  of? 

Bass.  'Tis  not  unknown  to  you,  Antonio, 
How  much  I  have  disabled  mine  estate. 
By  something  showing  a  more  swelling  port 
Tlian  my  faint  means  would  grant  continuance  : 
Nor  do  I  now  make  moan  to  be  ahridg'd 
From  such  a  noble  rate;  but  my  chief  care 
Is,  to  come  fairly  oft' from  the  great  debts. 
Wherein  my  time,  something  too  prodigal, 
Hath  left  me  gaged  :  To  you,  Antonio, 
I  owe  the  most,  in  money,  and  in  love  ; 
And  from  your  love  I  have  a  ^varranty 
To  unburthen  all  my  plots  and  purposes, 
How  to  get  clear  of  all  the  debts  I  owe. 

Ant.  I  pray  you,  good  Bassanio,  let  me  know  it; 
And,  if  it  stand,  as  you  yourself  still  do, 

(I)  Obstinate  silence.       (2)  Ready. 


(3)  Formerly. 


m 

may  derise  laws  for  the  blood  ;  but  a  hot  temper 
leaps  over  a  cold  decree :  such  a  hare  is  madness 
the  youth,  to  skip  o'er  the  meshes  of  |?ood  counsel 
^e  cripple.  But  this  reasoning  is  not  m  the  fashion 
to  choose  me  a  husband : — ©  me,  the  word  choose ! 
I  may  neither  choose  whom  1  would,  nor  refuse 
whom  I  dislike ;  so  is  the  will  of  a  living  dau^^hter 
curb'd  by  the  will  of  a  dead  father : — Is  it  not  hard, 
Nerissa,  that  I  cannot  choose  one,  nor  refuse  none  ? 

Jfer.  Your  father  was  ever  virtuous ;  and  holy 
men,  at  their  death,  have  good  inspirations ;  there- 
fore, the  lottery,  that  he  hath  devised  in  these  three 
chests,  of  gold,  silver,  and  lead,  (whereof  who 
chooses  his  meaning,  chooses  you.)  will,  no  doubt, 
never  be  chosen  by  any  riorhtly,  out  one  who  you 
shall  rigrhtly  love.  But  what  warmth  is  there  in 
your  aflection  towards  any  of  these  princely  suitors 
that  are  already  come  ? 

Por.  I  pray  thee,  over-name  them  ;  and  as  thou 
namest  them,  I  will  describe  them ;  and,  according 
to  my  description,  level  at  my  affection. 

j/er.  First,  there  is  the  Neapolitan  prince 

Por.  Ay.  that's  a  colt,'  indeed,  for  he  doth  no- 
thing but  talk  of  his  horse  :  and  he  makes  k  a  great 
appropriation  to  his  own  good  narts,  that  he  can 
shoe  him  himself:  I  am  much  afraid,  my  lady,  his 
mother,  played  false  with  a  smith. 

J^er.  Then  is  there  the  county*  Palatine 

Por.  He  does  nothing  but  frown  ;  as  who  should 
«ay,  .^n  if  you  will  not  have  me,  choose  :  he  hears 
merry  tales,  and  smiles  not :  I  fear,  he  will  prove 
the  weeping  philosopher  when  he  grows  old,  -^ing 
so  full  of  unmannerly  sadness  in  his  youth.  I  had 
rather  be  married  to  a  death's  head  with  a  bone  in 
his  mouth,  than  to  either  of  these.  God  defend  me 
from  these  two ! 

JV*«".  How  say  you  by  the  French  lord,  Mon- 
sieur Le  Bon  ? 

Por.  God  made  him,  and  therefore  let  him  pass 
for  a  man.  In  truth,  I  know  it  is  a  sin  to  be  a 
mocker :  But,  he !  why,  he  hath  a  horse  better  than 
the  Neapolitan's ;  a  better  bad  habit  of  frowning 
than  the  count  Palatine :  he  is  eveiyman  in  no 
man :  if  a  throstle  sing,  he  falls  straight  a  caper- 
ing ;  he  will  fence  with  his  own  shadow :  if  I  should 
marry  him,  I  should  marry  twenty  husbands  :  If 
he  would  despise  me,  1  would  forgive  him ;  for  if 
he  love  me  to  madness,  I  shall  never  requite  him. 

JiTer.  What  say  you  then  to  Falconlsridge,  the 
young  baron  of  England  ? 

Por.  You  know,  I  say  nothing  to  him :  for  he  un- 
derstands not  me,  nor  I  him :  he  hath  neither  Latin, 
•French,  nor  Italian ;  and  you  will  come  into  the 
eourt  and  swear,  that  i  have  a  poor  penny-worth 
in  the  English.  He  is  a  proper  man's  picture  ; 
But,  alas .'  who  can  converse  with  a  dumb  show  ? 
How  oddly  he  is  suited !  I  think  he  bou3ht  his 
doublet  in  Italy,  his  round  hose  in  France,  his  bon- 
net in  Germany,  and  his  behaviour  every  where. 

Jfer.  What  think  you  of  the  Scottish  lord,  his 
neighbour? 

Por.  That  he  hath  a  neighbourly  charity  in  him  ; 
for  he  borrowed  a  box  of  the  ear  of  the  English- 
man, and  swore  he  would  pay  him  again,  when  he 
was  able  :  I  think  the  Frenchman  became  his 
surety,  and  sealed  under  for  another. 

J^er.  How  like  you  the  young  German,  the  duke 
of  Saxony's  nephew  ? 

Por.  Very  vilely  in  the  morning,  when  he  is  so- 
ber; and  most  vilely  in  the  afternoon,  when  he  is 
drunk :  when  he  is  best,  he  is  a  little  worse  than  a 
.man ;  and  when  he  is  worst,  he  is  little  better  than 

(1)  A  heady,  gay  youngster.         (2)  Count. 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


^eti. 


a  beast :  an  the  worst  fall  that  ever  fell,  I  hppe,  I 
shall  make  shift  to  go  without  him. 

AVr.  If  he  shouH  offer  to  choose,  and  choose 
the  right  casket,  you  should  refuse  to  perform  your 
father's  will,  if  you  should  refuse  to  accept  him. 

Por.  Therefore,  for  fear  of  the  worst,  I  pray 
thee,  set  a  deep  glass  of  Rhenish  wine  on  the  con- 
trary casket :  for,  if  the  devil  be  within,  and  that 
temptation  without,  I  know  he  will  choose  it.  I 
will  do  any  thing,  Nerissa,  ere  I  will  be  married  to 
a  spunge. 

J^er.  You  need  not  fear,  lady,  the  having  any 
of  these  lords ;  they  have  acquainted  me  %vith  their 
determinations :  which  is,  indeed,  to  return  to  their 
home,  and  to  trouble  you  with  no  more  suit ;  unless 
you  may  be  won  by  some  other  sort  than  your  fa- 
ther's imposition,  depending  on  the  caskets. 

Por.  If  I  live  to  be  as  old  as  Sybilla,  I  will  die 
as  chaste  as  Diana,  unless  I  be  obtained  by  the 
manner  of  my  father's  will :  I  am  glad  this  parcel 
of  wooers  are  so  reasonable  ;  for  there  is  not  one 
among  them  but  I  dote  on  his  very  absence,  and  I 
pray  God  grant  them  a  fair  departure. 

J^er.  Do  you  not  remember,  lady,  in  your  fa- 
ther's time,  a  Venetian,  a  scholar,  and  a  soldier, 
that  came  hither  in  company  of  the  Marquis  of 
Montferrat  ? 

Por.  Yes,  yeS,  it  was  Bassanio ;  as  I  think,  so 
was  he  called. 

JVer.  True,  madam:  he,  of  all  the  men  that 
ever  my  foolish  eyes  looked  upon,  was  the  best 
deserving  a  fair  lady. 

Por.  I  remember  him  well  ;  and  I  remember 
him  worthy  of  thy  praise. — How  now !  what  neivs  ? 

Enter  a  Servant. 

Serv.  The  four  strangers  seek  for  you,  madam, 
to  take  their  leave  :  and  there  is  a  forerunner  come 
from  a  fifth,  the  prince  of  Morocco  ;  %vho  brings 
word,  the  prince,  his  master,  will  he  here  to-night. 

Por.  If  I  could  bid  (he  fifth  welcome  with  so 
eood  heart  as  I  can  bid  the  other  four  farewell,  I 
should  be  glad  of  his  approach :  if  he  have  the 
condition'  of  a  saint,  and  the  complexion  of  a  devil, 
I  had  rather  he  should  shrive  me  than  wive  me. 
Come,  Nerissa. — Sirrah,  go  before. — Whiles  we 
shut  the  gate  upon  one  wooer,  another  knocks  ^t 
the  door.  [Exeunt. 

Enter 


SCEJ^E  ///.—Venice,    w?  mtUic  place. 
,  Bassanio  and  Shylock. 

Shy.  Three  thousand  ducats, — well. 

Bass.  Av,  sir,  for  three  months. 

Shy.  For  three  months, — weii. 

Bass.    For  the  which,  as  I  told  you,  Antoni* 
shall  be  bound. 

Shy.  Antonio  shall  become  bound, — well. 

Bass.  May  you  stead  me?    Will  you  pleasure 
me  ?  Shall  I  know  your  answer  ? 

Shy.  Three  thousand  ducats,  for  three  months, 
and  Antonio  bound. 

Bass.  Your  answer  to  that. 

S/it/.  Antonio  is  a  good  man. 

Bass.  Have  you  heard  any  imputation  to  th* 
contrary  ? 

Shy.  Ho,  no,  no,  no,  no  ; — my  meaning,  in  say 
ing  he  is  a  good  man,  is  to  have  you  understan(f 
me,  that  he  is  sufficient :  yet  his  means  are  in  sup- 
position :  he  hath  an  arcosy  bound  to  Tripolis, 
another  to  the  Indies  :  I  understand  moreover  iipop 
the  Rial  to,  he  hath  a  third  at  Mexico,  a  fourth  for 
England, and  other  ventures  he  hath,  squan* 

.(3)  Temper,  qualities. 


9C«M  III. 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


dcr'd  abroad :  Bat  ships  are  but  boards,  sailors  but'  And  in  the  doing  of  the  deed  of  kind,* 
men  :   there  be  land-rats,  and  water-rats,  water-  [  He  stuclc  them  up  before  the  fulsome  ewes ; 


thieves,  and  land-thieves ;  I  mean,  pirates ;  and 
then,  there  is  the  peril  of  waters,  winds,  and  rocks : 
The  man  is,  notwithstanding,  suliicient ; — three 
thousand  ducats  ; — I  think  I  may  take  his  bond. 

Bass.  Be  assured  you  may. 

Stty.  I  will  be  assured  I  may  ;  and,  that  I  may 
be  assured,  I  will  bethink  me :'  May  1  speak  with 
Antonio  ? 

Ba3s.  If  it  please  vou  to  dine  with  us. 

Shy.  Yes,  to  smell  pork ;  to  eat  of  the  habita- 
tion which  your  prophet,  the  Nazarite,  conjured 
the  devil  into :  I  will  buy  with  you,  sell  with  you, 
talk  with  you,  walk  witli  you,  and  so  following ; 
but  I  will  not  eat  with  you,  drink  with  you,  nor 
pray  with  you.  What  news  on  the  Rialto  ? — Who 
IS  he  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Antonio. 

Bas3.  This  is  sismior  Antonio. 

Shy.  [^iside.]  How  like  a  fawning  publican  he 
looks ! 
I  hale  him,  for  he  is  a  Christian  : 
But  more,  for  that,  in  low  simplicity. 
He  lends  out  money  gratis,  and  brings  down 
The  rate  of  usance  here  with  us  in  Venice. 
If  I  can  catch  him  once  upon  the  hip,  ' 
I  will  feed  fat  the  ancient  grudge  I  bear  him. 
He  hates  our  sacred  nation  ;  and  he  rails. 
Even  there  where  merchants  most  do  congregate, 
On  me,  my  bargains,  and  my  well-won  thrift. 
Which  he  calls  interest:  Cursed  be  my  tribe, 
If  1  fo;-}5i\c  liim  1 

Bass.  Shylock,  do  you  hear  ? 

Shy.  I  am  debating  of  my  present  store  j 
And,  by  the  near  guess  of  my  memory, 
1  cannot  instantly  raise  up  the  eross 
Of  full  three  thousand  ducats :  What  of  that? 
Tubal,  a  wealthy  Hebrew  of  my  tribe. 
Will  furnish  me:  But  soft ;  How  many  months 
Do  you  desire  ? — Rest  you  fair,  good  sicnior ; 

[To  Antonio, 
your  worship  was  the  last  man  in  our  mouths. 

»3>i/.  Shylock,  albeit  I  neilher  lend  nor  borrow. 
By  taking,  nor  by  giving  of  excess, 
Yet,  to  supply  the  ripe  wants'  of  my  friend, 
I'll  break  a  custom : — Is  he  yet  possossed,* 
HoAv  much  you  would  ? 

Shy.         '  Ay,  a.v,  three  thousand  ducats. 

JInt.  And  for  three  months. 

Shy.  I  had  forgot, — three  months,  you  told  me  so. 

Well  then,  your  bond;  and,  let  me  see, But 

hear  you ; 
Methough*,  you  said,  you  neither  lend,  nor  borrow, 
Upon  aa vantage. 

Jlnl.  I  do  never  use  it-. 

S/ji/.NVhen  Jacob  jrraz'd  his  uncle  Laban's  sheep. 
This  Jacob  from  our  holy  Abraiiam  was 
(As  his  wise  mother  wrought  in  his  behalf,) 
The  third  possessor;  ay,  he  was  the  third. 

^nt.  And  what  of  him  ?  did  he  take  interest  ? 

Shy.  No,  not  take  interest ;  not,  as  you  would  say, 
Directly  interest :  mark  what  Jacob  did. 
When  Laban  and  himself  were  compromis'd. 
That  all  the  eanlings  which  were  streak'df,  and 

pied,  I-  .  .    . 

Should  fall  as  Jacob's  hire  ;  the  ewes,  being  rank, 'In  such  a  place,  such  sum,  or  sums,  as  arc 
In  the  end  of  autumn  turned  to  the  rams  :  Express'd  in  the  condition,  let  the  forfeit 

And  whf.n  the  work  of  preneration  was  ;  Be  nominated  for  an  equal  pound 

Between  these  woolly  breeders  in  the  act,  lOf  your  fair  flesh,  to  be  cut  oft'  and  takea 

The  skilful  shepherd  peel'd  me  certain  wands,        !ln  what  part  cf  your  body  pleaseth  me. 


Who,  then  conceiving,  did  in  eaning  time 
Fall  party-colour'd  lambs,  and  those  were  Jacob's. 
This  was  a  way  to  thrive,  and  iie  was  blest ; 
And  thrift  is  blessing,  if  men  steal  it  not. 

*3>i<.  This  w  as  a  venture,  sir,  that  Jacob  terr'd 
for  • 
A  thing  not  in  his  power  to  bring  to  pass, 
But  sway'd  and  fashion'd,  by  the  hand  of  heaven. 
Was  tliis  inserted  to  make  interest  good  ? 
Or  is  your  gold  and  silver,  ewes  and  rams  ? 

Shy.  I  cannot  tell :  I  make  it  breed  as  fast : — 
But  note  me,  signior. 

•3nt.  Mark  you  ihis,  Bass&aiQ, 

The  devil  can  cite  scripture  for  his  purpose. 
An  evil  soul,  producmg  holy  witness. 
Is  like  a  villain  with  a  smilinz  cheek  ; 
A  goodly  apple  rotten  at  the  heart ; 
O,  what  a  goodly  outside  falsehood  hath ! 

Shy.  Three  thousand  ducats, — ^"tis  a  good  round 
sum. 
Three  months  from  twelve,  then  let  me  see  the  rate. 

^n/.Well,  Shylock,  shall  we  be  beholden  to  you  T 

Shy.  Signior  Antonio,  many  a  time  and  oft. 
In  the  Rialto  you  have  rated  me 
About  my  monies,  and  my  usances:* 
Still  have  I  borne  it  with  a  patient  shrug  ; 
For  sufferance  is  the  badge  of  all  our  tribe: 
You  call  me — misbeliever,  cut-throat  dog. 
And  spit  upon  my  Jewish  gaberdine. 
And  all  for  use  of  that  which  is  mine  own. 
^Vell  then,  it  now  appears,  you  need  my  help  : 
Go  to  then  j  you  come  to  me,  and  you  say, 
Shyiock,  we  would  have  monies  ;  \  ou  say  so ; 
You,  that  did  void  your  rheum  upon  my  beard, 
And  foot  me,  as  you  spurn  a  stranger  cur 
Over  your  threshold ;  monies  is  your  suit. 
What  shiiuld  I  say  to  you  ?  Should  I  not  say, 
Hath  a  dog  money  ?  is  it  possible, 
-5  cur  can  le7id  three  thousand  ducats  ?  or. 
Shall  I  bend  low,  and  in  a  bondsman's  key. 
With  'bated  breath,  and  whispering  humbleness. 

Say  this, 

Fair  sir,  you  spit  on  tne  on  Wednesday  last; 
You  spiirn''d  me  such  a  day;  another  time 
You  call'd  me — dog;  and  for  these  courtesies 
Pll  lend  you  thus  much  monies. 

.int.  I  am  as  like  to  call  thee  so  again. 
To  spit  on  thee  again,  to  spurn  thee  too. 
If  thou  wilt  lend  this  money,  lend  it  not 
As  to  thy  friends  (for  when  did  friendship  take 
A  breed  for  barren  metal  of  his  friend  .' 
But  lend  it  rather  to  thine  enemy ; 
Who  if  he  break,  thou  may'st  w'ith  better  face 
Esac^  the  penalt}'. 

Shy.  Why,  look  you,  how  you  ^torm ! 

I  would  be  friends  with  )'ou,  and  have  your  love. 
Forget  the  shames  that  you  have  stain'd  me  w  ilh, 
Supply  your  present  wants,  and  take  no  doit 
Of  usance  for  my  monies,  and  you'll  not  hear  me : 
This  is  kind  I  offer. 

,Ant.  This  were  kindness. 

Shy.  This  kindness  will  I  show :— . 

Go  w'ith  me  to  a  notary,  seal  me  there 
Your  single  bond  ;  and,  in  a  merry  sport. 
If  you  repay  mc  not  on  such  a  day. 


(1)  Want*  which  admit  no  longer  delay. 


(2)  Informed. 


(3)  Nature. 
2  A 


(4)  Interest, 


1S6 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


JctlL 


'   JIn^  Content,  in  faith :  I'll  seal  to  such  a  bond, 
And  say,  there  is  much  kindness  in  the  Jew. 

Bass.  You  shall  not  seal  to  such  a  bond  for  me, 
I'll  rather  dwell'  in  my  necessity. 

..Int.  Why,  fear  not,  man  ;  I  will  not  forfeit  it ; 
Within  tliese  two  months,  that's  a  month  before 
This  bond  t'xpir^^s,  I  do  expect  return 
Of  thrice  three  times  the  value  of  this  bond. 

Shy.  O  father  Abraham,  what  these  Christians 
are; 
Whose  own  hard  dealinirs  teaches  them  suspect 
The  thoughts  of  others  !  Pray  you,  tell  me  this  ; 
If  he  should  break  his  day,  what  should  1  gain 
By  the  exaction  of  the  forfeiture  ? 
A  pound  of  man's  flesh,  taken  from  a  man, 
Is  not  so  estimable,  prolitable  neither. 
As  flesh  of  muttons,  beefs,  or  e:oats.     I  say,         \ 
To  buy  his  favour,  1  extend  this  friendship : 
If  he  will  take  it,  so  ;  if  not,  adieu  ; 
And,  for  my  love,  I  pray  you,  wrong  me  not. 

^iit.  Yes,  Shyiock,  I  will  seal  unto  this  bond. 

Shy.  Then  m'cet  me  forthwith  at  the  notary's  ; 
Give  him  direction  for  this  merry  bond. 
And  I  will  ?o  and  purse  the  ducats  straieht ; 
See  to  my  house,  left  in  the  fearful  s:uard 
Of  an  unlhrift\-  knave ;  and  presently 
I  will  be  with  you.  [Exit. 

Ant.  Hie  thee,  gentle  Jew. 

This  Hebrew  will  turn  Christian  ;  he  arows  kind. 

Bass.  I  like  not  fair  terms,  and  a  villain's  mind. 

Jint.    Come  on :   in  this  there  can  be  no  dis- 
may, 
MjT  ships  come  home  a  month  before  the  dav. 

[£xtunt. 


ACT  II. 


SCE.VE  I. — Belmont.  »2  room  m  Portia's  Aouse. 
Flourish  of  cornets.  Enter  the  Prince  of  Mo- 
rocco, nnd  his  train  ;  Portia,  Nerissa,  and  otiter 
of  her  attendants. 

Mar.  Mislike  me  not  for  my  complexion, 
The  shadow'd  livery  of  the  burnish'd  sun. 
To  whom  I  am  a  neighbour,  and  near  bred. 
Bring'  me  the  fairest  creature  northward  bom, 
Where  Phcebus'  fire  scarce  thaws  the  icicles, 
And  let  us  make  incision^  for  your  love. 
To  prove  whosa  blood  is  reddest,  his  or  mine. 
I  tell  thee,  lady,  this  aspect  of  mine 
Hatii  fear'd'  the  valiant ;  by  my  love,  T  swear. 
The  best-re-^arded  virsrins  of  our  clime 
Have  lov'd  it  too :  I  would  not  change  this  hue. 
Except  to  steal  your  thoughts,  my  gentle  queen. 

Por.  In  tenns  of  choice  I  am  hot  solely  led 
By  nice  direction  of  a  maiden's  eyes : 
Besides,  the  lottery  of  my  destiny 
Bars  mc  the  rieht  "of  voluntary  choosing. 
But,  if  my  father  had  not  scantjd  me, 
And  h^dg'd  me  by  his  wit,  to  yield  mypclf 
His  wift;,  who  wiii«<  me  by  that  means  I  told  you, 
Yourself,  renowned  prince,  then  stood  as  fair, 
As  any  comer  I  have  look'd  on  yet. 
For  my  affection. 

Mor.  Even  for  that  T  thank  you  ; 

Therefore,  I  pray  you,  lead  me  to  the  caskets, 
"To  try  my  fortune.     By  this  scimitar, — 
That  slew  the  Sophy,  and  a  Persian  prince, 

(1)  Abide. 

(2)  Allusion  to  the  eastern  custom  for  lovers  to 
testify  their  passion  by  cutting  themselves  in  their 
mistresses'  sight. 


That  won  three  fields  of  Sultan  Solyman,— 
I  would  out-stare  the  sternest  eyes  (hat  look, 
Out-brave  the  heart  most  darincr  on  the  earth, 
Pluck  the  youns  sucking  cubs  from  the  she-bear. 
Yea,  mock  the  lion  when  he  roars  for  prey, 
To  win  thee,  lady  :  But,  alas  the  while  ! 
If  Hercules,  and  Lichas,  play  at  dice 
Which  is  the  better  man,  the  greater  throw 
Mav  turn  by  fortune  from  the  weaker  hand : 
So  IS  Alcides  beaten  by  his  page  j 
And  so  may  I,  blind  fortune  leadmg  me. 
Miss  that  which  one  unwortliier  may  attain. 
And  die  with  grieving. 

Por.  You  must  take  vour  chance ; 

And  either  not  attempt  to  choose  at  all, 
Or  swear,  before  you  choose, — if  you  choose  wrong. 
Never  to  speak  to  lady  afterward 
In  way  of  marriage  ;  therefore,  be  advis'd.* 

J\Io^\  Nor  will  not;  come,  bring  mc  unto  my 
chance. 

Por.  First,  forward  to  the  temple  ;  after  dinner 
Your  hazard  shall  be  made. 

Mor.  Good  fortune  then ! 

[Comets. 
To  make  me  blcssM'st,  or  cursed'st  amon^  men. 

[Exeunt. 

SCEJJ'E  //.—Venice.  A  street.  Enter  Launce- 
lot  Gobbo. 
I.aim.  Certainly  my  conscience  will  serve  me  to 
run  from  this  Jew,'my  master :  The  fiend  is  at  mine 
elbow :  and  tempts  me,  saying  to  me,  Gobbo,  Laun- 
celot  Gobbo,  good  Launcelot,  or  good  Gobbo,  or 
good  launcelot  Gobbo,  use  your  legs,  take  the 
start,  run  aicay :  My  conscience  says, — no;  take 
heed,  honest  Launcelot;  take  heed,  lionest  Gobbo; 
or,  as  af.^resaid,  lumest  Launcelot  Gobbo,  do  not 
run;  scorn  running  with  thy  heels:  Well,  the  most 
courageous  fiend  l)ids  me  pack ;  via !  says  the 
fiend:  away!  says  iheGend,  for  the  heavens  ;  rouse 
up  a  brave  mind,  says  the  fiend,  and  mn.  Well, 
jmy  conscience,  hanging  about  the  neck  of  my  hearty 
says  very  wisely  to  me, — my  honest  friend  Launce- 
lot, being  an  honest  man's  son, — or  ratlier  an  ho- 
nest woman's  son ; — for,  indeed,  my  father  did 
something  smack,  something  grow  to,  he  had  a 
kind  of  taste ;— "well,  my  conscience  says,  Launce- 
lot, budge  not ;  budge,  says  tlie  fiend  •  budge  not, 
says  my  conscience  :  Conscience,  sav  I,  you  coun- 
sel well ;  fiend,  say  I,  vou  counsel  well :  to  be 
ruled  by  my  conscience,  t  should  stay  with  the  Jew 
my  master,  who  (God  bless  the  mark !)  is  a  kind 
of  devil ;  and,  to  run  away  from  the  Jew,  I  should 
be  ruled  by  the  fiend,  who,  saving  your  revfreiiee, 
is  the  devil  himself:  Certainly,  the  Jew  is  Uie  very 
devil  incarnation ;  and,  in  my  conscience,  my  con- 
science is  but  a  kind  of  hard  conscience,  to  offer  to 
counsel  me  to  sfaj*  with  the  Jew  :  The  fiend  gives 
the  more  friendly  counsel :  I  will  run,  fiend ;  my 
heels  are  at  yourVommandment,  I  will  run. 

Enter  old  Gobbo,  with  a  basket. 

Gob.  Master,  young  man,  you,  I  pray  you; 
which  is  the  way  to  master  Jew's  ? 

Laun.  [Aside.]  O  heavens,  this  is  my  true  bc- 
crottcn  father!  who,  being  more  than  sand-blind, 
high-gravel  blind,  knows  me  not : — I  will  try  con- 
clusions' with  him. 

Go&.  Master  young  gentleman,  I  pray  you, 
which  is  the  way  to  master  Jew's  ? 

Laun.  Turn  up  on  your  right  hand,  at  the  next 


(3)  Terrified. 
(5)  Experimenta. 


(4)  Not  precipitate. 


.  Scene  IL 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE, 


187 


turning,  but,  al  the  next  taming  of  all,  on  your 
left ;  marry,  at  the  Tery  next  turning,  turn  of  no 
hand,  but  turn  down  indirectly  to  the  Jew's  house. 

Gob.  By  God's  sonties,  'twill  be  a  hard  way  to 
hit.  Can  vou  tell  me  ivhethcr  one  Launcelot,  that 
dwells  with  him,  d^vcll  with  him,  or  no  ? 

Latin.  Talk  you  of  young  master  Launcelot  ? — 
Mark  me  now  ;  [aside.]  now  will  I  raise  the  wa- 
ters— Talk  you  of  youno;  master  Launcelot? 

Gob.  No  master,  sir,  but  a  poor  man's  son ;  his 
father,  thouch  I  say  it,  is  an  honest  exceeding  poor 
man,  and,  Cfod  be  thanked,  well  to  live. 

Laun.  vVell,  let  his  father  be  what  he  will,  we 
talk  of  young  master  Launcelot. 

Gob.  Your  worship's  friend,  and  Launcelot,  sir. 

Laun.  But  I  pray  you  ergo,  old  man,  ergo,  I  be- 
seech you  ;  Talk  you  of  voung  master  Launcelot  ? 

Gob.  Of  Launcelot,  an't  please  your  mastership, 

Laun.  Ergo,  master  Launcelot ;  talk  not  of 
master  Launcelot,  father ;  for  the  young  gentleman 
(according  to  fates  and  destinies,  and  such  odd 
sayings ;  the  sisters  three,  and  such  branches  of 
learnmg,)  is,  indeed,  deceased;  or,  as  you  would 
say,  in  plain  terms,  sjone  to  heaven. 

Gob.  Marry,  God  forbid !  the  boy  was  the  very 
staff  of  mv  age,  my  very  prop. 

Laun.  t)o  I  look  like  a  cudgel,  or  a  hovel-post, 
a  staff",  or  a  prop  ? — Do  you  know  me,  father  ? 

Gob.  Alack  the  dayj  I  know  you  not,  young 
eentleman :  but,  I  pray  you,  tell  me,  is  my  boj 
(God  rest  his  soul ! )  alive,  or  dead  ? 

Laun.  Do  you  not  know  me,  father  ? 

Gob.  Alack",  sir,  I  am  sand-blind,  I  know  you  not, 

Laun.  Nav,  indeed,  if  you  had  your  eyes,  you 
might  fail  of  the  knowing  me :  it  is  a  wise  father 
that  knows  his  own  child.  Well,  old  man,  I  will 
tell  you  news  of  your  son :  Give  me  your  blessing : 
truth  will  come  to  light ;  murdercannot  be  hid  long, 
a  man's  son  may;  but,  in  the  end,  truth  will  out. 

Gob.  Pray  you,  sir,  stand  up;  1  am  sure,  you 
are  not  Launcelot,  my  boy. 

Laun.  Pray  you,  let's  have  no  more  fooling 
about  it,  but  give  me  your  blessing  ;  I  am  Laun- 
celot, your  boy  that  was,  your  son  that  is,  your 
child  that  shall  be. 

Gob.  I  cannot  think  you  are  my  son. 

Laun.  I  know  not  what  I  shall  think  of  that : 
but  I  am  Launcelot,  the  Jew's  man;  and,  I  am 
sure,  Margery,  your  wile,  is  rny  mother. 

Gob.  Her  name  is  Margery,  indeed:  I'll  be  sworn, 
if  thou  be  Launcelot,  thou  art  mine  own  flesh  and 
blood.  Lord  worshipp'd  might  he  be !  what  a  beard 
hast  thou  got!  thou  hast  got  more  hair  on  thy  chin, 
than  Dobbin  my  thill-horse'  has  on  his  tail. 

Laun.  It  should  seem  then,  that  Dobbin's  tail 
grows  backward  ;  I  am  sure  he  had  more  hair  on 
his  tail,  than  I  have  on  my  face,  when  I  last  saw  him. 

Gob.  Lord,  how  art  "thou  chang'd!  How  dost 
thou  and  thy  master  agree  ?  I  have  brought  him  a 
present ;  How  'gree  you  now  ? 

Laun.  Well,  well ;  but,  for  my  own  part,  as  I 
have  set  up  my  rest  to  run  away,  so  I  will  not  rest 
till  I  have  run  some  ground :  my  master's  a  very 
Jew :  Give  him  a  present !  give  him  a  halter :  I 
am  famish'd  in  his  service ;  you  may  tell  every 
finger  I  have  with  my  ribs.  Father,  I  am  glad  yoii 
are  come ;  give  me  your  present  to  one  master 
Bassanio,  who,  indeed,  gives  rare  new  liveries :  if 
I  serve  not  him,  I  will  run  as  far  as  God  has  any 
ground. — O  rare  fortune !  here  comes  the  man  ; — 
to  him,  father ;  for  I  am  a  Jew,  if  I  serve  the  Jew 
any  longer. 

(1)  Shaft-horse        (2)  Ornamented. 


Enter  Bassanio,  uith  Leonardo,  and  tthtr  Jbl 
lowers. 

Bass.  You  may  do  so ; — but  let  it  be  so  hasted, 
that  supper  be  ready  at  the  farthest  by  five  of  the 
cluck  :  See  these  letters  deliver'd  ;  put  the  liveries 
to  making ;  and  desire  Gratiano  to  come  anon  to 
my  lodging.  [Exit  a  servant. 

Laun.  1  o  him,  father. 

Gob.  God  bless  your  worship ! 

Bass.  Gramercy ;  Would'st  thou  aught  with  me  ? 

Gob.  Here's  my  son,  sir,  a  poor  boy, 

Laun.  Not  a  poor  boy,  sir,  but  the  rich  Jew's 
man ;  that  would,  sir,  as  my  father  shall  specify, 

Gob.  He  hatn  a  great  infection,  sir,  as  one 
would  say,  to  serve 

Laun.  Indeed,  the  short  and  the  long  is,  I  serve 
the  Jew,  and  I  have  a  desire,  as  my  father  shall 
spceiA", 

Gob.  His  master  and  he  (saving  your  worship's 
reverencCj)  arc  scarce  cater-cousins  : 

Laun.  To  be  brief,  the  very  truth  is,  that  the 
Jew  having  done  me  wrong,  doth  cause  me,  as  my 
father,  being  I  hope  an  old  man,  shall  frutify  unto 
you, 

Gob.  I  have  a  dish  of  doves,  that  I  would  be- 
stow upon  your  worship ;  and  my  suit  is, 

Latin.  In  very  briet  the  suit  is  impertinent  to 
myself,  as  yom*  worship  shall  know  by  this  honest 
old  man ;  and,  thou^rh  I  say  it,  though  old  man, 
yet,  poor  man,  my  father. 

Bass.  One  speak  for  both ; — What  would  you  ? 

Laun.  Serve  you,  sir. 

Gob.  This  is  the  very  defect  of  the  matter,  sir. 

Bass.  I  know  thee  well,  thou  hast  obtained  thy 
snit : 
Shylock,  thy  master,  spoke  with  me  this  day. 
And  hath  preferr'd  thee,  if  it  be  preferment, 
To  leave  a  rich  Jew's  service,  to  become 
The  follower  of  so  poor  a  gentleman. 

Laun.  The  old  proverb  is  very  well  parted  be- 
tween my  master  Shylock  and  you,  .^ir ;  you  have 
the  grace  of  God,  sir,  and  he  hath  enough. 

Bass.  Thou  spcak'st  it  well:  Go,  father,  with 
thy  son : — 
Take  leave  of  thy  old  master,  and  inquire 
My  lodging  out : — Give  him  a  livcr>' 

[7*0  hisfoUoivers. 
More  guarded^  than  iiis  fellows' :  See  it  done. 

Laun.  Father,  in : — I  cannot  get  a  service,  no ; 

I  liave  ne'er  u.  tonarue  in  my  head. — Well ;  [look- 
ing on  his  palm.]  if  any  man  in  Italy  have  a  fairer 

table,'  which  doth  oti'er  to  swear  upon  a  book. 

I  shall  have  good  fortune  ;  Go  to,  here's  a  simple 
line  of  lite  !  here's  a  small  trifle  of  wives  :  Alas, 
filteen  tvives  is  nothing ;  eleven  widoAvs,  and  nine 
maids,  is  a  simple  coming-in  for  one  man:  and 
then,  to  'scape  drowning  thrice ;  and  to  be  in  peril 
of  my  life  with  the  cdsfe  of  a  feather-bed  ; — here 
are  simple  'scapes  !  Well,  if  fortune  be  a  woman, 
she's  a  good  wench  for  this  gear. — Father,  come  ; 
I'll  take  tny  leave  of  the  Jew  in  the  twinkling  of 
an  eye.  [E-vewit  Laun.  and  old  Gob. 

Bass.  I  pray  fnee,  srood  Leonardo,  think  on  this ; 
These  things  being  bought,  and  orderly  beatow'd, 
Return  in  haste,  for  I  do  feast  to-night 
My  best-esteom'd  acquaintance  ;  hie  thee,  go. 

Lfon.  My  best  endeavours  shall  be  done  herein. 

Enter  Gratiano. 
Gra.  AVhere  is  your  master  7 
Leon.  Yonder,  sir,  he  walks. 

lExit  Leonardo. 

(3)  The  palm  of  tlic  hand  eitendcd. 


\m 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


4tm, 


Gru.  Signior  Bassanio,-"-' 

Bass.  Gratiano ! 

Gra.  I  have  a  suit  to  you. 

Bass.  You  hare  obtaui'd  it. 

Gra.  You  must  not  deny  ine ;  I  must  go  with 
you  to  Belmont. 

Ba:is.   Why,  then  you  must ;— But  hear  thee, 
Gratiuno ; 
Thou  art  too  wild,  too  rude,  and  bold  of  Toice ; — 
Parts,  that  become  thee  huppiiy  enough, 
And  in  such  eyes  as  ours  appear  not  faults  ; 
But  wliere  thou  art  not  known,  why,  tliere  they  show 
Sowething  too  liberal :' — pray  thee,  take  pain 
To  allay  ^vilh  some  cold  drops  of  modesty 
Thy  skipping  spirit ;  lest,  through  thy  wild  beha- 
viour, 
I  be  misconstrued  in  the  place  I  go  to, 
And  lose  my  hopes. 

Gra.  Signior Bassanio,  hear  me: 

If  I  do  not  put  on  a  sober  habit, 
Talk  with  rt^spect,  and  swear  but  now  and  then, 
VVepr  prayei-bouks  in  my  pocket,  look  demurely  ; 
Nay  more,  while  grace  is  sayin<r,  hood  mine  eyes 
Thus  with  mv  hat,  and  sifrh,  and  say,  amen  ; 
Use  all  the  observance  of  civility, 
Like  one  well  studied  in  a  sad  ostent* 
To  please  his  grandam,  never  trust  me  more. 

Bans.  Weil,  we  !.liall  see  your  bearing.^ 

Gra.  Nay,  but  I  bar  to-night ;   you  shall  not 
gage  me 
By  wtait  wejjo  to-night. 

Bass.  No,  that  were  pity ; 

I  would  entreat  you  rather  to  put  on 
Your  boldest  suit  of  mirth,  for  we  have  friends 
That  purpose  merriment :  But  fare  you  well, 
I  have  sonic  bubiness. 

Gra.  And  I  must  to  Lorehzo,  and  the  rest ; 
But  we  will  visit  you  at  supper-time.         [Exeunt. 

SCEXE  III.— The  same.    .9  room  in  Shylock's 
house.    Enter  Jessica  and  Launcelot. 

Jes.  I  am  sorry  thou  wilt  leave  my  father  so ; 
Our  house  is  hell,  and  thou,  a  merry  devil, 
Didst  rob  it  of  some  tasfe  of  tediousness; 
But  fare  thee  well ;  thtTC  is  a  ducat  for  thee. 
And,  Launcelot,  foon  at  supper  shalt  thou  see 
Lorenzo,  who  is  thy  new  master's  guest: 
Give  him  this  letter ;  do  it  secretly. 
And  30  farewell ;  I  would  not  have  my  father 
See  me  talk  with  tliee. 

Laun.  Adieu ! — tears  exhibit  my  tonsrue. — Most 
beautiful  Pagan, — most  sweet  Jew !  If  a  Christian!  VVhy,  Jest^ica,  I  say  I 


Salon.  'Tis  vile,  unless  it  may  b«  ^u^^intly  oy 
der'd ; 
And  better,  in  my  mind,  not  undertook. 
Lor.  'Tis  now  but  four  o'clock;  we  haT«  two 
hours 
To  furnish  us : — 

Enter  Launcelot,  with  a  letter. 
Friend  Launcelot,  what's  the  news  ? 

Laun.  An  it  shall  please  you  to  break  up  this, 
it  shall  seem  to  siyiiify. 

Lor.  I  know  the  hand :  in  faith,  'tis  a  fair  hand ; 
And  whiter  than  the  paper  it  writ  on, 
Is  the  fair  hand  that  writ. 

Gra.  Love-news,  in  faith. 

Laun.  By  jyour  leave,  sir.  ' 

Lor.  Whither  jjoest  thou  ? 

Laun.  Marry,  sir,  to  bid  my  old  master  the  Jew 
to  sup  to-ni^ht  with  my  new  master  the  Christian. 

Lur.  Hold  here,  take  this  : — tell  gentle  Jessica, 
I  will  not  fail  lier ; — speak  it  privately  ;  go. — 
Gentlemen,  [Exit  Launcelot. 

Will  you  prepare  you  for  this  masque  to-night  ? 
I  am  provided  of  a  torcii-bearer. 

Solar.  Ay,  marry.  I'll  be  gone  about  it  straight. 

Snlan.  And  so  will  I. 

Lor.  Meet  me,  and  Gratiano, 

At  Gratiano's  loddng  some  hour  hence. 

Solar.  'Tis  good  we  do  so. 

[Exeunt  Salar.  and  Salan. 

Gra.  Was  not  that  letter  from  fair  Jessica  ? 

Lor.  I  must  needs  tell  thee  all :  She  hath  directed. 
How  I  Jihall  take  her  from  her  father's  house ; 
What  gold,  and  jewels,  she  is  furnish'd  with  ; 
What  page's  suit  she  hath  in  readiness. 
If  e'er  the  Jew,  her  father,  come  to  heaven, 
It  will  be  for  his  gentle  daughter's  sake: 
And  never  dare  misfortune  cross  her  foot, 
Unless  she  do  it  under  this  excuse, — 
That  siie  is  issue  to  a  faithless  Jew. 
Coine,  go  with  me  ;  peruse  this  as  thou  goest: 
Fair  Jessica  shall  be  my  torch-bearer.       [Exeunt. 

SCEJ^^E  V. — The  same.    Before  Shylock's  hottae. 
Enter  Shylock  and  Launcelot. 
Shy.  Well,  thou  shalt  see,  thy  eyes  shall  be  thy 
judge. 
The  dinerencc  of  old  Shylock  and  Bassanio: — 
What,  Jessica  ! — thou  shah  not  srormandize, 
As  thou  hast  done  with  me : — What,  Jessica  l-m 
And  sleep  and  snore,  and  rend  ap.parel  out ; — 


do  not  play  the  knave,  and  get  thee,  I  ain  mucn 
deceived :  But,  adieu  !  thf- se  foolish  drops  do  some- 
what drown  my  manly  spirit,  adieu  !  [Exit. 

Jes.  Farewell,  good  Launcelot. — 
Alack,  what  heinous  sin  is  it  in  me, 
To  be  asham'd  to  be  my  father's  child  ! 
But  though  I  am  a  daughter  to  his  blood, 
I  am  not  to  his  manners  :  O  Lorenzo, 
If  thou  keep  promise,  I  shall  end  this  strife ; 
Become  a  Christian,  and  thy  loving  wife.      [Exit. 

SCE^^E  JV.—The  same.    -4  street.    Enter  Gra- 
tiano, Lorenzo,  Salarino,  and  Salanio. 
Lor,  Nay,  we  will  slink  away  in  supper-time ; 
Disguise  us  tit  my  lodging,  and  return 
AH  in  an  hour. 

Gra.  We  have  not  made  good  preparation. 
Solar.  We  have  not  spoke   us  yet  of  torch- 
bearers. 


!1)  Gross,  licentious 


Show  of  staid  and  serious  demeanour. 


Laun.  ^'^'^iy,  Jessica ! 

Shy.  Who  bids  thee  call  I  I  do  not  bid  thee  call. 
Laun.   Your  ivorship  was  wont  to  tell  me,  I 
could  do  nothing  without  biddmg. 

Enter  Jessica. 

Je*.  Call  you  ?  What  is  your  will  ? 

Shy.  I  am  bid*  forth  to  supper,  Jessica ; 
There  are  my  kevs : — But  wherefore  should  I  fO  i 
I  am  not  bid  for  love;  they  flatter  me: 
But  jet  I'll  go  m  hate,  to  feed  upon 
The  [frodigal  Christian. — Jessica,  my  girl. 
Look  to  my  house : — I  am  right  loath  to  go , 
There  is  some  ill  a  brewing  towards  rny  rest. 
For  I  did  dream  of  money-bags  to-nighU 

Laun.  I  beseech  you,  sir,  go  ;  my  young  master 
doth  expect  your  reproach. 

Shy.  So  do  I  his. 

Larm.  And  they  have  conspired  together, — I  will 
not  say,  you  shall  see  a  masque  ;  but  if  you  do, 

(3)  Carriage,  deportment        (4)  Invited. 


Scene  TIL 


MERCHANT  OF  VENnCE. 


id!» 


then  it  was  not  for  nolhinq;  I'lal  m)"  nose  fell  a  bleed-  Albeit  I'll  swear  that  I  do  know  your  tongue, 
ing  on  Black-Monday  last,   at  six  o'clock  i'the      Lor.  Lorenzo,  and  thy  love, 
morning,  falling  out  that  year  on  Ash- Wednesday '     Jcs.  Lorenzo,  certain  ;  and  my  lore,  indeed  ; 
was  four  vear  in  the  afternoon.  For  who  love  1  so  much  ?  And  now  who  knows, 

Shy.  What !  are  there  masques  ?  Hear  you  me,  But  you,  Lorenzo,  whether  I  am  yours  ? 

Jessica :  ,     Lor.  Heaven,  and  thy  Uioughts,  are  witness  that 

Lock  up  my  doors:  and  when  you  hear  the  drum,]  thou  art. 

And  the  vile  squeafcing  of  the  wry-neck'd  fife,         i     Jes.  Here,  catch  this  casket ;  it  is  worth  the  paini. 
Clamber  not  you  up  to  the  casements  then,  |I  am  glad  'tis  night,  you  do  not  look  on  mc. 

Nor  thrust  your  head  into  the  public  street,  jFor  I  am  much  asham'd  of  my  exchange  : 

To  gaze  on  Christian  fools  with  varnish'd  laces:      But  love  is  blind,  and  lovers  cannot  see 
~  ■         "  "  The  pretty  follies  that  themselves  commit ; 

I  For  if  they  could,  Cupid  himself  would  blush 
jTo  see  me  thus  transformed  to  a  boy. 

Lm:  Descend,  for  you  must  be  my  torch-bearer. 
Jes.  What,  must  Thold  a  candle  to  my  shames  ? 
I  They  in  themselves,  ^ood  sooth,  are  too,  too  light. 
j  VV'hv,  'tis  an  ofiice  of  discover}-,  love  j 
And  I  should  be  obscur'd. 
I     Lor.  So  are  you,  swett^ 


But  stop  my  house's  ears,  I  mean  my  casements  ; 
Let  not  the  sound  of  shallow  foppery  enter 
My  sober  house. — By  Jacob's  stafij "I  swear, 
I  have  no  niiiid  of  fcastinor  forth  to-night : 
But  I  will  go. — Go  you  before  me,  sirrah  ; 
Sav,  I  will  come. 

Laun.  I  will  jo  before,  sir. — 

Mistress,  look  out  at  window,  for  all  this ; 
Thcfe  will  come  a  Christian  by, 

Will  be  worth  a  Jewess'  eje.         [Exit  Laun.  i  Even  in  the  lovely  garnish  of  a  boy. 
Shy.  What  ?ays  that  fool  ofHagar's  offsprinyr,  ha?  i  But  come  at  once  ; 
Jet.  His  words  were.  Farewell,  mistress;  nothing!  For  the  close  nijrhl  doth  play  the  run-away, 


else. 

Shy.  The  patch  is  kind  enoug4i ;  but  a  huge  feeder, 
Snail-slow  in  profit,  and  he  sleeps  by  day 
More  than  the  wild  cat  j  drones  hive  not  with  me ; 
Therefore  I  part  with  him  :  and  part  with  him 
To  one  that  I  would  have  him  help  to  waste 
His  borrow'd  purse. — Well,  Jessica,  go  in  ; 
Perhaps,  I  will  return  immediately ; 
Do,  as  I  bid  you, 

Shut  doors  after  you :  Fast  bind,  fast  find; 
A  proverb  never  stale  in  thrifty  mind.  [Exit. 

Jes.  Farewell :  and  if  my  fortune  be  not  crost, 
I  have  a  father,  you  a  daughter,  lost.  [Exii. 

SCEXE  VI.— The  same.     Enter  Gratiano  and 

Salarino,  masked. 

Gra.  This  is  the  pent-house,  under  which  Lorenzo 
Desir'd  us  to  make  stand. 

Solar.  His  hour  is  almost  past. 

Gra.  And  it  is  marve^  he  out-du  ells  his  hour. 
For  lovers  ever  run  before  the  clock. 

Salar.  O,  ten  times  faster  Venus'  pigeons  fly 
To  seal  love's  bonds  new  made,  than  they  are  wont. 
To  keep  obliged  faith  unforfeiled  ! 

Gra.  That  ever  holds  :  Who  riselh  from  a  feast. 
With  that  keen  appetite  that  he  sits  down  ? 
Where  Ls  the  horse  that  doth  untread  aprain 
His  tedious  measures  with  the  unbatcd  fire 
That  he  did  pace  them  first  ?  All  thin;is  that  are. 
Are  with  more  spirit  chased  than  cnjoy'd. 
How  like  a  younker,  or  a  prcdig'al. 
The  scarfed'  bark  puts  from  her  native  bay, 
Hugg'd  and  embraced  by  the  strumpet  wind ! 
How  like  the  prodii^a!  doth  she  return. 
With  over-wealher'd  ribs,  and  ragged  sails. 
Lean,  rent,  and  beipar'd  by  the  strumpet  wind ! 

Enter  Lorenzo, 

Salar.  Here  comes  Lorenzo ;  more  of  thb  here- 
after. 
Lor.  Sweet  friends,  your  patience  for  my  lone 
abode ; 
Not  I,  but  my  affairs,  have  made  you  wait ; 
When  you  shall  please  to  play  the  thieves  for  wives, 
I'll  watch  as  lonsr  for  you  then. — Approach ; 
Here  dwells  my  father  Jew : — Ho !  who's  mthin  ? 

Enter  Jessica  above,  in  fcot/'s  clothes, 
Jt».  Who  are  you  ?  Tell  me,  for  more  certainty, 

(I)  Decor&ted  with  flags. 


And  we  are  staid  for  at  Bassanio's  feast. 

Jes.  I  will  make  fast  the  doors,  and  pild  myself 

With  some  more  ducats,  and  be  with  you  straight. 

[Exit,  from  alme. 

Gra.  Now,  by  my  hood,  a  Gentile,  and  no  Jew. 

lA)r.  Beshrew  me,  but  I  love  her  heartily : 
For  she  is  wise,  if  I  can  judjfc  of  her ; 
And  fair  she  is,  if  that  mine  eyes  be  true ; 
And  true  she  is,  as  she  hath  prov'd  herself; 
And  Uicrefore,  like  herself,  wise,  fair,  and  true, 
Shall  she  be  placed  in  my  constant  soul. 

£?iJer  Jessica,  belotc. 
What,  art  thou  come? — On,  gentlemen,  aWay ; 
Our  masquing  mates  by  this  time  for  us  stay. 

[Exit  with  Jessica  and  Salarino. 

Enter  Antonio. 

^nt.  Who's  there  ? 

Gra.  Signi or  Antonio? 

Jlnt.  Fie,  fie,  Gratiano?  where  are  all  the  rest? 
'Tis  nine  o'clock  ;  our  friends  all  stay  for  you  :-^ 
No  masque  to-nidit ;  the  wind  is  come  about, 
Bassanio  prefentiy  will  go  aboard  : 
I  have  sent  twenty  out  to  seek  for  you. 

Gra.  I  am  plad  on't ;  1  desire  no  more  delight, 
Than  to  be  ujider  sail,  and  gone  to-night.      [Exe. 

SCEJ^'E    r//.— Belmont.     .^  romn   in  Portia's 
house.     Ftmtrish  of  comets.     £?i/er  Portia,  wi/A 
the  prince  of  Morocco,  and  both  their  trains. 
For.  Go,  dratr  aside  the  curtains^  and  discover 

The  several  caskets  to  this  noble  pnnce : — 

Now  make  your  choice. 
^Mor.   The  iirst,  of  gold,  %vho  this  inscription 
bears ; — 

Who  clwosHh  me,  shall  ^ain  \rkat  many  men  desire. 

The  second  ;  silver,  which  this  promise  carries  ; 

Who  choostth  me,  shall  gtl  as  much  as  he  deserves. 

The  third,  dull  lead,  with  warning  all  as  blunt ; 

Who  choosetk  me,  must  crn-e  and  hazard  all  he  haih. 

How  shall  I  know  if  I  do  choose  the  ritrht  ? 
For.  The  one  of  them  contains  my  picture,  prince; 

If  you  choose  that,  then  I  am  yours  withal. 
Mar.  Some  god  direct  my' judgment!  Let  mc 
sec, 

I  will  survey  the  inscriptions  back  again  : 

What  says  this  leaden  casket  ? 

Who  chooseth  me,  must  give  and  hazard  all  he  hUh, 

Must  give— For  what  ?  for  lead  ?  hazard  for  lead? 

Tbis  casket  threatens ;  Men,  that  hazard  all. 


190 


MBRCtiANT  OP  VENICil* 


Jet  It. 


Do  it  in  hope  of  fair  advantages : 
A  eolden  mind  stoops  not  to  shows  of  dross  ; 
I'll  then  nor  ^ivc,  nor  hazard,  aught  for  lead. 
What  says  tHe  silver,  with  her  virgin  hue  ? 
Who  chooseth  me,  shall  get  as  much  as  he  deserves. 
A»  much  as  he  deserves  / — Pause  there,  Morocco, 
And  weigh  thy  value  with  an  even  hand  : 
If  thou  be'st  rated  by  thy  estimation, 
Thou  dost  deserve  enough ;  and  yet  enough 
May  not  extend  so  far  as  to  the  lady ; 
And  yet  to  be  afeanl  of  my  descrvin?, 
Were  but  a  weak  disabling  of  myself. 
As  much  as  I  deserve ! — Why,  that's  ihe  lady : 
I  do  ia  birth  deserve  her,  and  in  fortunes. 
In  graces,  and  in  qualities  of  brecdii;a' ; 
But  more  than  these,  in  love  I  do  deserve. 
\S*hat  if  I  stray'd  no  further,  but  chose  hero : — 
Let's  see  once  more  this  saying  prav'd  in  fold  r 
Who  chooseth  me,  shall  srain  what  many  men  desire. 
Why,  that's  the  lady  ;  all  the  world  desires  her : 
From  tlie  four  corners  of  the  earth  Uiey  come,  . 
To  kiss  this  shrine,  this  mortal  breathin?  saint. 
The  Hyrcanian  deserts,  and  the  vasty  wilds 
C>C  wide  Arabia,  are  as  throu-xh-farcs  now, 
For  princes  to  come  view  fair  Portia: 
The  watery  kingdom,  wijosa  ambitious  head 
Spits  in  the  face  of  lieaven,  is  no  bar 
To  stop  the  foreign  spirits ;  but  they  come, 
As  o'er  a  brook,  to  see  fair  Portia. 
One  of  these  three  contains  her  heavenly  picture. 
Is't  like,  that  lead  contains  her?  'Twere  damnation. 
To  think  so  base  a  thou^riit ;  it  ivere  too  gross 
To  rib'  her  cerecloth  in  the  obscure  grave. 
Or  shall  I  think,  in  silver  she's  immiir'd. 
Being  ten  times  undervalued  to  try'd  gold  ? 
O  sinful  thouscht !  Never  so  rich  a  eeni 
Was  set  in  worse  thati  wold.  They  have  in  England 
A  coin,  that  bears  the  figure  of  an  an^el 
Stamped  in  gold :  but  that's  insculp'd^  upon  ; 
But  here  an  angel  in  a  goldeii  bed 
Lies  all  within.— Deliver  me  the  key ; 
Here  dol  choose,  and  thrive  I  as  I  may ! 
Per.  There,  take  it,  prince,  and  if  my  form  lie 
Uiere, 
Then  I  am  yours.     [He  unlocks  the  golden  casket. 
Mor.       '  O  hell !  what  have  we  here  ? 

A  carrion  death,  within  whose  empty  eye 
There  is  a  written  scroll  ?  I'll  read  the  ivriting. 

,111  that  glisters  is  not  gold. 

Often  have  ycu  heard  that  told  : 

Many  a  man  his  life  hath  sold, 

BrU  my  outsidt  to  behold : 

Gildea  tombs  do  xcornis  infold. 

Had  you  been  as  wise  as  bold, 

Young  in  limbs,  in  judgment  old. 

Your  answer  liad  not  been  inscrolfd 

Fare  you  icell ;  your  suit  is  cold. 
Cold,  indeed ;  and  labour  lost : 
Then,  farewell,  iieat ;  and,  welcome,  frost, — 

Portia,  adieu  !  I  have  too  eriev'd  a  heart  .The  prince  of  Arra:;on  has  ta'cn  his  oath, 

To  lake  a  tedious  leave  :  thus  losers  part.     [^ari^JAnd  comes  to  his  election  presentiv. 

Por.  A  £;entle  riddance: Draw  the  curtains, 

Jfo; 
Let  all  of  his  complexion  choose  me  so.    [Exeunt. 


Solan.  The  villain  Jew  with  outcries  rais'd  tlie 
duke  ; 
Who  went  with  him  to  search  Bassanio's  ship. 

Salar.  He  came  too  late,  the  ship  was  under  sail . 
But  there  the  duke  was  given  to  understand, 
That  in  a  gondola  were  seen  together 
Lorenzo  and  his  amorous  Jessica  : 
Besides,  Antonio  certify'd  the  duke. 
They  were  not  with  Brissanio  in  his  ship. 

Salan.  I  never  heard  a  pussion  so  confus'd, 
So  stra:ige,  outrageous,  and  so  variable. 
As  the  doj  Jew  did  utter  in  the  streets  : 
My  daughter .'—  O  my  dural.t  I — 0  my  daughter  ! 
Fled  with  a  Christian  ? — O  ray  ChrisHcn  ducuts  f 
Jnslice  !  the  law  !  my  ducnts,  and  my  daughter  '. 
Jl  se(ded  bag,  two  sealed  bags  of  ducats, 
Of  double  ducats,  stoVnfrom  »it  by  my  daughter  ! 
Jlnd  jexoels  ;  txco  stones,  two  rich  and  preciout 

stones, 
StoVn  by  my  daughter! — Justice  !  find  the  girl . 
She  hath  the  stones  upon  her,  and  the  ducats  ! 

Salar.  Why,  all  the  boys  in  Venice  follow  him, 
Crving, — his  stones,  his  dau2:hter,  and  his  ducats. 

ija/an.  Let  pood  Antonio  look  he  keep  his  day, 
Or  he  shall  pay  for  this, 

Salar.  Marry,  well  remember'd  ; 

I  reason'd'  with  a  Frenchman  yesterday  ; 
Who  told  me, — in  the  narrow  seas,  tli.it  part 
The  French  and  English,  there  miscarried 
A  vessel  of  our  country,  richly  fraught : 
I  thou<}fht  u{)on  Antonio,  when  he  told  me ; 
And  wish'd  in  silence,  that  it  were  not  his. 

Solan.  You  were  best  to  tell  Antonio  what  you 
hear; 
Yet  do  not  suddenly,  for  it  may  grieve  lijm. 

Salur.  A  kinder  gentleman  treads  not  the  earth. 
I  saw  Bassanio  and  Antonio  part : 
Bassanio  told  him,  he  would  make  some  speed 
Of  his  return  ;  he  answer'd — Do  not  ko. 
Slubber*  not  business  fir  my  sake.,  BuisaniOj 
But  stay  the  very  riping  of  the  time ; 
.^nd  for  the  Jew^s  bond,  which  he  hath  oftnt. 
Let  it  7iot  enter  in  your  mind  of  love  : 
Be  merry,  and  employ  your  ckiefest  thoughts 
To  courtship,  and  suclifair  ostents^  of  love 
Jis  shall  conveniently  become  you  there : 
And  even  there,  his  eye  being'big  with  tears. 
Turninor  his  face,  he"  put  his  hand  behind  him. 
And  with  afiection  wondrous  sensible 
He  wrunu  Bassanio's  hand,  and  so  thev  parted. 

Solan.  I  think,  he  only  loves  the  world  for  him. 
I  pray  thee  let  us  go,  and  find  him  out, 
And  quipkcn  his  embrHced  heaviness* 
With  some  delight  or  other. 

Solar.  Do  we  so.     [Exeunt. 

SCE^'E   7X.— Belmont,     ,1   room   in  Portia's 
house.    Enter  Nerissa,  with  a  servant. 

JWr.  Quick,  quick,  I  pray  thee,  draw  the  cur- 
tain straight ; 


SCEJ»fE  F///.— Venice.    ,1  street.    Enter  Sala- 
rino  and  Salanio. 

Salar.  AVhy  man,  I  saw  Bassanio  under  sail ; 
With  him  is  Gratiano  gone  along  ; 
And  in  their  ship,  I  am  sure,  Lorenzo  is  not. 

11)  Enclose.        (2)  Engraven.      (3)  Convened. 
4)  To  glubl)cr  » to  ^o  a  thing  carelessly 


Flourish  of  cornets.    Enter  the  prince  o/ Armgon, 
Portia,  and  their  trains. 

Por.  Behold,there  stand  the  caskets,  noble  prince: 
If  you  choose  that  whi.rrin  I  am  contain'd, 
StraidU  shall  our  nuptial  rites  be  solcmniz'd  ; 
But  if  you  fiiil,  without  more  speech,  mv  lord, 
You  miist  be  crone  from  hence  immediately. 

vlr.  I  am  cnjoin'd  by  oath  to  observe  three  things 

^5)  Shows,  tokens. 

(6)  The  heaviness  Ji?  is  fon4  qC 


Stent  L 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE* 


Itfl 


I  fall 


To  woo  a  maid  in  >va3'  of  mamage ;  lastly, 
If  I  do  fail  in  fortune  of  my  choice, 
Immediately  to  leave  you  and  be  gone. 

Por.  To  these  injunctions  every  one  doth  swear, 
That  comes  to  hazard  for  my  worthless  self. 

»i(r.  And  so  have  I  addrcs'd'  mc:  Fortune  now 
To  my  heart's  hope ! — Gold,  silver,  and  base  lead. 
Who  chooscth  me,  must  gi'ce  and  hazard  cdl  he  hath : 
You  shall  look  fairer,  ere  I  sive,  or  hazard. 
What  says  the  golden  chest !  ha !  let  me  see : — 
Who  ckooseth  me,  shall  gain  tchat  many  men  desire. 
AVhat  many  men  desire. — That  many  niay  be  meant 
Bv  tiie  fool  multitude,  that  choose  6y  show, 
N'ol  learning  more  than  tlie  fond  eye  doth  teach  ; 
Which  pries  not  to  the  interior,  but,  like  the  martlet, 
Builds  in  the  weather  on  the  outward  wall, 
r.vou  iu  the  force*  and  road  of  casualty. 
I  will  not  choose  what  manv  men  desire, 
Because  I  will  not  jump^  with  common  spirits. 
And  rank  me  with  the  barbarous  mulLitudes. 
Wiiy,  then  to  thee,  thou  silver  treasure-house  ; 
Toll  lae  once  more  what  title  thou  dost  beur ; 
Who  choosetk  mc,  shall  get  as  much  as  he  deaervesi 
And  well  said  too  :  For  who  shall  tro  about 
To  cozen  fortune,  and  be  honourable 
Without  the  stamp  of  merit !  Let  none  presume 
To  wear  au  undeserved  diginity. 
O,  that  estates,  decrees,  and  office?. 
Were  not  deriv'd  corruptly !  and  that  clear  honour 
Were  purchas'd  by  the  merit  of  the  wearer ! 
How  many  then  should  cover,  1  hat  stand  bare  ? 
How  many  be  commanded,  that  command  ? 
How  much  low  peasantry  would  then  be  jrlran'd 
From  the  true  seed  of  honour  ?  and  how  much  honour 
Fick'd  from  the  chaff  and  ruin  of  the  times. 
To  be  new  varnish'd  ?  Well,  but  to  my  choice  : 
Who  chooselh  me,  shall  s^et cs  mimhashe deserves; 
1  will  assume  de?ert ; — Give  me  a  key  for  this. 
And  instantly  unlock  my  fortunes  here. 
Por.  Too  long  a  pause  for  that  which  you  find 

there. 
.ir.  "VVhat's  here  ?  the  . 
Presentins;  me  a  schedule 
How  much  unlike  art  thou  to  Portia  ? 
How  much  unlike  my  hopes,  and  mv  de^erviiia-*  ? 
Who  ehooseth  me,  shall  have  oj  mi'cli  as  he  deserves. 
Did  I  deserve  no  more  than  a  fool's  head  ? 
Is  that  my  prize  ?  are  my  deserts  no  better? 

Por.  To  offend,  and  judge,  arc  distinct  ofllces. 
And  of  opposed  natures. 
.Jr.  What  is  here  7 

7%f  fire  seven  times  tried  this  ; 

Seven  times  tried  that  judgment  is, 

That  did  never  choose  amiss  : 

Some  there  be,  that  shadows  kiss  ; 

Such  have  but  a  shadoio''s  bliss  : 

There  be  fools  alive,  Itcis,* 

Silvered  o'er ;  and  so  teas  this. 

Take  ichal  wife  you  icill  to  beil, 

I  xcill  ever  be  your  head : 

So  begone,  sir,  you  are  sped. 

Still  more  fool  I  shall  appear 

By  the  time  I  linser  here  : 

With  one  fool's  head  I  came  to  woo. 

But  I  go  away  with  two. — 

Sweet,  adieu  !  I'll  keep  my  oath. 

Patiently  to  bear  my  wroth. 

[Exeunt  Arrason,  and  train, 
Por.  Thus  hath  the  candle  sjng'd  the  moth. 

(n  Pffparcd.    (2)  Power,    (3)  Agr^  wiU) 


O  these  deliberate  fools  !  when  Ihey  do  chooso. 
They  have  the  wisdom  by  their  wit  to  loM. 

A Vr.  The  ancient  sayinp  is  no  heresy  ;— 
Hanging  and  wiping  goes  by  destiny. 

Por.  Come,  draw  the  curtain,  Nerissa. 

Enter  a  Servant 

Serv.  Where  is  my  lady  ? 

Por.  '  Here :  what  would  my  lord  7 

Serv.  Madam,  there  is  alighted  at  your  gate 
A  young  Venetian,  one  that  comes  before 
To  signify  the  approaching  of  his  lord : 
From  whom  he  bringeth  sensible  regreets ;' 
To  wit,  besides  commends,  and  courteous  breath. 
Gifts  of  rich  value  ;  yet  I  have  not  seen 
So  likely  an  embassador  of  love  : 
A  day  in  April  never  came  so  sweet. 
To  show  liow  costly  summer  was  at  Iiand, 
As  tin*  foie-spurrer  comes  before  his  lord. 

Por.  No  more,  I  pray  thee ;  I  am  half  afeard. 
Thou  wilt  say  anon,  he  is  some  Ian  to  thee. 
Thou  spend'st  such  high-day  wit  in  praising  him.— 
Come,  come,  Nerissa ;  for  "i  long  to  see 
Quick  Cupid's  post,  that  comes  so  mannerly. 

Ji'er.  Bassanio,  lord  love,  if  thy  will  it  be  • 

{Exeunt. 


Enter  Salanio, 


ACT  III. 

SCEJ^TE  /.—Venice.    .1  street, 
and  Salarino. 

Solan.  Now,  what  news  on  the  Rialto  ? 

Solar.  W'hy,  yet  it  lives  there  iincheck'd,  that 
Antonio  hath  a  ship  of  rich  ladins  wreck'd  on  the 
narrow  seas  ;  the  Goodwins,  I  think  they  call  the 
place  ;  a  very  dangerous  flat,  and  fatal,  where  tlje 
carcases  of  many  a  tall  ship  lie  buried,  as  Ihey  say, 
if  my  gossip  report  be  an  honest  woman  of  her  wor3. 

Solan.  I  would  she  were  as  lying  a  gossip  in  that, 
as  ever  knapp'd  jringer,  or  made  her  neiahbours  be- 
lieve she  wept  for  the  death  of  a  third  husband  : 
.  .^  .  , ,.  ,  .  ....  fBut  it  is  true, — without  anv  slips  of  prolixitv,  or 
portrait  of  a  blinking  idiot,  i;.rossing  the  plain  hi?h-wayof  talk,— that  the  good 
I'.  fV"l_.'it  1  Antonio,  the  honest  Antonio,— O  that  I  had  a  title 

good  enough  to  keep  his  name  company  ! — 

Solar.  Come,  the  full  stop. 

Solan.  Ha, — what  say'st  thou? — ^Why  the  end 
is,  he  hath  lest  a  &hip. 

Solar.  I  would  it  might  prove  the  end  of  his 
losses ! 

Solan.  Let  me  say  amen  betimes,  lest  the  devil 
cross  my  prayer ;  for  here  he  comes  iu  the  likeness 
of  a  Jew. 

Enter  Shylock. 

How  now,  Shylock  ?  what  news  among  the  mer- 
chant's ? 

Shy.  You  knew,  none  so  well,  none  so  well  as 
you,  of  mv  daughter's  flight. 

Solar.  That's  certain  ;  I,  for  my  part,  k'new  the 
tailor  that  made  the  wings  slie  flew  withal. 

lialan.  And  Shylock.  for  liis  own  part,  knew  the 
bird  was  flcdg'd ;  and  then  it  is  the  complexion  of 
them  all  to  leave  the  dam. 

Shy.  She  is  damn'd  for  it. 

Solar.  That's  certain,  if  the  devil  may  be  her 
judge. 

Sh/.  My  own  flesh  and  blood  to  rebel  ! 

Solan.  Out  upon  it,  old  carrion !  rebels  it  at  these 
years  / 


(4)  Know, 


(&^  SoIaUtJoQs. 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


Shy,  I  say,  my  daughter  is  my  flesh  and  blood. 
Scuar,  There  is  more  difference  between  thy  flesh 
and  hers,  than  between  jet  and  ivory ;  more  be- 
tween your  bloods,  than  there  is  between  red  wine 
and  rhenish : — But  tell  us,  do  you  hear  whctlier 
Antonio  have  had  any  loss  at  sea  or  no  ? 

Shy.  There  I  have  another  bad  match  :  a  bank- 
rupt, a  prodigal,  who  dares  scarce  show  his  head  on 
the  Kialto  ; — a  beggar,  that  used  to  come  so  smug 
upon  the  mart ; — let  him  look  to  his  bond :  he  was 
wont  to  call  me  usurer ; — let  him  look  to  his  bond : 
he  was  wont  to  lend  money  for  a  Christian  courte- 
sy ; — let  him  look  to  his  bond. 

Solar.  Why,  I  am  sure,  if  he  forfeit,  thou  wilt 
not  take  his  flesh  ;  What's  that  gfood  for  ? 

Shy.  To  bait  fish  withal :  if  it  will  feed  nothing 
else,  it  will  feed  my  revcnjrc  He  hath  disgraced 
me,  and  hindered  me  of  half  a  million;  laughed  at 
my  losses,  mocked  at  my  gains,  scorned  my  nation, 
thwarted  my  bargains,  cooled  my  friends,  heated 
mine  enemie's ;  and  what's  his  reason  ?  I  am  a  Jew: 
Hath  not  a  Jew  eyes?  hath  not  a  Jew  hands,  organs, 
dimensions,  senses,  affections,  passions  ?  fed  with 
the  same  (bod,  hurt  with  the  same  weapons,  subject 
to  the  same  diseases,  healed  by  the  same  means, 
warmed  and  cooled  by  the  same  winter  and  sum- 
mer, as  a  Christian  is  ?  if  you  prick  us,  do  we  not 
bleed?  if  you  tickle  us,  do' we  not  laugh?  if  you 
poison  us,  do  we  not  die  ?  aod  if  you  wrong  us, 
shall  we  not  revenge?  if  we  are  like  you  in  the 
rest,  we  will  resemble  you  in  that.  If  a  Jew  wrong 
a  Christian,  what  is  his  humility?  revenge;  If  a 
Christian  wrong  a  Jew,  what  should  his  sufferance 
be  by  Christian  example?  why,  revenge.  The 
villany  you  teach  me,  I  will  execute  j  and  it  shall 
go  hard,  but  I  will  better  the  instruction. 
Ejiter  a  Servant. 
Sen.  Gentlemen,  my  master  Antonio  is  at  his 
house,  and  desires  to  speak  with  you  both. 

Salar.  We  have  been  up  and  down  to  seek  him. 

Enter  Tubal. 
Salan.  Here  comes  another  of  the  tribe  ;  a  third 
cannot  be  matched,  unless  the  devil  himself  turn 
Jew.  [Exeunt  Salan.  Salar.  and  Servant. 

Shy.  How  now.  Tubal,  what  news  from  Genoa  ? 
hast  thou  found  my  daughter  ? 

Tub.  I  often  came  where  I  did  hear  of  her,  but 
cannot  find  her. 

Shy.  Why  there,  there,  there,  there !  a  diamond 
^one,  cost  me  two  thousand  ducats  in  Frankfort  I 
The  curse  never  fell  upon  our  nation  till  now ;  I 
never  felt  it  till  now : — two  thousand  ducats  in  that ; 
and  other  precious,  precious  jewels. — I  would,  my 
daughter  were  dead  at  my  foot,  and  the  jewels  in 
her  ear  !  'would  she  were  hcars'd  at  my  foot,  and 
the  ducats  in  hercoifin  !  No  news  of  therii  ? — Why, 
80 : — and  1  know  not  what's  spent  in  the  search  : 
Why,  thou  loss  upon  loss  !  the  thief  gone  with  so 
much,  and  so  much  to  find  the  thief;  and  no  satis- 
faction, no  revenge:  nor  no  ill  luck  stirring,  but 
what  lights  o'  my  shoulders  ;  no  sighs,  but  o'  my 
breathing  ;  no  tears,  but  o'  my  shedding. 

Tub.  Yes,  other  men  have  ill  luck  too  ;  Antonio, 
as  I  heard  in  Genoa, — 

Shy.  What,  what,  what?  ill  luck,  ill  luck? 
Tuv.  — hath  an  argosy  cast  away,  coming  from 
Tripolis. 

Shy.  I  thank  God,  I  thank  God:— Is  it  true?  is 
H  true  ? 

Tub.  I  spoke  with  some  of  the  sailors  that  es- 
caped the  wreck. 

Shy.  I  thank  thee,  good  Tubal;— Good  news, 
good  news:  ha!  ba!— Where?  in  Genoa 7  , 


JletttL 


Tub.  Your  daughter  spent  in  Genoa,  as  I  heard, 
one  night,  fourscore  ducats. 

Sky.  Thou  stick'sl  a  dagger  in  me : 1  shall 

never  see  my  gold  again :  Fourscore  ducats  at  a 
sitting !   fourscore  ducats ! 

Titb.  There  came  divers  of  Antonio's  creditors 
in  my  company  to  Venice,  that  swear  he  cannot 
choose  but  break. 

Shy.  I  am  very  glad  of  it ;  I'll  plague  him ;  I'll 
torture  him  ;  I  am  glad  of  it. 

Tub.  One-of  them  showed  me  a  ring,  that  he  had 
of  your  daughter  for  a  monkey. 

Shy.  Out  upon  her !  Thou  torturest  me.  Tubal : 
it  was  my  turquoise  ; '  I  had  it  of  Leah,  when  I  was 
a  bachelor :  I  would  not  have  given  it  for  a  wilder- 
ness of  monkies. 

Tub.  But  Antonio  is  certainly  undone. 

Shy.  Nay,  that's  true,  that's  very  true ;  Go,  Tu 
bal,  fee  mean  olficer,  bespeak  him  a  fortnight  be- 
fore :  I  %vill  have  the  heart  of  him,  if  he  forfeit ; 
for  were  he  out  of  Venice,  I  can  make  what  mer- 
chandise I  will ;  Go,  go.  Tubal,  and  meet  me  at 
our  synagogue ;  go,  good  Tubal ;  at  our  syna- 
gogue, Tubal.  [Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E  //.—Belmont.  w?  room  in  Portia's 
liouse.  Enter  Bassanio,  Portia,  Gratiano,  Ne- 
rissa,  and  attendants.     The  caskets  are  set  cut. 

Por.  I  pray  you,  tarry  \  pause  a  day  or  two, 
Before  you  hazard  ;  for,  m  choosing  *vrong, 
I  lose  your  company ;  therefore,  foroear  a  while . 
There's  something  tells  me  (but  it  is  not  love,) 
I  would  not  lose  you  ;  and  you  know  yourself, 
Hate  counsels  not  in  such  a  quality  : 
But  lest  you  should  not  understand  me  well 
(And  vet  a  maiden  hath  no  tongue  but  thought,) 
I  would  detain  you  here  some  month  or  two, 
Before  you  venture  forme.     I  could  teach  you, 
How  to  choose  right,  but  then  I  am  forsworn ; 
So  V  iil  I  never  be  :  So  may  you  miss  me ; 
But  if  you  do,  you'll  make  me  wish  a  sin 
That  Ihad  been  forsworn.    Beshrew  your  eyes, 
They  have  o'er-look'd  me,  and  divided  me  ; 

One  half  of  me  is  yours,  the  other  half  yours, > 

Mine  own,  1  would  say ;  but  if  mine,  tlien  yours, 
And  so  all  yours  :  O  !  these  naughty  times' 
Put  bars  between  the  owners  and  their  rif  hts  ; 
And  so,  though  yours,  not  yours. — Prove  it  so. 
Let  fortune  so  to  hell  for  it,— not  I. 
I  speak  too  long ;  but  'tis  to  peize*  the  time ; 
To  eke  it,  and  to  draw  it  out  in  length, 
To  stay  you  from  election. 

Bass. '  Let  me  chOos* ; 

For,  as  I  am,  I  live  upon  the  rack. 

Por.  Upon  the  rack,  Bassanio?  then  confess 
What  treason  there  is  mingled  with  your  iov6. 

Bass.    None,  but  that  ugly  treason  of  mistrust. 
Which  makes  me  fear  the  enjoyinii  of  my  love : 
There  may  as  ■ivell  be  amity  and  life 
'Twecn  snow  and  fire,  as  treason  and  my  love. 

Por.  Ay,  but  I  fear,  you  speak  upon  ihe  rack, 
Where  men  enforced  do  speak  any  thing. 

Bass.  Promise  me  life,  and  I'll  confess  the  truth, 

Por.    Well  then,  'confess,  and  live. 

Bass.  Confess,  and  loVC^ 

Had  been  the  very  sum  of  my  confession  : 
0  happy  tormentjWhen  my  torturer 
Doth  teach  me  answers  for  deliverance  ! 
But  let  me  to  my  fortime  and  the  casket*. 

Por.  Away  then :  I  am  lock'd  in  one  of  there ; 
If  you  do  love  me,  you  will  find  me  out. — 
Nerissa,  and  the  rest,  stand  all  aloof.— 


(1)  A  precious  stone. 


(2)  Dctaf. 


SumIL 


MERCHANT  Of  VENICE. 


i98 


Let  music  sound,  \rhile  he  cloth  make  his  choice ; 

Then,  if  he  lose,  he  makes  a  swan-like  end, 

Fadingr  in  music  :  that  the  comparison 

May  stand  more  proper,  mv  eye  shall  be  the  stream, 

Ana  wat'ry  death- bed  lor  him  :  He  may  win  ; 

And  what  is  music  then  ?  then  music  is 

Even  as  the  flourish  when  true  subjects  bow 

To  a  new-crowned  monarch  :  such  it  is. 

As  are  those  dulcet  sounds  in  break  of  day, 

That  creep  into  the  dreaming  bridegroom's  ear. 

And  summon  him  to  marriage.     Now  he  jioes, 

With  no  less  presence,'  but  with  much  more  love, 

Than  jroung  Alcides,  when  he  did  redeem 

The  virgin  tribute  paid  by  howling  Troy 

To  the  sea-monster:  I  stand  for  sacrifice, 

The  rest  aloof  are  the  Dardanian  wives. 

With  bleared  visages,  come  forth  to  view. 

The  issue  of  the  exploit     Go,  Hercules! 

Live  thou,  I  live  : — With  much  much  more  dismay 

I  view  the  fight,  than  thou  that  mak'st  the  fray. 

Jtfimc,  whilst  Bassanio  comments  on  the  caskets  to 
himself. 

SONG, 
L  Tell  me,  where  isfcmey*  bred, 
Or  in  the  heart,  or  in  tiu  head  ? 
How  begot,  hoto  nourished  ? 
Reply.  2.  It  is  engendered  in  the  eyes, 

With  gazing  fed;  and  fmcy  dies 
In  the  cradle  where  it  lies : 
Let  us  all  nngfancy''s  knell; 

ril  begin  it, Ding,  dong,  bell. 

All.  Ding,  dong,  beU. 

Bass. — So  may  the  outward  shows  be  least  tiiem- 
selves ; 
The  world  is  still  deceiv'd  with  ornament. 
In  law,  what  plea  so  tainted  and  corrupt. 
But,  beincr  season'd  with  a  prracious''  voice. 
Obscures  the  show  of  evil  ?  In  religion. 
What  damned  error,  but  some  sober  brow 
Will  bless  it,  and  approve  it  with  a  texf. 
Hiding  the  grossness  with  fair  ornament? 
There  is  no  vice  so  simple,  but  assumes 
Some  mark  of  virtue  on  his  outward  parts. 
How  many  cowards,  whose  hearts  are  all  as  false 
As  stairs  of  sand,  wear  j-ct  upon  Iheir  chins 
The  beards  of  Herculesj  and  fro'.vninT  Mars  ; 
AVho,  inward  search'd,  nave  livers  white  as  milk? 
And  these  assume  but  valour's  excrement, 
To  render  them  redoubted.    Look  on  beautv. 
And  you  shall  see  'tis  purchas'd  by  the  weight 
Which  therein  works  a  miracle  in  nature, 
Making  them  lightest  that  wear  most  of  it: 
So  are  those  crisped*  snaky  jrolden  locks, 
\yhich  make  such  wanton  "gambols  with  the  wind, 
Upon  supposed  fairness,  olTen  known 
To  be  the  dowr)-  of  a  second  head. 
The  scull  that  bred  them  in  the  sepulchre. 
Thus  ornament  is  but  the  guiled*  shore 
To  a  most  daneerous  sea  ;  the  beauteous  scarf 
Veilin?  an  Indian  beauty  ;  in  a  word. 
The  seeming  truth  which  cunning  times  put  on 
To  entrap  the  wisest.    Therefore,  thou  praudy  gold, 
Hard  food  for  Midas,  I  will  none  of  thee  : 
'Nor  none  of  thee,  thou  pale  and  conunon  drudje 
'Tween  man  and  man  :  hut  thou,  thou  meagre  lead, 
Which  rather  threal'nest,  than  dolh  promise  aught. 
Thy  plainness  moves  me  more  than  eloquence ! 
And  here  choose  I :  Jov  be  the  consequence ! 

Pot.  How  all  the  other  passions  fleet  to  air, 


(t  J  Dienity  of  mien. 
<$)  Winniof  fartur. 


(2)  Love. 


)  Curlea. 


As  doubtful  thoughts,  and  rash-embrae'd  despair, 
And  ihudd'ring  fear  and  green-ey'd  jealousy. 

0  love,  be  moderate,  allay  thy  ecstasy, 

In  measure  rain  thy  joy,  scant  this  excess : 

1  feel  too  much  thy  blessing,  make  it  less. 
For  fear  I  surfeit  I 

Bass.  What  find  I  here  7 

[  Opening  the  leaden  casket. 
Fnir  Portia's  counterfeit  ?"  What  demi-god 
Hath  come  so  near  creation ?  Move  these  eyes? 
Or  whether,  riding  on  the  balls  of  mine. 
Seem  they  in  motion  ?  Here  are  sever'd  lips, 
Parted  with  sugar  breath  ;  so  sweet  a  bar 
Should  sunder  such  sweet  friends:    Here  in  her 

hairs 
The  painter  plays  the  spider ;  and  hath  woven 
A  golden  mesh  to  entrap  the  hearts  of  men, 
Faster  than  gnats  in  cobwebsj  But  her  eyes, — 
How  could  he  see  to  do  them  ?  having  made  one, 
Methinks,  it  should  have  power  to  steal  both  his, 
And  leave  itself  unfurnish'd:  Yet  look,  how  far 
The  substance  of  my  praise  dolh  wrong  this  shadonr 
In  underprizing  it,  so  far  this  shadow 
Doth  limp  behind  the  substance. — Here's  the  scroll. 
The  continent  and  summary  of  my  fortune.  ^ 

You  that  choose  not  bv  the  vine. 
Chance  as  fair,  and  choose  as  Irui  ! 
i>>ncc  this  fortune  falls  to  you, 
Be  content  and  seek  no  new. 
If  yon  be  well  pleased  with  this, 
..ind  hold  your  foi-tmie  for  your  blit»i 
Turn  you  where  yot(r  lady  is, 
And  claim  her  with  a  loving  kiss. 

A  gentle  scroll ; — ^Fair  lady,  by  your  leave  : 

[Kisring  her. 
I  come  by  note,  to  give,  and  to  receive, 
f-ike  one  of  two  contending  in  a  prize, 
That  thinks  he  hath  done  well  in  people's  eyes. 
Hearing  applause,  and  universal  shout. 
Giddy  in  spirit,  still  gazing,  in  a  doubt 
Whether  those  peals  of  praise  be  his  or  ne  j 
So,  thricc-fair  lady,  stand  I,  even  so  ; 
As  doubtful  «  helper  what  I  see  be  true, 
Unt'l  confirm'd,  sign'd,  ratified  by  you. 

Por.  You  see  me,  lord  Bassanio,  where  I  standy 
Such  as  I  am  :  though,  for  myself  alone, 
1  would  not  he  ambitious  in  my  wish, 
To  wish  myself  n)uch  better;  yet,  for  vou^ 
I  would  be  trebled  twenty  times  myself; 
A  thousand  times  more  fair,  ten  thousand  times 
More  rich ; 

That  only  to  stand  high  on  your  account, 
I  might  in  virtues,  beauties,'livings,  friends, 
Exceed  account :  but  the  full  sum  of  me 
Is  sum  of  somethinsr ;  which,  to  term  in  gross. 
Is  an  unlesson'd  girl,  unschooi'd,  unpractis'd  : 
Happy  in  this,  she  is  nol  yet  so  old 
But  she  may  learn  ;  and  happier  than  this. 
She  is  not  bred  so  dull  but  she  can  learn  ; 
Happiest  of  all,  is,  that  her  gentle  spirit 
Commits  itself  to  vours  to  be  directed, 
As  from  her  lord,  her  governor,  her  king. 
Myself,  and  what  is  mine,  to  you,  and  yours 
Is  now  converted  ;  but  now  I  was  the  lord 
Of  this  fair  mansion,  master  of  my  servants. 
Queen  o'er  myself;  and  even  now,  but  now, 
This  house,  these  servants,  and  this  same  mjsclfi 
Are  yours,  my  lord  ;  I  eive  them  with  this  rmg  ; 
Which  when  you  part  from,  lose,  or  give  away, 
Let  it  presage  the  ruin  of  your  love, 
.And  be  my  vantage  to  exclaim  on  you. 

{,5)  Treacherous.       (6)  Likcoesa,  poHrtlt. 


l$l 


MERCHANT  OF  VENIC:^. 


Jet  tit. 


Bass.  Madam,  you  hare  bereft  me  of  all  words, 
Onlr  my  blood  speaks  to  you  in  my  veins : 
And  there  in  such  confusion  in  my  powers. 
As,  after  some  oration  fairly  spoke 
By  a  beloved  prince,  there  doth  appear 
Among  the  buzzing-  pleased  multitude ; 
Where  every  somethinfr,  being  blent'  together, 
Turns  to  a  wild  of  nothina:,  save  of  jov, 
Express'd,  and  not  express'd:  But  wRcn  this  ring 
Parts  from  this  finger,  then  parts  life  from  hence ; 
O,  then  be  bold  to  say,  Bassanio's  dead.     ^ 

^>r.  My  lord  and  lady,  it  is  now  our  time, 
That  have  stood  by,  and  seen  our  wishes  prosper. 
To  cry,  sjood  joy  ;'  Good  joy,  my  lord,  and  lady! 

Gra.  My  lord  Bassanio,  and  my  gentle  lady ! 
1  wish  you  all  the  joy  that  you  can  Viish ; 
For.  I  am  sure,  you  can  wish  none  from  me : 
Ana,  when  your  honours  mean  to  solemnize 
The  bargain  of  your  faith,  I  do  beseech  you 
Even  at  that  time  I  may  be  inarrisd  too. 

Basn.  With  all  my  heart,  so  thou  canst  get  a  wife, 

Gra.  I  thank  your  lordship ;  you  have  <rot  me  one. 
My  eyes,  my  lord,  can  look  as  swift  as  yours : 
You  saw  the  mistress,  I  beheld  the  maid ; 
You  lov'd,  I  lov'd ;  for  intermission* 
No  more  pertains  to  me,  my  lord,  tiian  you. 
Your  fortune  stood  upon  l!ie  caskets  there ; 
And  so  did  mine  too,  as  the  matter  falls : 
For  wooing  here,  until  I  sweat  again : 
And  swearing,  till  my  very  roof  was  dry 
With  oaths  of  love ;  at  last, — if  promise  lasl, — 
I  got  a  promise  of  this  fair  one  here. 
To  have  her  love,  provided  that  your  fortune 
Achiev'd  her  mistress. 

Por.  Is  this  tnie,  Ncrissa  ? 

J^er.  Madam,  it  is,  so  you  stand  pleas'd  withal. 

Bass.  And  do  you,  Gratiano,  mean  good  faith? 

Gra.  Yes,  'faith,  my  lord. 

Bass.  Our  feast  shall  be  much  honour'd  in  your 
marriage. 

Gra.  We'll  play  with  them,  the  first  boy  for  a 
thousand  ducats. 

»Wr.  What,  and  stake  down  ? — 

Gra.  No ;  we  shall  ne'er  win  at  that  sport,  and 

stake  down. 

But  who  comes  here  ?  Lorenzo,  and  his  infidel  ? 
What,  my  old  Venetian  friend,  Salerio  ? 

Enter  Lorenzo,  .Jessica,  and  Salerio. 

Bass.  Lorenzo,  and  Salerio,  welcome  hither ; 
If  that  the  youth  of  my  new  interest  here 
Have  power  to  bid  you  welcome : — By  your  leave, 
I  bid  mv  very  friends  and  countrymen. 
Sweet  Portia,  welcome. 

Por.  So  do  I,  ray  lord ; 

They  arc  entirely  welcome. 

Lor.  I  thank  your  honour :-  -For  my  part,  my 
lord. 
My  purpose  was  not  to  have  seen  you  here ; 
But  meeting  with  Salerio  by  the  way. 
He  did  entreat  me,  past  all  saying  nay. 
To  come  with  him  along. 

Sale.  I  did,  my  lord. 

And  I  have  reason  for  it.    Signior  Antonio 
Commends  him  to  you.     [Gives  Bassanio  a  lettei. 

Bass.  Ere  I  ope  his  letter, 

I  pray  you,  tell  me  how  my  good  friend  doth. 

Sale.  Not  sick,  my  lord,  unless  it  be  in  mind  ; 
Nor  well,  unless  in  mind :  his  letter  Uiere 
Will  show  you  his  estate. 

Gra.  Ncrissa,  cneer  von'  stranger;  bid  her  wel- 
come. 


(U  Blende* 


(2)  Pause,  delay. 


Your  hand,  Salerio ;  WTiat's  the  news  from  Venice  7 
How  doth  that  royal  merchant,  good  Antonio  ? 
I  know,  he  will  be  glad  of  our  success ; 
We  are  the  Jasons,  we  have  non  the  fleece. 

Sale.   'Would  you  had  won  the  fleece  that  he 
hath  lost ! 

Por.  There  are  some  shrewd  contents  in  yon' 
same  paper. 
That  steal  the  colour  from  Bassanio's  cheek :     ~ 
Some  dear  friend  dead  ;  else  nothing  in  the  world 
Could  turn  so  much  the  constitution 
Of  any  constant  man.  What,  worse  and  worse? — 
With  leave,  Bassanio  ;  I  am  half  yourself, 
And  I  must  freely  have  the  half  of  any  tiling 
That  tliis  same  paper  brings  you. 

Bass.  O  sweet  Portia, 

Here  are  a  few  of  the  unpleasant'st  words, 
That  ever  blotted  paper !  Gentle  lady. 
When  I  did  first  impart  my  love  to  you, 
I  freely  told  you,  all  the  wealth  I  liad 
Ran  in  my  veins,  I  was  a  gentleman  ; 
And  then  I  fold  you  true :  and  jct,  dear  lady, 
Rating  myself  at  notb.ing,  you  shall  see 
How  much  I  was  a  bri-Jiiuarl :  When  I  told  vou 
My  state  was  nothing,  I  should  then  have  told  you 
That  I  was  worse  thnn  nothing ;  for,  indeed, 
I  have  engag'd  myself  to  a  dear  friend, 
Engag'd  my  friend  to  his  mere  enemy. 
To  feed  my  means.    Here  is  a  letter,  lady ; 
The  paper  as  the  body  of  my  friend. 
And  every  word  in  it  a  gaping  wound. 
Issuing  life-blood. — But  is  it  true,  Salerio? 
Have  all  his  ventures  fail'd  ?  What,  not  one  hit? 
From  TrinoUs,  from  Mexico,  and  England, 
From  Lisbon,  Barbary,  and  India  ? 
And  not  one  vessel  'scape  the  dreadful  touch 
Of  merchant-marring  rocks  ? 

Sale.  Not  one,  my  lord. 

Besides,  it  should  appear,  that  if  he  had 
The  present  money  to  discharge  the  .lew, 
He  would  not  take  it :  Never  did  I  know 
A  creature,  that  did  bear  the  shape  of  man. 
So  keen  and  erreedy  to  confound  a  man : 
He  plies  the  duke  at  morning,  and  at  night : 
And  doth  impeach  the  freedom  of  the  state. 
If  they  deny  him  justice  :  tivcntv  merchants, 
The  duke  himself,  and  the  magnificoes' 
Of  greatest  port,  have  all  persuaded  with  him ; 
But  none  can  drive,  him  from  the  envious  plea 
Of  forfeiture,  of  justice,  and  his  bond. 

Jes.  When  I  was  with  him,  I  have  heard  lum 
swear. 
To  Tubal,  and  to  Chus,  his  countrymen, 
That  he  would  rather  liave  Antonio's  flesh, 
Than  twenty  times  the  value  of  the  sum 
That  he  did  owe  him :  and  I  know,  my  lord. 
If  law,  authority,  and  power  deny  not. 
It  will  go  hard  with  poor  Antonio. 

Por.  Is  it  your  dear  friend,  that  is  thus  in  trouble  ? 
I    Bass.  The  dearest  friend  to  me,  the  kindest  man, 
I  The  best  condition'd  and  unwearied  spirit 
iln  doing  courtesies ;  and  one  in  whom 
■  The  ancient  Roman  honour  more  appears, 
iThan  any  th.it  draws  breath  in  Italy. 
•     Por.  What  sum  owes  he  the  Jew  ? 

Bass.  For  me,  three  thousand  ducats. 

Por.  What,  no  more  ? 

Pay  him  six  thousand,  and  deface  the  bond  ; 
Double  six  thousand,  and  then  treble  that, 
Before  a  friend  of  this  description 
Shall  lose  a  hair  through  Bassanio's  fault. 
First,  go  with  me  to  church,  and  call  me  wife : 

(3)  The  chief  men. 


Siene  III. 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


Tsa 


And  then  away  to  Venit'e  lo  your  friend ; 
For  never  shall  you  lie  by  Portia's  side 
With  an  unquiet  soul.    You  shall  have  gold 
To  pay  the  petty  debt  twenty  times  over  : 
When  it  is  paid,  brinfr  your  true  friend  along : 
My  maid  Nerissa,  and  myself,  mean  tiiiic, 
Will  live  as  maids  and  widov.s.     Come,  away ; 
For  you  shall  hence  upon  your  iveddinir-day : 
Bid  your  friends  welcome,  show  a  merry  cKeer :' 
Since  you  are  dear  bought,  I  will  love  you  dear. — 
But  let  rae  hear  ihejetter  of  your  friend. 

Bass.  [Reads.]  Sweet  Bassanic,  my  ships  have 
all  miscarried,  my  creditors  grow  cruel,  my  estate 
is  very  loir,  my  hand  to  the  Jew  is  forfeit;  and 
since,  in  payins;  it,  it  is  impossible  I  shmdd  live, 
all  debts  are  cleared  between  you  and  I,  if  I  miglU 
bnt  see  you  at  my  death:  notwilhstaiuiino;.  use 
your  pleasure :  if  your  love  do  not  persuade  you  to 
come,  let  not  my  letter. 

Par.  O  love,  despatch  all  business,  and  be  gone 


Bass.  Since  I  have  your  good  leave  to  jro  away,  AVhich  makes  me  think,  that  this  Antonio, 


SCEA''E  /K.— Belmont,  ^i  rootn  in  Portia's 
house.  Enter  Portia,  Nerissa,  Lorenzo,  Jessica, 
and  Balthazar. 

Lor.  Madam,  although  I  speak  it  in  your  pre- 
sence. 
You  have  a  noble  and  a  true  conceit 
Of  god-like  amity ;  which  appears  most  strongly 
In  bearing  thus  the  absence  of  your  lord. 
But,  if  you  knew  to  whom  you  show  this  honour. 
How  true  a  "■entleman  you  send  relief, 
How  dear  aWer  of  my  lord  your  husband, 
I  know,  you  would  be  prouder  of  the  work. 
Than  customary  bounty  can  enforce  you. 

Por.  I  never  did  repent  for  doing  good. 
Nor  shall  not  now :  for  in  companions 
That  do  converse  and  waste  the  time  together, 
Whose  .souls  do  bear  an  equal  yoke  of  love. 
There  must  be  needs  a  like  proportion 
Of  lineaments,  of  manners,  and  of  spirit ; 


I  will  make  haste  :  But,  till  I  come  again, 
No  bed  shall  e'er  be  guilty  of  my  stay, 
No  rest  be  interposer  'twbct  us  twain. 

[Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E  ;//.— Venice.   .^  street.    Enter  Shylock, 
.Salanio,  Antonio,  and  Gaoler. 

Shy.    Gaoler,  look  to  him ; — Tell  not  me  of 

mercy ; 

This  is  the  fool  that  lent  out  money  gratis  ; — 
Gaoler,  look  to  him. 

tint.  Hear  me  yet,  good  Shylock. 

Shy.  I'll  have  my  bond ;  speak  not  against  my 
bond; 
I  have  sworn  an  oath,  that  I  will  have  my  bond : 
Thou  call'dst  me  do<r,  before  thou  had'st  a  cause  : 
But,  since  I  am  a  dog,  beware  my  fangs : 
The  duke  shall  grant  me  justice. — I  do  wonder, 
Thou  naughty  waoler,  that  thou  art  so  fond- 
To  come  abroad  with  him  at  his  request. 

tint.  I  pray  thee,  hear  me  speak. 

Shy.   I'll  fiave  my  bond ;  1  will  not  hear  thee 
speak  : 
I'll  have  my  bond ;  and  therefore  speak  no  more. 
I'll  not  be  made  a  soft  and  dull-ey'd  fool. 
To  shake  the  head,  relent,  ar.d  sigh,  and  yield 
To  Christian  intercessors.    Follow  not ; 
I'll  have  no  speaking ;  I  -will  have  mv  bond. 

(Exit  Shylock. 

Salon.  It  is  the  most  impenetrable  cur, 
That  ever  kept  with  men. 

tint.  Let  him  alone, 

I'll  follow  him  no  more  with  bootless  prayers. 
He  seeks  my  life  ;  his  reason  well  1  know  ; 
I  oft  deliver'd  from  his  forfeitures 
Many  that  have  at  times  made.moan  to  me  ; 
Therefore  he  hates  me. 

Salan.  I  am  sure,  the  duke 

Will  never  grant  this  forfeiture  to  hold. 

tint.  The  duke  cannot  deny  the  course  of  law. 
For  the  commodity  that  strangers  have 
With  us  in  Venice,  if  it  be  denied. 
Will  much  impeach  the  justice  of  the  st.ite ; 
Since  that  the  trade  and  profit  of  the  city 
Consisteth  of  all  nations.    Therefore,  go : 
These  griefs  and  losses  have  so  'bated  me. 
That  I  shall  hardly  spare  a  pound  of  flesh 

To-morrow  to  my  bloody  creditor. 

Well,  gaoler,  on  : — Pray  God,  Bassanio  come 
To  see  me  pay  this  debt,  and  then  I  care  not ! 

[Exeunt. 


Being  the  bosom  lo>er  of  my  lord. 

Must  needs  be  like  my  lord  :  If  it  oe  so. 

How  little  is  the  cost  I  have  bestow'd, 

In  purchasing  the  semblance  of  my  soul 

From  out  the  state  of  hellish  cruelty  ? 

This  comes  too  near  the  prabing  of  myself; 

Therefore  no  more  of  it :  hear  other  tilings. — 

Lorenzo,  I  commit  into  your  hands 

The  husbandry  and  manage  of  my  house. 

Until  my  lord's  return :  for  mine  own  part, 

I  have  toward  heaven  breath'd  a  secret  vow 

To  live  in  prayer  and  contemplation, 

Only  attended  by  Nerissa  here. 

Until  her  husband  and  my  lord's  return : 

There  is  a  monastery  two  miles  off, 

And  there  we  will  abide.     I  do  desire  you. 

Not  to  deny  this  imposition  ; 

The  which  my  love,  and  some  necessity. 

Now  lays  upon  you. 

Lor.  Madam,  with  all  my  heart ; 

I  shall  obey  you  in  all  fair  commands. 

Por.  My  people  do  already  know  my  mind. 
And  will  acknowledge  you  and  Jessica 
In  place  of  lord  Bassanio  and  myself. 
So  fare  vou  well,  till  we  shall  meet  again. 

Lor.  Fair  thoughts,  and  hapoy  hours,  attend  on 
you. 

Jes.  I  wish  your  ladyship  all  heart's  content. 

Por.  I  thank  you  for  your  wish,  and  am  well 
pleas'd 

To  wish  it  back  on  you :  farp  you  well,  Jessica 

[Exeunt  Jessica  and  Lorenzo. 
Now,  Balthazar, 

As  I  have  ever  found  thee  honest,  true. 
So  let  me  find  thee  still :  Take  this  same  letter. 
And  use  thou  all  the  endeavour  of  a  man. 
In  speed  to  Padua  ;  see  thou  render  this 
Into  my  cousin's  hand,  doctor  Bellario  ; 
And,  look,  what  notes  and  garments  he  doth  zne 

tliee,  "  * 

Bring  them,  I  pray  thee,  with  imaffin'd  speed 
Unto  the  tranecf,  to  the  common  ferry 
Which  trades  to  Venice  : — waste  no  time  in  words. 
But  get  thee  gone ;  I  shall  be  there  before  thee. 

Balth.  Madam,  I  go  witli  all  convenient  speed. 

Por.  Come  on,  Nenssa ;  I  have  work  in  hand. 
That  you  yet  know  not  of:  we'll  see  our  husbands. 
Before  they  think  of  us. 

.Ver.  Shall  they  sec  us  ? 


Por.  They  shall,  Nerissa :  out  in  such  a  habit, 
^  jTha  t:7?y  fcaii  imnk  we  en.  accomplished 

(l)Face,  (2)Foolt»b,  iWjtft  wnai  we  i^iea.    it,  j*j<.  vhee  any  wager, 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


■Act  IV. 


When  we  are  both  accoutred  like  young  men, 

I'll  prove  Uie  preltier  fellow  of  the  two, 

And  wear  my  dagger  with  the  braver  prrace ; 

And  speak,  between  the  chaiige  of  man  and  boy, 

With  a  reed  voice  ;  and  turn  iwo  mincing  steps 

Into  a  manly  stride  ;  and  speak  of  frays. 

Like  a  fine  bragginir  youth :  and  tell  quaint  lies, 

How  honourable  laiiies  sought  my  love, 

■Wliich  I  denying,  they  fell  sick  and  died  ; 

I  could  not  do  withal ; — then  I'll  repent 

And  wish,  for  all  that,  that  I  had  not  kill'd  them : 

And  twenty  of  these  puny  lies  I'll  tell, 

That  men  shall  swear  I  have  discontinued  school 

Above  a  twelvemonth : — I  have  ivilhin  my  mind 

A  thousand  raw  tricks  of  these  bragging  Jacks, 

AVliich  I  will  practise. 

.Yer.  ^^  hy,  shall  we  turn  to  men  ? 

Par.  Fie !  what  a  question's  that,  , 
Jf  thou  wert  near  a  lewd  interpreter? 
But  come,  I'll  tell  thee  all  my  whole  device 
When  I  am  in  my  coach,  whicli  stajs  lor  us 
At  the  park  gate  ;  and  therefore  haste  away. 
For  we  must  measure  twenty  mUes  to-day.    [Kxe. 


SCEJfE   r.—Tkt   same.     .4    Garden.     Enter 
Launcelot  and  Jessica. 

Laun.  Yes,  truly; — for,  look  you,  the  sins  of 
the  father  are  to  be.  laid  upon  iJie  chilJren :  there- 
fore, I  promise  you,  I  fear  yo«.  1  wasahvays plain 
■with  you,  and  so  now  I  speak  my  agitation  of  the 
matter :  Therefore,  be  of  good  cheer ;    for,  truly, 

1  think,  yon  are  damn'd.    There  is  but  one  hope  it,  ^     -  ^    ^^^  .       ^j- heaven  here  on  earth; 
It  that  can  do  you  any  scod ;  and  that  ,3  but  a  kmd  j  ^^^^  ^f  ^„  J,  ^c  do  not  mean  it,  it 


silence ;  and  discourse  grow  commendable  in  none 
only  but  parrots,— Go  in,  sirrah ;  bid  them  prepare 
for  dinner. 

Laun.  That  is  done,  sir ;  they  hare  all  stomachs. 

Lor.  Goodly  lord,  what  a  wit-snapper  are  you ! 
then  bid  them  prepare  dinner. 

Leun.  That  is  done  too,  sir  5  only,  cover  it  tha 
word. 

Lai:  Will  you  cover  then,  sir? 

Laun.  Not  so,  sir,  neither ;  I  know  my  tlutr. 

Lor.  Yet  more  quarrelling  with  occasion !  Wilt 
thou  show  the  whole  wealth  of  thy  wit  in  an  in- 
stant? I  pray  thee,  understand  a  plain  man  in  hia 
plain  meaningr :  jro  to  thy  fellows  ;  bid  them  cover 
tlie  table,  serve  m  the  meat,  and  we  will  come  in 
to  dinner. 

Laun.  For  the  table,  sir,  it  shall  be  served  in } 
for  the  meat,  sir,  it  shall  be  covered ;  for  your 
coming  in  to  dinner,  sir,  why,  let  it  be  as  humours 
and  conceits  shall  govern.  [Exit  Launcelot. 

Lor.    O  dear  discretion,   how   his  words  we 
suited ! 
The  fool  hath  planted  in  his  memory 
An  army  of  arood  words  ;  And  I  do  know 
A  many  fools,  that  stand  in  better  place, 
Gariiish'd  like  him,  that  for  a  tricksy  word 
Defy  the  matter.    How  checr'st  thon  Jessica? 
And  now,  good  sweet,  say  thv  opinion, 
llow  dost  thou  like  the  lord  fiassanio's  wife  ? 

Jes.  Past  all  espressingr  It  is  very  meet. 
The  lord  Bassanio  live  an  uprisrht  life  ; 
For,  having?  such  a  blessinp  in  bis  lady, 


of  bastard  hope  neither. 

Jes.  And  what  hope  is  that,  I  pray  thee? 

Laun.  Marry,  you  may  partly  hope  that  yoJir 
father  got  you  not,  that  vow  are  not  the  Jew's 
daughter. 

Jes.  That  were  a  kind  of  bastard  hope,  indeed ; 
eo  the  sins  of  my  mother  should  be  visited  upon  me. 


Is  rea«on  he  should  never  come  to  heaven. 
\Vhv,  if  tAvo  gods  should  play  rome  heavenly  match, 
And  on  the  wager  lay  two  earthly  women^ 
And  Portia  one,  there  must  be  something;  else 
Pa'n  n'd  with  the  other ;  for  the  poor  rude  world 
Hath  not  herlellow. 
Lor.  Even  such  a  husband 


iMm.   Tnily  then  I  f'-^T  you  are  fWd  bothiH^;^  [^^^  ^^^^^  ^^  ^j,^  ^^  ^^^  ^  ^[^ 


by  father  and  mother :  thus  when  1  shun  Scylla, 
your  father,  I  fall  info  Charybdis,  your  mother: 
well,  you  are  gone  both  ways. 

Jes.  I  shall  be  saved  by  my  husband ;  he  bath 
made  me  a  Christian. 


Jes.  Nay,  but  ask  my  opinion  too  of  that. 
jA>r.  I  Mill  anon ;  first,  let  us  go  to  dinner. 
Jis.   Nay,  let  me  praise  you,  while  I  have  ft 
stomach. 
'    »  «.    1     .u  »«  ui  _«  V-.  ,-„  ,™-«      Lor.  No,  pray  thee,  let  it  servo  for  table-talk, 

Lmm.  Truly,  the  more  to  blame  he:  we  were  Then,  howsoe'ertliou  speak'st, 'mong  other  thmgl 
Christians  enough  before ;  e'en  as  many  as  could  ,  ^j^g^jj  ^j^ggj  j^  f         -i         4,  e 


well  live,  one  by  another :  This  making  of  Christians 
•will  raise  the  price  of  hc^^s ;  if  we  grow  all  to  be 
pork-caters,  we  shall  not  "shortly  have  a  rasher  on 
the  coaJs  for  money. 

Enter  Lorenzo. 

Jes.  I'll  tell  my  husband,  Launcelot,  what  you 
say ;  here  he  comes. 

ior.  I  shall  grow  jcalons  ofyou  shortly,  Launce- 
lot. if  you  thus  get  my  wife  into  corners. 

Jes.'  Nay,  vou  need  not  fear  us,  Lorenzo; 
Launcelot  ana  1  are  nut:  he  tells  mc  flatly,  there 
is  no  mercy  for  rac  in  heaven,  because  I  am  a  Jew's 
daughter :  and  he  says,  you  are  no  good  member 
of  the  commonwealth ;  for^  in  conrerthig  Jews  to 
Christians,  you  raise  the  price  of  pork. 

Imt.  I  shall  answer  that  better  to  the  common- 
wealth, than  you  can  the  getting  up  of  the  negro's 
belly :  the  Moor  is  with  c!iild  by  you,  Launcelot. 

Lttim.  It  is  much,  that  the  Moor  should  be  more 
than  reason :  but  if  she  be  less  than  an  honest 
woman,  she  is,  indeed,  more  than  I  took  her  for. 

Lor,  How  every  fool  can  play  upon  the  word  ! 
I  Oiink,  the  best  grace  of  wit  will  shortly  turn  into 

(1)  Hatred,  malice 


Jes. 


Well,  I'll  set  you  forth.     [Ext. 


ACT  IV. 

SCEJ^'E  L— Venice.  Jl  court  of  Justice.  Entet 
the  Duke,  the  Ma^nificoes  ;  Antonio,  Bassanio, 
Gratiano,  Salarino,  S'alanio,  and  others. 

Duke.  What,  is  Antofiio  here? 

^nt.  Ready,  so  please  your  grace. 

Dukt.  I  am  sorry  for  thee ;  thou  art  como  to  ifi- 
sivcr 
A  stony  adversary,  an  inhuman  wretch 
Uncapable  of  pity,  void  and  empty 
From  any  dram  of  mercy. 

.int.  I  have  heard. 

Your  grace  hath  ta'en  great  pains  to  qualify 
His  rigorous  course ;  but  since  he  stands  obdurtte, 
And  th.it  no  lawful  mean  can  carry  mc 
Out  of  his  envy's'  reach,  I  do  oppose 
My  patience  to  his  fury ;  and  am  arm'd 
To  suffer,  with  a  quietness  of  spirit, 
The  very  tyranny  and  rage  of  his. 

Duke,  Go  one,  and  call  the  Je^  lof?  (hc  COUrU 


/. 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


m 


$<i2en.  He's  re&dy  at  the  door :  he  comes,  my  lord. 
E^^tr  Shylock. 

Duke.  Make  room,  and  let  liim  stand  before  our 
face. — 
Shylock,  the  world  thinlvs,  and  I  think  so  too. 
That  thou  but  lead'st  this  fashion  of  thy  malice 
To  the  last  hour  of  act ;  and  then,  'tis  thought 
Thou'lt  show  thy  mercy  and  remorse,"  more  strange 
Than  is  tliy  strange  apparent'  cruelty : 
And  where^  thou  now  exact'st  the  penalty 
(\Vhich  is  a  pound  of  this  poor  nicrcbaut's  flesh,) 
Thou  wilt  not  only  lose  the  forfeiture, 
But  touch'd  with  human  gentleness  and  love, 
Forgive  a  moiety  of  the  principal ; 
Glancing  an  eye  of  pity  on  his  losses. 
That  have  of  late  so  huddled  on  his  back ; 
Enough  to  press  a  royal  merchant  down, 
And  pluck  commiseration  of  his  state 
From  brassy  bosoms,  and  rough  hearts  of  flint. 
From  stubborn  Turks,  and  Tartars,  ne?er  traln'd 
To  offices  of  tender  courtesy. 
We  all  expect  a  gentle  answer,  Jew. 

Shy.  I  have  possess'd  your  grace  of  what  I  pur- 
pose; 
And  by  our  holy  sabbath  have  I  sworn, 
To  have  the  due  and  forfeit  of  my  bond. 
If  you  deny  it,  let  the  danger  liglit 
Upon  your  charter,  and  your  city's  freedom. 
You'll  ask  me,  wliy  I  rather  choose  to  have 
A  weight  of  carrion  flesh,  than  to  receive 
Three  thousand  ducats  :  I'll  not  answer  that : 
But,  say,  it  is  my  humour;*  Is  itajiswer'd? 
What  if  my  house  be  troubled  with  a  rat. 
And  I  be  pleas'd  to  'five  ten  thousand  ducats 
To  have  it  baned  ?  What,  are  you  answer'd  yet? 
Some  men  there  are,  love  not  a  gaping*  pig  j 
Some,  that  are  mad,  if  they  behold  a  cat ; 
And  others,  when  tiie  bag-pipe  sings  i'  the  nose. 
Cannot  contain  their  urine ;  For  ariection,* 
Mistress  of  passion,  sv.-ays  it  to  l!ie  mood 
Of  what  it  likes,  or  loaihs :  Now,  for  your  answer: 
As  there  is  no  finn  reason  to  be  render'd. 
Why  he  cannot  abide  a  gaping  pig ; 
Why  he,  a  harmless  necessary  eat ; 
Why  he,  a  swollen  bay-pipe  ;'  but  of  force 
Must  yield  to  such  inevitable  shame, 
As  to  oflend,  himself  being  oiiended  ; 
So  can  I  give  no  reason,  nor  I  will  npt. 
More  than  a  lodg'd  hate,  and  a  eitrtauj  loathing 
I  bear  Antonio,  that  I  follow  thus 
A  losing  suit  against  him.    Are  you  answer'd  ? 

Bass.  This  is  no  answer,  thou  unleeling  man. 
To  excuse  the  current  of  tiiy  cruelty. 

Bhy.   I  am  not  bound  to  please  thee  with  my 
answer. 

Bass.    Do  all  men  kill  the  thuigs  tliey  do  not 
love? 

Shy.  Hates  anv  man  the  thing  he  would  not  kill  ? 

Bass.  Every  onence  is  not  a  hate  at  first. 

Shy.  What,  would'st  thou  have  a  serpent  sting 
thee  twice  ? 

^nt.  I  pray  you,  think  you  question'  with  the 
Jew ; 
I'ou  niay  as  well  go  stand  upon  the  beach, 
\.nd  bid  the  main  flood  bate  his  usual  height ; 
ifou  may  as  well  use  question  with  the  wolf, 
vVhy  he  hath  made  the  ewe  bleat  for  the  lamb  ; 
Vou  may  as  well  forbid  the  mountain  pines 
To  wag  their  high  tops,  and  to  make  no  noise, 
When  they  are  fretted  Avith  the  gusts  of  heaven ; 


iJjPi'r 


(2)  Seeming. 


^Vhereas. 


Particular  foncv.    (&)  Crying.    f$)  Prejudice. 


You  may  as  well  do  any  thing  most  hard, 

As  seek  to  soften  that  (than  which  what's  harder?) 

His  Jewish  heart : — Tlierefore,  I  do  beseech  you. 

Make  no  more  offers,  use  no  further  means, 

But,  with  all  brief  and  plain  conveniency. 

Let  me  have  judgment,  and  the  Jew  his  will. 

Bass.  For  thy  three  thousand  ducats  here  is  si^ 

Shy.  If  every  ducat  in  six  thousand  ducats 
Were  in  six  parts,  and  every  part  a  ducat, 
I  would  not  draw  them,  I  would  have  my  bond. 

Dulce.  How  shall  thou  hope  for  mercy,  rcnd'rinfr 
none? 

Shy.    What  judgment  shall  I  dread,  doing  H© 
wrong  ?  ' 

You  hare  among  you  many  a  purchas'd  slave. 
Which,  like  your  asses,  and  your  dogs,  and  mules. 
You  use  in  abject  and  in  slavish  parts. 
Because  you  bought  Ihcm : — Shall  I  say  to  you, 
Let  them  be  free,  marry  them  to  your  heirs  / 
Why  sweat  they  under  burdens  ?  let  their  beds 
Be  made  as  soft  as  yours,  and  let  their  palates 
Be  season'd  with  such  viands  ?  You  will  answer, 
The  slaves  are  ours : — So  do  I  answer  you : 
The  pound  of  flesh,  w  hich  I  demand  of  him, 
Is  dearly  bought,  is  mine,  and  I  will  have  it : 
If  you  deny  me,  lie  upen  your  law ! 
There  is  no  force  in  the  decrees  of  Venice : 
I  stand  for  judgment :  answer;  shall  I  have  it  ? 

Duke.  LTpon  my  power,  I  may  dismbs  this  court. 
Unless  Bellario,  a  learned  doctor. 
Whom  I  have  sent  for  to  determine  this. 
Come  here  torday. 

Solar.     '  My  lord,  here  stays  withoa* 

A  messenger  with  letters  from  the  doctor, 
New  come  irom  Padua. 

Duke.  Brinir  us  the  letters;  Call  the  mcssen^r. 

Bass.    Good   cheer,   Alitonio !    What,   man  ? 
courage  yet! 
The  Jew  shall  have  my  flesh,  blood,  bones,  and  all. 
Ere  thou  shalt  lose  for  me  one  drop  of  blood. 

JJnl.  I  am  a  t^tinted  wether  of  the  flock, 
Meetest  for  death  :  the  weakest  kind  of  fruit 
Drops  earliest  to  tne  ground,  and  so  let  me  • 
You  cannot  better  be  eiiii>loy'd,  Bassanio, 
Than  to  live  still,  and  Trritc  miae  epitaph. 

Enter  Ncrissa,  drcsstd  like  a  lawyer's  clerk. 

Duke.  Came  you  from  Padua,  from  Bellario  ? 

•Ver.  From  both,  my  lord;  Bellario  greets  your 
grace.  [Presents  a  letter. 

Bass.    Why  dost  thou  whet  thy  knife  so  ear- 

W      nestly  ? 

Sky.  To  cut  the  forfeiture  from  that  bankrupt 
there.  » 

Gra.  Not  on  thv  sole,  but  on  thy  soul,  harsh  Jew, 
Thou  mak'st  thy  knife  keen:  but  no  metal  can. 
No,  not  the  hangman's  axe,  bear  hah' the  keenness 
Of  thy  sharp  envy."    Can  no  pra)'ers  pierce"  thee  7 

Shy.  No,  nonelhat  Ihou  hast  wit  enough  to  make. 

Gra.  O,  be  thou  damn'd,  inexorable  dog ! 
And  for  thy  liic  let  ju^tjce  be  accus'd. 
Thou  almost  mak'st  me  waver  in  my  faith, 
To  hold  opinion  with  Pythagoras, 
That  souls  of  animals  infuse  thtmselve's 
Into  the  trunks  dfmen :  thy  currish  spirit 
Govern'd  a  wolf,  who,  han«f'd  for  human  slaugl)ter, 
Even  from  the  gallows  did  his  fell  soul  fleet, 
And,  whilst  thou  lay'st  in  thy  unhaliow'd  dam, 
Infus'd  itself  in  thee ;  for  thy  desires 
Are  wolfish,  bloody,  starv'd,  and  ravenous. 

Shy.  Till  thou  canst  rail  the  seal  from  off  my 
bond. 


(7)  Converse. 


(8)  Malice. 


198 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


^ctir 


Thou  but  offend'st  thy  lunsrs  to  speak  so  loud :        jThe  deeds  of  mercy.    I  have  spoke  thus  much, 

Repair  thy  wit,  good  youth,  or  it  will  full  |  To  milicrate  tlie  justice  of  thy  plea ; 

To  cureless  ruin. — I  stand  here  for  law.  |  AVhich  if  thou  follow,  this  strict  court  of  Venice 

Duke.  This  letter  from  Bellario  doth  commend i  Must  needs  give  sentence  'gainst  the   merchant 
A  younj  and  learned  doctor  to  our  court : —  I  there. 

"Where  is  he  ?  |     Shy.  My  deed's  upon  my  head !  I  crave  the  law, 

.Ver.  He  attendeth  here  hard  by,  i  The  penalty  and  forfeit  of  my  bond. 

To  know  your  answer,  whether  you'll  admit  him.        Per.  Is  hs  not  able  to  discharge  the  money? 

Luke.  With  all  my  heart: — some  three  or  fourj     Bass.  Yes,  here  I  tender  it  for  him  in  the  court; 
of  you,  i  Yea,  twice  the  sum:  if  that  will  not  suffice. 

Go  give  him  courteous  conduct  to  this  place. —       |I  v.iil  be  bound  to  pay  it  ten  times  o'er, 
Mean  time,  the  court  shall  hear  Bellario's  letter.    I  On  forfeit  ef  my  hands,  my  head,  my  heart : 

[Clerk  reads.]    Your  grace   shall  unrfers/anc/, !  If  this  irill  not  suifice,  it  must  appear 
thai,  at  the  rectipt  of  your  letter,  I  am  very  sick :  That  malice  bears  down  truth.    And  I  beseech  you, 
biU  in  the  instant  that  your  messenirer  came,  in 


loving  visitation  was  tcith  me  a  young  doctor  of 
Rome,  his  name  is  Balthazar:  I  acquainted  him 
with  the  cause  in  controversy  between  the  Jeio  and 
^intonio  the  merchant :  we  turned  o^er  many  books 
together :  he  isfumish'd  with  my  opinion;  which, 


Wrest  once  the  law  to  your  authority  ; 
To  do  a  great  right,  do  a  little  wrong ; 
And  curb  this  cruel  devil  of  his  will. 

Por.  It  must  not  be ;  there  is  no  power  in  Venice 
Can  alter  a  decree  established : 
'Twill  be  recorded  for  a  precedent ; 


bettered  with  his  oicn    learning    (the    greatjiesirj  And  many  an  error,  by  the  same  examplft. 


whereof  I  cannot  enough  commend,)  comes  xrilh 
him,  at  my  importtinilv,  to  fill  up  your  grace's  re- 
quest in  my  stead.  I  teseech  you,  let  his  lack  if 
years  be  no  impediment  to  let  him  lack  a  reverend 
estimation ;  for  I  never  knew  so  young  a  body  loith 
so  old  a  head.  I  leave  him  to  your  gracious  ucctpl- 
anee,  whose  trud  shidl  belter  publish  his  commeiv- 
dot  ion. 
Duke.  You  hear  the  learn'd  Bellario,  what  he 
writes : 
And  here,  I  take  it,  is  the  doctor  come, 


^ 


Enter  Portia,  dressed  like  a  doclorr  of  laws. 

Give  me  your  hand :  came  you  from  old  Bellario  ? 

Por.  I'did,  my  lord. 

Duke.  V ou  are  welcome :  take  your  place. 

Are  you  acquainted  with  the  difference 
That  holds  this  present  question  in  the  court? 

Por.  I  am  informed  thorougiily  of  the  cause. 
Which  is  the  merchant  here,  and  which  the  Jew  ? 

Duke.  Antonio  and  old  Shylock,  both  stand  forth. 

Por.  Is  your  name  Shylock? 

Shy.  Shylock  is  my  name. 

Por.  Of  a  stranpre  nature  is  the  suit  you  follow  ; 
Yet  in  such  rule,  that  the  Venetian  law 
Cannot  impupn'  you,  as  you  do  proceed. — 
You  stand  within  his  danger,*  do  you  not  ? 

[To  Antonio. 

»fnt.  Ay,  so  hs  says. 

Por.  Do  you  confess  the  bond  ? 

^Int.  I  do.  m 

Por.  Then  must  the  Jew  be  merciful. 

Shy,  On  what  compulsion  must  I  ?  tell  me  that. 

Par.  The  quality  of  merc^f  is  not  strain'd ; 
It  droppeth,  as  the  gentle  rain  from  heaven 
Upon  the  place  beneath  :  it  is  twice  bless'4^ 
It  blesseth  him  that  gives,  and  him  that  takes : 
'Tis  mightiest  in  the  mightiest ;  it  becomes 
The  throned  monarch  better  than  his  crown : 

is  sceptre  shows  the  force  of  temporal  power, 
The  attribute  to  awe  and  majrsty, 
"Wherein  doth  sit  the  dread  and  fear  of  kings ; 
But  mercy  is  above  this  scepter'd  sway, 
It  is  enthroned  in  the  hearts  of  kings. 
It  is  an  attribute  to  God  himself; 
And  earthly  power  doth  then  show  likest  God's, 
"When  mercy  seasons  justice.    Therefore,  Jew, 
Though  justice  be  thv  plea,  consider  this, — 
That,  in  the  course  of  justice,  none  of  us 
Should  see  salvation  :  we  do  pray  for  mercy : 
And  that  same  prayer  doth  teach  us  all  to  render 


(I)  Oppgse, 


(2)  Reach  or  contrql. 


Will  rusli  into  the  state  :  il  cannot  be. 

Shy.  A  Daniel  come  to  judgment!  3'ea,  a  Da« 
niel ! — 
0  wise  young  judge,  how  do  I  honour  thee ! 

Por.  I  pray  you,  let  me  look  upon  the  bond. 

Shy.  Hero  'tis,  most  reverend  doctor,  here  it  is. 

Pur.  Shylock,  there's  thrice  thy  money  otTer'd 
thee. 

Shy.  An  oath,  an  oath,  I  have  an  oath  in  heaven : 
Shall  I  lay  perjury  upon  my  soul? 
No,  not  for  Venice. 

Por.  Why,  this  bond  is  forfeit ; 

And  lawfully  by  this  the  Jew  may  claim 
A  pound  of 'flesh,  to  be  by  him  cut  off 
Nearest  the  merchant's  heart: — Be  merciful ; 
Take  thrice  thy  money  ;  bid  me  tear  the  bond. 

Shy.  When  it  is  paid  according  to  the  tenor.— 
It  doth  appear,  you  are  a  worthy  judge  ; 
You  know  the  law,  your  exposition 
Hath  been  most  sound  :    I  charge  you  by  the  law. 
Whereof  you  are  a  well-deserving  pillar. 
Proceed  to  judginent:  by  my  soul  I  swear. 
There  is  no  power  in  the  tongue  of  man 
To  alter  me  :  I  stay  here  on  my  bond. 

Ant.  Most  heartily  I  do  beseech  the  court 
To  give  the  judgment. 

Por.  Why  then,  thus  it  i«. 

You  must  prepare  your  bosom  for  his  knife. 

Shy.  O  noble  judge!  O  excellent  young  man ! 
■"   Por.  For  the  uitent  and  purpose  of  the  law 
Hath  full  relation  to  the  penalty. 
Which  here  appeareth  due  upon  the  bond. 

Shy.  'Tis  very  true  :  O  wise  and  upright  judge! 
How  much  more  elder  art  thou  than  thy  looks ! 

Por.  Therefore,  lay  bare  your  bosom. 

Shy.  Ay,  liis  breast  ■ 

So  says  the  bond  ; — ^Doth  it  not,  noble  judge  ? 

Nearest  his  heart,  those  are  the  very  words. 

Por.  It  is  so.  Are  there  balance  here,  to  weigh 
The  flesh?  ^ 

Shy.  I  have  them  ready. 

Por.  Have  by  some  surgeon,  Shylock,  on  your 
charge, 
To  stop  his  wounds,  lest  he  do  bleed  to  death. 

Shy.  Is  it  so  nominated  in  tiie  bond? 

Por.  It  is  not  so  espress'd  ;  But  what  of  that  7 
'Twerc  good  you  do  so  much  for  charity. 

Shy.  I  cannot  find  it ;  'tis  not  in  the  bond. 

Por.  Come,  merchant,  have  you  any  thing  to  say  7 

^nt.  But  little  ;  I  am  arrn'd,  and  well  prepar'd.— . 
Give  me  your  hand,  Bassanio  ;  fare  you  well ! 
Grieve  not  (hat  I  am  fallen  to  this  for  vou  ; 
For  herein  fertune  shows  hcrs<?If  more  kind 


Scene  I. 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


191^ 


Than  is  her  custom  •  it  is  still  her  use, 

To  let  the  wretched  man  out-live  his  wealth, 

To  Tiew  with  hollow  eye,  and  wrinkled  brow, 

An  age  of  poverty  ;  from  which  liiiuering-  penance! 

Of  such  a  misery  doth  she  cut  me  oifT. 

Commend  me  to  your  honourable  wife: 

Tell  her  the  process  of  Antonio's  end, 

Say,  how  I  lov'd  you,  speak  me  fair  in  death ; 

And,  when  the  tale  is  told,  bid  her  be  judge, 

Whether  Uassanio  had  not  once  a  love. 

Repent  not  you  that  you  shall  lose  your  friend. 

And  he  repents  not  tfiat  he  pays  your  debt ; 

For  if  tlie  Jew  do  cut  but  deep  enough, 

I'll  pay  it  instantly  with  all  my  heart. 

Bass.  .Antonio,  I  am  married  to  a  wife. 
Which  is  as  dear  to  me  as  life  itself; 
But  life  itself,  my  wife,  and  all  the  world, 
Are  not  with  meesteem'd  above  thy  life: 
I  would  lose  all,  ay,  sacrifice  them  all  > 

Here  to  this  devil,  to  deliver  you. 

For.  Your  wife  would  give  vou  little  thanks  for 
that, 
If  she  were  hv,  to  hear  you  make  the  oflbr. 

Gra.  I  have  a  wife,  whom  I  protest  i  love  tL, 
I  would  she  were  in  heaven,  so  she  could       ^N 
Entreat  some  power  to  change  this  currish  Jeiv. 

,Vcr.  'Tis  well  yoii  ofier  it  behind  her  back ; 
The  wish  would  make  else  an  unquiet  hous»% 

ijhy.  These  l)e  the  Christian  husbands:  Ihiivea 
daughter ; 
'Would  any  of  liie  stock  of  Barabbas 
Had  been  ner  husband,  rather  tiian  a  Christian ! 

We  trifle  time :  I  pray  thee  pursue  sentence. 

For.  A  pound  of  that  same  merch^t's  flesh  is 
thine ; 
The  court  awards  it,  and  the  law  doth  give  it. 

Shy.  Most  rightful  judge ! 

For.  And  you  must  cut  this  flesh  from  off  his 
breast ; 
The  law  allows  it,  and  the  court  awards  it. 

Shy.  Most  learned  judge  I — A  sentence ;  come, 
prepare. 

For.  Tarry  a  little ,    there  is  somelhin?  else. — 
This  bond  doth  give  thee  here  no  jot  of  blood ; 
The  words  expressly  are,  a  pound  of  flesh : 
Take  then  thy  bond,  taki-  thou  thy  pound  of  flesh ; 
But,  in  the  cutlin<i  it,  if  thou  dost  shed 
One  drop  of  Christian  blood,  thy  lands  and  goods 
Are,  by  the  laws  of  Venice,  coniiscate 
Unto  the  state  of  Venice. 

Gra.  0  upright  judge! — Mark,  Jew; — O  learn- 
ed judge ! 

Shy.  Is  that  the  law  7 

For.  Thyself  shall  see  the  act : 

For,  as  thou  urgest  justice,  be  assur'd, 
Thou  shalt  have  justice,  more  than  thou  dcsir'sL 

Gra.  0  learned  judge ! — Mark,  Jev/ ; — a  learned 


jThou  diest,  and  all  thy  goods  are  confiseat*. 

Gra.  A  second  Daniel,  a  Daniel,  Jew ! 
[Now,  infidel,  I  have  thee  on  the  hip. 

For,  Why  doth  the  Jew  pau»e?  take  thy  for* 
feiture. 

Shy,  Give  me  my  principal,  and  let  me  go. 

Bass.  I  have  it  ready  for  thee ;  here  it  is. 

For.  He  hath  refus'd  it  in  the  ooen  court ; 
He  shall  have  merely  justice,  and^is  bond. 

Gra.  A  Daniel,  still  say  i ;  a  second  Daniel  !— 
I  thank  thee,  Jew,  for  teaching  me  that  word. 

Shy,  Shall  I  not  have  barely  my  principal  ? 

For.  Thou  shall  have  noti.i'n7  but  the  lorfeiture. 
To  be  so  taken  at  thy  peril,  Jew. 

Shy.  Why  then  the  devil  give  him  good  of  it  I 
I'll  stay  no  longer  question. 

For.  Tarry,  Jew , 

The  law  hath  yet  another  liold  on  you. 
It  is  enacted  in  the  laws  of  Venice, — 
If  it  be  projr'd  against  ail  alien, 
That  by  direct,  cr  indircet  r.ttompt?, 
He  sci-k  tlie  life  of  cuy  citizer, 
i'iic  party,  'gainst  tiic  which  lie  i?otn  contnve, 
Shall  seize  one  half  his  good*  ;  !lie  other  half 
Comes  to  the  privy  cofler  of  f  h "  slr<i? ; 
Ar.ii  trie  ofienaor':^  life  lies  in  tlir mercy 
Of  i!io  duke  only,  'gauist  cU  ')il!r.r  voice. 
In  V.  hich  predicaaicnt,  I  say  tbou  atand'st : 
For  it  npiiears  \:r  manifest  pmcceding, 
Tiir. f,  icdirectly,"  ana  dirictly  too, 
Td.iu  hast  potitriv'd  a;:ai-;5t  the  very  life 
Oi  trie  defiJidant;  a:: J  tViom  ha=f  incurr'd 
The  danger  formerly  by  loc  rehearsM. 
Down,  therefore,  and  beg  mercy  of  ti»e  dnlce. 

Gra,  Beg,  that  thou  may'sl  nave  leave  to  bans 
thyself: 
.\nd  yet,  thy  wealth  being  forfeit  to  the  state, 
Thoii  hast  not  left  the  value  of  a  cord ; 
Therefore,  thou  must  be  hang'd  at  the  state's  charge. 

Duke.  That  thou  shalt  see  the  difference  of  ouc 
spirit, 
I  pardon  thee  thy  life  before  tliou  ask  it : 
For  half  thy  wealth,  it  is  Antonio's ; 
The  other  half  comes  to  the  general  state. 
Which  humbleness  may  drive  unto  a  fine. 

Far.  Ay,  for  the  stale  ;  not  for  Antonio. 

Shy.  Nay,  take  my  life  and  all,  pardon  not  that* 
i'ou  take  my  house,  when  you  do  take  the  prop 
That  doth  sustain  mr  house  ;  you  take  my  life, 
When  you  do  take  the  means  wherebv  I  live. 

For.  What  mercy  can  you  render  him,  Antonio  ? 

Gra.  A  halter  gratis ;  nothing  else,  for  Uod's  "ake. 

Jlnt.  So  please  my  lord  the  duke,  and  all  the 
court, 
To  quit  the  fine  for  one  half  of  his  goods ; 
I  am  content,  so  he  will  let  me  hav-e 
The  other  half  in  use, — to  render  it. 
Upon  his  death,  unto  the  gentleman 
That  lately  stole  his  daughter : 


Shy.  I  take  this  ofier  then ; — pay  the  bond  thrice,  |  Two  things  provided  more, — ^That,  for  this  farour, 
And  let  the  Christian  go.  •  ]  He  presently  become  a  Christian  ; 

Bass.  Here  is  the  money.     The  other,  that  he  do  record  a  gift. 

For.  Soft:  I  Here  in  the  court,  of  all  he  dies  possess'd. 

The  Jew  shall  have  all  justice ; — soft ! — no  haste ; — j  Unto  his  son  Lorenzo,  and  his  daughter. 

" '  Duke.  He  shall  do  this ;  or  else  i  do  recant 

The  pardon,  that  I  late  pronounced  here. 
For.  Art  thou  contented,  Jew,  what  dost  thou 

say? 
Shy,  I  am  content. 

For,  Cif  rk,  draw  a  deed  of  gift. 

Shy.  I  pray  you,  give  me  leave  to  go  from  hence ; 
I  am  not  well ;  send  the  deed  after  me, 
And  I  will  sign  it, 
'    Duke,  Get  thee  gone,  but  do  it. 


He  shall  have  nothing  but  the  penalty, 

Gra.  O  Jew  !  an  upright  judge,  a  learned  judge ! 
For.  Therefore,  prepare  iheeto  cut  oil  the  (lesh. 
Shed  thou  no  blood ;  nor  cut  thou  less,  nor  more, 
But  just  a  pound  of  flesh:  if  thou  tak'sl  more. 
Or  less,  than  a  just  pound, — be  it  but  so  much 
As  makes  it  light,  or  heavy,  in  the  substance. 
Or  the  division  of  the  twentieth  part 
Of  one  poor  scruple ;  nay,  if  the  scale  do  turo 
Sut  in  the  estimation  of  a  hair,— 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


4<<r* 


Gr*.  In  ehriftening  thou  (halt  have  two  eod- 
fatliers: 
Had  I  been  judge,  thou  should'st  have  had  ten 

more, 
To  bring  Ihee  to  the  gallows,  not  the  font. 

[Exit  Shvlock. 
Duke.  Sir,  I  entreat  you  home  with  me  to  dinner. 
Por.  I  humbly  do  desire  your  grace  of  pardon ; 
I  must  away  this  nighl  toward  Padua, 
And  it  is  meet,  I  presently  set  forth. 
Duke.  1  am  sorry,  that  your  leisure  serves  you 
not. 
Antonio,  gratify  this  gentleman  : 
For,  in  my  mmd,  you  arc  much  bound  to  him. 

[Exeunt  Duke,  magwficoes,  and  train, 
Bass.  Most  worthy  Mntleman,  I  and  my  friend, 
Have  by  your  wisdom  been  this  day  acquitted 
Of  grievous  penalties ;  in  lieu  whereof. 
Three  thousand  ducats,  due  unto  the  Jew, 
We  freely  cope  your  courteous  pains  withal. 
»9nt.  And  stand  indebted,  over  and  above, 
In  love  and  service  to  you  evermore. 

Por.  He  is  well  paid,  that  is  well  satisfied ; 
And  I,  delivering  you,  am  satisfied, 
And  therein  do  account  myself  well  paid ; 
My  mind  was  never  yet  more  mercenary, 
I  pray  you,  know  me,  when  wc  meet  again  ; 
I  wish  you  well,  and  so  I  take  my  leave. 
Bass.  Dear  sir,  of  force  1  must  attempt  you  fur- 
ther; 
Take  some  remembrance  of  us,  as  a  tribute. 
Not  as  a  fee :  grant  me  two  things,  I  pray  you. 
Not  to  deny  me,  and  to  pardon  me. 
Por.   You  press  me  far,  and  therefore  I  will 
yield. 
Give  me  your  doves,  I'll  wear  them  for  your  sake ; 
And,  for  your  love,  I'll  take  this  rin<j  from  you  :— 
Do  not  draw  back  your  hand ;  I'll  take  no  more ; 
And  you  in  love  shall  not  deny  mc  this. 

Bass.  This  ring,  good  sir, — alas,  it  is  a  trifle  ; 
I  vrWl  not  shame  myself  to  give  you  this. 

Por.  I  will  have  nothing  else  but  only  this ; 
And  now,  methinks,  I  have  a  mind  to  it. 
Bass.  There's  more  depends  on  this,  than  on 
the  value. 
The  dearest  ring  in  Venice  will  I  give  you, 
And  find  it  out  by  proclamation  ; 
Only  for  this,  I  pray  you,  purdon  me. 

Por.  I  see,  sir\  you  are  liberal  in  offers : 
You  taught  me  first  to  beg ;  and  now,  methinks, 
You  teach  me  how  a  beggar  should  be  answer'd. 
Bass.  Good  sir,  this  ring  was  given  me  by  my 
wife ; 
And,  when  she  put  it  on,  she  made  me  vow. 
That  I  should  neither  sell,  nor  give,  nor  lose  it. 
Por,  That  'sense  serves  many  men  to  save  their 
gifts. 
An  if  your  wife  be  not  a  mad  woman, 
And  know  how  well  I  have  dcserv'd  this  ring. 
She  would  not  hold  out  enemy  for  ever, 
For  giving  it  to  me.    Well,  peace  be  with  you  ! 

[Exeunt  Portia  and  Nerissa. 
jfnt.  My  lord  Bassanio,  let  him  have  the  ring ; 
Let  his  dcservings,  and  my  love  withal. 
Be  valued  'gainst  your  wife's  commandment. 
Bass.  Go,  Gratiano,  run  and  overtake  him. 
Give  him  the  ring ;  and  bring  him,  if  thou  canst, 
IJnto  Antonio's  house :— away,  make  haste. 

[Exit  Gratiano, 
Come,  you  and  I  will  thither  presently ; 
And  in  the  morning  early  will  we  both 
Fly  towa,"!  Belmont :  Come,  Antonio.     [Exeunt. 

(1)  Reflection. 


SCEXE  JI.^Tht  same.   JIatretL  Ent«r  PartJi 

and  Nerissa. 

Por.  Inquire  the  Jew's  house  out,  give  him  tjus 
deed, 
And  let  him  sign  it ;  we'll  away  to-night. 
And  be  a  day  before  our  husbands  home  : 
This  deed  will  be  well  welcome  to  Lorenzo. 

Enter  Gratiano. 

Gra.  Fair  sir,  you  are  well  overtaken : 
My  lord  Bassanio,  upon  more  advice," 
Hath  sent  you  here  this  ring ;  and  doth  entreat 
Your  company  at  dinner. 

Por.  That  cannot  be : 

This  ring  I  do  accept  most  thankfully. 
And  so,  t  pray  you,  tell  him :  Furthermore, 
I  pray  you,  show  my  vouth  old  Shylock's  house. 

Gru.  That  will  I  do. 

Aer.  Sir,  I  would  speak  with  you:— 

I'll  see  if  I  can  get  my  husband's  ring,  [  To  Fortia. 
Which  I  did  make  him  swear  to  keep  for  ever. 

Por.  Thou  may'st,  I  warrant:    We  shall  hare 
old  rwearing. 
That  they  did  give  the  rings  away  to  men , 
But  we'll  outface  them,  and  outswear  them  too. 
Away,  make  basic ;  thou  know'st  where  I  will  tarry. 

J^er.  Come,  good  sir,  will  you  show  me  to  this 
house  ?  [£x«ui(. 


ACT  V. 


SCEXE  /.—Belmont.    Menue  to  Portia's  km^» 
Enter  Lorenzo  and  Jessica. 

Lor.  The  moon  shines  bright : — In  such  a  nigh^ 
as  this. 
When  the  sweet  wind  did  gently  kiss  the  trees, 
And  they  did  make  no  noise  ;  in  such  a  night, 
Troilus,  methinks,  mounted  the  Trojan  walls, 
And  sigli'd  his  soul  lowdrd  the  Grecian  tents, 
Where  Crcssid  lay  that  night. 

Jes.  In  such  a  night. 

Did  Thisbe  fearfully  o'ertrip  the  dew  ; 
And  saw  the  lion's  shadow  ere  himself. 
And  ran  dismay'd  away. 

Lor.  In  such  a  night, 

Stood  Dido  with  a  willow  in  her  hand 
Upon  the  wild  sea-banks,  and  wav'd  her  lov« 
To  come  again  to  Carthage. 

Jes.  In  such  a  night, 

Medea  gather'd  the  enchanted  herbs 
That  did  renew  old  jEson. 

Lor.  In  such  a  night. 

Did  Jessica  steal  from  the  wealthy  Jew : 
And  with  an  unthrifl  love  did  run  from  Venice, 
As  far  as  Belmont. 

Jes.  And  in  such  a  nisht, 

Did  young  Lorenzo  swear  he  lov'd  her  well ; 
Stealing  her  soul  with  many  vows  of  faith. 
And  ne'er  a  true  one. 

Lor.  And  in  such  a  night, 

Did  pretty  Jessica,  like  a  little  shrew. 
Slander  her  love,  and  he  forgave  it  her. 

Jes.  I  would  out-night  you,  did  nobody  com(^i 
But,  hark,  I  hear  the  footing  of  a  man. 

Enter  Stephano. 

lA)r.  W^ho  comes  so  fast  in  silence  of  the  night  ? 

Sleph.  A  friend. 

Lor.  A  friend?  what  friend?  your  name,  1  pray 

you,  friend  ? 
Sleph.  Stephano  is  my  name ;  and  I  Vrio|  ir9rd. 


i. 


MERCHANT  OP  VENICE, 


«« 


My  BBistress  will  berore  the  break  of  day 
Bq  heie  at  Belmont:  she  doth  stray  about 
By  holy  crosses,  where  she  kneels  and  prays 
For  happy  wedlock  hours. 

hor.  Who  comes  with  her  ? 

Sttph.  None,  but  a  holy  hermit,  and  her  maid. 
I  pray  you,  is  my  master  yet  relurn'J  ? 

Lor.    He  is  not,  nor  we  have  not  heard  from 
him. — 
But  go  we  in,  I  pray  thee,  Jessica, 
And  ceremoniously  let  us  prepare 
Some  welcome  for  the  mistress  of  the  house. 

Enter  Launcelot. 

Laun.  Sola,  sola,  wo  ha,  ho,  soia,  sola! 

Lor,  Who  calls? 

Laun.  Sola !  did  you  see  master  Lorenzo,  and 
mistress  Lorenzo  ?  sola,  sola ! 

Lor.  Leave  hollaing,  man  ;  here. 

Laun.  Sola !  where  ?  where  ? 

Lor.  Here. 

Laun.  Tell  him,  there's  a  post  come  from  my 
master,  with  his  horn  full  of  good  news;  my  mas- 
ter will  be  here  ere  morning.  [Exit. 

fjor.  Sweet  soul,  let's  in,  and  there  expect  their 
coming. 
And  yet  no  matter; — ^Vhy  should  we  go  in  ? 
My  friend  Slephano,  signify,  I  pray  you, 
within  the  house,  your  mistress  is'at  hand  ; 
And  bring  your  music  forth  into  the  air. — 

[Exit  Slephano. 
How  sweet  the  moonlight  sleeps  upon  this  bank ! 
Here  will  we  sit,  and  let  the  sounds  of  music 
Creep  in  our  ears ;  soft  stillness,  and  the  night. 
Become  the  touches  of  s.veet  harmony. 
Sit,  Jessica :  Look,  how  the  floor  of  fisaven 
Is  thick  inlaid  with  patines'  of  bris^hl  gold  ; 
There's  not  the  smallest  orb,  which  thou  bthold'st, 
But  in  his  motion  like  an  angel  sings,  « 
Still  ouiring  to  the  young-ey'd  cherubins  • 
Such  narmony  is  in  immortal  souls ; 
But.  whilst  this  muddy  vesture  of  decay 
Dotn  grossly  close  it  m,  we  cannot  hear  it.— 

Enter  musicians. 
Come,  ho,  and  wake  Diana  with  a  hymn ; 
AVith  sweetest  touches  pierce  vQur  mistress'  car, 
And  draw  her  home  with  music. 

Jts.  I  am  never  merry,  w  hen  1  hear  sweet  music. 

[J^tisic. 

Lar,  The  reason  is,  your  spirits  are  attentive : 
For  do  but  note  a  wild  and  wanton  herd, 
Or  race  of  youthful  and  unhandled  colts. 
Fetching  mad  bounds,  bellowing,   and  neighing 

loud. 
Which  is  the  hot  condition  of  their  blood ; 
If  they  but  hear  perchance  a  trumpet  sound. 
Or  any  air  of  music  touch  their  ears, 
You  shall  perceive  them  make  a  mutual  stand. 
Their  savage  eyes  turn'd  to  a  modest  gaze. 
By  the  sweet  power  of  music :  Therclore,  the  poet 
Did  feign  that  Orpheus  drew  trees,  stones,  and 

floods ; 
Since  nought  so  stockish,  hard,  and  fun  of  rage. 
But  music  for  the  time  doth  change  his  nature : 
Tne  man  that  hath  no  music  in  himseit. 
Nor  is  not  mov'd  with  concord  of  sweet  sounds, 
Is  fit  for  treasons,  stratairems,  and  spoils  ; 
The  motions  of  his  spirit  are  dull  as  night. 
And  his  affections  dark  as  Erebus : 
Let  no  such  man  be  trusted. — ^Mark  the  music. 

(1)  A  small  fi'*  dish,  used  in  the  administration 
of  the  Eucbarut. 


Enter  Portia  and  Nerissa,  oZ « t&atMM*. 

For.  That  light  wo  see,  is  burning  in  my  hall. 
How  far  that  little  candle  throws  his  beams  ! 
So  shines  a  good  deed  in  a  naughty  %vorld. 

AVr.  When  the  moon  shone,  we  did  not  see  tb? 
candle. 

For.  So  doth  the  greater  glorv-  dim  the  less  • 
A  substitute  shines  brightly  as  a  king, 
Until  a  king  be  by  ;  aird  then  his  state 
Empties  itself,  as'doUi  an  inland  brook 
Into  the  main  of  waters.    Music!  hark! 

A'er.  It  is  your  music,  madam,  of  the  house. 

For.  Nothing  is  good,  I  see,  wtiiout  respect; 
Methinks,  it  sounds  much  sweeter  than  by  day. 

J^'er,  Silence  bestows  that  virtue  on  it,  madara. 

For.  The  crow  doth  sing  as  sweetly  as  the  lark. 
When  neither  is  attended  ;  and,  I  think, 
The  nightingale,  if  she  should  sing  bv  day, 
When  every  goose  is  cackling,  would  be  thought 
No  better  a  musician  than  the  wren. 
How  manv  things  by  seaacn  season'd  are 
To  their  tight  praise',  and  true  perfection !— - 
Peace,  hoa !  the  moon  sleeps  with  Endymion, 
And  would  not  be  awak'd !  [J^lmic  ceases. 

Lor.  That  is  the  voice. 

Or  I  am  much  drcciv'd,  of  Portia. 

For.  He  knov,  s  me,  as  the  blind  man  knows  the 
cuckoo. 
By  the  bad  voice. 

Lcr.  Dear  lady,  welcome  home. 

For.   Wc  have  been  praying  for  our  husbands' 
welfare. 
Which  speed,  we  hope,  the  better  for  our  words. 
Are  they  rcturn'd  V 

Lor.  Madam,  they  are  not  yet ; 

But  there  is  come  a  messenger  before. 
To  signily  their  coming. 

For.  Go  in,  Nerissa, 

Give  order  to  my  servan(s,  that  thev  take 
No  note  at  all  of  our  beinir  absent  hence  ; — 
Nor  you,  Lorenzo  ; — Jessica,  nor  you. 

[.i  tucket^  sounds, 

Jj>r.  Your  husband  is  at  hand,  I  hear  his  trumpet: 
We  are  no  tell-tales,  madam  ;  fear  vou  noL 

For.  This  night,  methinks,  is  but  the  day-light 
sick. 
It  looks  a  little  paler ;  'tis  a  day, 
Such  as  the  day  is  when  the  sun  is  hid. 

£ji.'er  Bassanio,  Antonio,  Gratiano,  and  their 

jUtcioers. 
Bass.  We  should  hold  day  with  the  Antipodes, 
If  vou  would  walk  in  absence  of  the  sun. 
^  For.  Lei  me  give  light,  but  let  me  not  be  light ; 
For  a  lijiht  wife  doth  make  a  heavy  husband. 
And  never  be  Bassanio  so  for  me ; 
But  God  f  ort  all ! — Vou  are  welcome  home,  my  lord. 
Bass.   I  thank  you,  madam:   give  welcome  to 
my  friend. — 
This  is  the  man,  this  is  Antonio, 
To  whom  I  am  so  infinitely  bound. 
For.  You  should  in  all  sense  be  much  bound  to 
him, 
For,  as  I  hear,  he  was  much  bound  for  you. 
.int.  No  more  than  I  am  well  acquitted  of. 
For.  Sir,  you  are  very  welcome  to  our  house: 
H  must  appear  in  other  ways  than  words, 
Therefore.  I  scant  this  bredthinj  courtesy.' 

fGratiano  and  Nerissa  if  em  to  talk  apart. 
Gra.    By  yonder  moon,  I  swear,  you  do  ra« 
wrong  ; 

(2)  A  flourish  on  a  trumpet 

(3)  Verbal,  complimentary  form. 

2C 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


^etK 


In  faith,  ,  gave  it  to  the  judge's  clerk  : 
^yould  he  were  gelt  that  had  it,  for  my  part, 
Since  you  do  take  it,  love,  so  much  at  hcarL 

/*<>}•.  A  quarrel,  ho,  already  ?  what's  the  matter  ? 

Gra.  About  a  hoop  of  gold,  a  paltry  ring 
That  she  did  give  me ;  wnose  posy  was 
For  all  the  world,  like  cutler's  poetry 
Upon  a  knife,  Love  me,  and  leavt  me  not. 

M'er.  What  talk  you  of  the  posy,  or  the  value  ? 
You  swore  to  me,  when  I  did  give  it  you. 
That  you  would  wear  it  till  your  hour  of  death ; 
And  that  it  should  lie  with  you  in  your  grave : 
Though  not  for  me,  yet  for  your  vehement  oaths. 
You  snould  have  been  respective,'  and  have  kept  it. 
Gave  it  a  judce's  clerk  ! — ^but  well  I  know. 
The  clerk  will  ne'er  wear  hair  on  his  face,  that 
had  it. 

Gra.  He  will,  an  if  he  live  to  be  a  man. 

Ji'er.  Ay,  if  a  woman  live  to  be  a  man. 

Gra.  Now,  by  this  hand,  I  gave  it  to  a  youth, — 
A  kind  of  boy ;  a  little  scrubbed  boy, 
No  hiffhcr  than  thyself,  the  fudge's  clerk; 
A  prating  boy,  that  begg'd  it  as  a  fee  j 
I  could  not  for  my  heart  deny  it  him. 

Por.  You  were  to  blame,  I  must  be  plain  with  you. 
To  part  so  slightly  witli  your  wiie's  lirst  gift ; 
A  thing  stuck  on  with  oaiiis  upon  your  finger, 
And  riveted  so  with  faith  unto  vour  llesh. 
I  gave  my  love  a  ring,  and  made  him  swear 
Never  to  part  with  it ;  and  here  he  stands ; 
I  dare  be  sworn  for  him,  he  would  not  leave  it, 
Nor  pluck  it  from  his  fmgerj  for  the  wealth 
That  the  world  masters.    Now,  in  faith,  Gratiano, 
You  give  your  wife  too  unkind  a  cause  of  grief ; 
An  'twere  to  me,  I  should  be  mad  at  it. 

Bass.  Why,  I  were  best  to  cut  my  left  hand  off. 
And  swear,  I  lost  the  ring  defending  it.       [^iside. 

Gra,  My  lord  Bassanio  gave  his  ring  away 
Unto  the  judge  that  begg'd  it,  and,  indeed, 
Deserv'd  it  too ;  and  then  the  boy,  his  clerk. 
That  took  some  pains  in  writing,  he  begg'd  mine : 
And  neither  man,  nor  master,  would  take  aught 
But  the  two  rings. 

Por.  What  ring  gave  you,  my  lord  ? 

Not  that,  I  hope,  which  you  receiv'd  of  me. 

Bass.  If  I  could  add  a  lie  unto  a  fault, 
I  would  deny  it ;  but  you  see  my  finger 
Hath  not  the  ring  upon  it,  it  is  gone. 

Por.  Even  so  void  is  your  false  heart  of  truth. 
By  heaven,  I  will  ne'er  come  in  your  bed 
Until  I  see  the  ring. 

Jfer.  Nor  I  in  yours, 

Till  I  again  see  mine. 

Bass.  Sweet  Portia, 

If  you  did  know  to  whom  I  gave  the  ring, 
If  you  did  know  for  whom  I  gave  the  ring, 
And  would  conceive  for  what  I  giive  the  ring, 
And  how  unwillingly  I  left  the  ring. 
When  nought  would  be  accepted  but  the  ring. 
You  %vould  abate  the  strength  of  your  displeasure. 

Por.  If  you  had  known  the  virtue  of  the  ring, 
Or  half  her  worthiness  that  gave  the  ring. 
Or  your  own  honour  to  contain  the  rin?. 
You  would  not  then  have  parted  with  the  ring. 
What  man  is  there  so  much  unreasonable. 
If  you  had  pleas'd  to  have  defended  it, 
With  any  terms  of  zeal,  wanted  the  modesty 
To  urge  the  thing  held  as  a  ceremony  7 
Nerissa  teaches  me  what  to  believe  ;  < 

I'll  die  for't,  but  some  woman  had  the  ring. 

Bass.  No,  by  mine  honour,  mailam,  by  my  soul, 
No  woman  had  it,  but  a  civil  doctor, 


(I)  Regfardful, 


(2)  Advantage, 


Which  did  refuse  three  thousand  ducats  of  me, 

Arid  begg'd  the  ring ;  the  which  I  did  deny  him, 

And  suffer'd  him  to  so  displcas'd  away : 

Evcii  he  that  had  held  up  the  very  life 

Of  my  dear  friend.  What  should  I  say,  eweetlady? 

I  was  enforc'd  to  send  it  after  him  ; 

I  was  beset  with  shame  and  courtesy  ; 

My  honour  would  not  let  ingratitude 

So  much  besmear  it :  Pardon  me.  good  lady ; 

For,  by  these  blessed  candles  of  ine  night, 

Had  you  been  there,  I  think,  you  would  have  begg'd 

The  ring  of  me  to  give  the  worthy  doctor. 

Por.  Let  not  that  doctor  e'er  come  near  my 
house : 
Since  he  hath  got  the  jewel  that  I  lov'd. 
And  that  which  you  did  swear  to  keep  for  me, 
I  will  become  as  liberal  as  you  : 
I'll  not  deny  him  any  thing  I  have. 
No,  not  my  body,  nor  my  husband's  bed : 
Know  him  I  shall,  I  am  well  sure  of  it : 
Lie  not  a  night  from  home ;  watch  me  like  Argus : 
If  you  do  not,  if  1  be  left  alone, 
Now,  by  mine  honour,  which  is  yet  my  ownj 
I'll  have  that  doctor  for  my  bedfellow. 

A'er.  And  I  his  clerk ;  therefore  be  well  advis'd. 
How  you  do  leave  me  to  mine  own  protection. 

Gra.  Well,  do  you  so :  let  not  me  take  him  then ; 
For,  if  I  do,  I'll  mar  the  young  clerk's  pen. 

Jlnt.  I  am  the  unhappy  subject  of  these  quarrels. 

Por,   Sir,   grieve  not  you  ;  You  are  welcome 
notwithstanding. 

Bass.  Portia,  forgive  me  this  enforc'd  wrong ; 
And,  in  tlie  hearing  of  these  many  friends, 
I  swear  to  thee,  even  by  thine  own  fair  eyes. 
Wherein  I  see  myself, 

Por.  Mark  you  but  that ! 

In  both  my  eyes  he  doubly  sees  himself  : 
In  each  eye  one : — swear  by  your  double  self. 
And  there'd^n  oath  of  credit. 

Bass.  Nay,  but  hear  me  : 

Pardon  this  fault,  and  by  my  soul  I  swear, 
I  never  more  will  break  an  oath  with  thee. 

JInt.  I  once  did  lend  my  body  for  his  wealth ; 
Wluch,  but  for  him  that  had  your  husband's  ring, 

[To  Portia. 
Had  quite  miscarried :  I  dare  be  bound  again. 
My  soul  upon  the  forfeit,  that  your  lord 
Will  never  more  break  faith  adfvisedlv. 

Por.  Then  you  shall  be  his  surety :  Give  him  this ; 
And  bid  him  keep  it  better  than  the  other. 

•int.  Here,  lord  Bassanio ;  swear  to  keep  this 
ring. 

Bass.  By  heaven,  it  is  the  same  I  gave  the  doctor . 

Por.  I  had  it  of  him  :  pardon  me,  Bassanio ; 
For  by  this  ring  the  doctor  lay  with  mc. 

JSTer.  And  pardon  me,  my  gentle  Gratiano ; 
For  that  same  scrubbed  boy,  the  doctor's  clerk. 
In  lieu  of  this,  last  night  did  lie  with  me. 

Gra.  Why,  this  is  lilie  the  mending  of  highways 
In  summer,  where  the  ways  are  fair  enough  : 
What !  are  we  cuckolds,  "ere  we  have  deserved  it  ? 

Par.  Speak  not  so  grossly. — You  are  all  amaz'd  : 
Here  is  a  letter,  road  it  at  your  leisure ; 
It  comes  from  Padua,  from  Bellario : 
There  you  shall  find,  that  Portia  was  the  doctor ; 
Nerissa  there,  her  clerk  :  Lorenzo  here 
Shall  witness,  I  set  forth  as  soon  as  you. 
And  but  even  now  return'd  ;  I  have  not  yet 
Enter'd  my  house — Antonio,  you  arc  welcome ; 
And  I  have  better  news  in  store  for  you. 
Than  you  expect :  unseal  this  letter  soon ; 
There  you  shall,  three  of  your  argosies 
Are  richly  come  to  harbour  suddenly : 
You  shall  not  know  bv  what  strange  accident 


Se<n<f. 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


203 


I  chanced  on  this  letter. 

JInt.  I  am  dumb. 

Bass.  Were  you  the  doctor,  and  I  knew  you 
not? 

Gra.  'Were  you  the  clerk,  that  is  to  make  me 
cuckold  ? 

A'er.  Ay  ;  but  the  clerk  that  never  means  to  do  it. 
Unless  he'  live  until  he  be  a  man. 

Bass.  Sweet  doctor,  you  shall  be  my  bedfellow  ; 
When  I  am  absent,  then  lie  with  ray  wife. 

.in/.  Sweet  lady,  you  have  given  me  life,  and 
living ; 
For  here  I  read  for  certain,  th^t  my  ships 
Are  safely  come  to  road. 

Par.    '  How  now,  Lorenzo  ? 

Mv  clerk  hath  some  eood  comforts  too  for  you. 

.Ver.    Ay,    and  I'll  give  them  him  without  a 
fee. — 
There  do  I  give  to  you,  and  Jessica, 
From  the  rich  Jew^  a  special  deed  of  ri(% 
After  his  death,  of  all  he  dies  possess'd  of. 

Lor.  Fair  ladies,  you  drop  manna  in  the  way 
Of  starved  people. 

Per.  It  is  almost  mominsr. 

And  yet,  I  am  surCj  you  are  not  satisfied 
Of  these  events  at  full :  Let  us  go  in  ; 


And  charge  us  there  upon  intcrpatories, 
•  And  we  will  answer  all  things  faithfully. 

Gra.  Let  it  be  so :  The  iirst  intergatory, 
That  my  Nerissa  shall  be  sworn  on,  is, 
AVhether  till  the  next  night  she  had  rather  stay ; 
Or  go  to  bed  now,  being  two  hours  to  day : 
But  were  the  day  come,  I  should  wish  it  dark, 
I  That  I  were  couchin°;  with  the  doctor's  clerk. 
Well,  while  I  live,  I'll  fear  no  other  thing 
So  sore,  as  keeping  safe^erissa's  ring. 

[Exnmt, 


Of  the  Merchant  of  Venice  the  style  is  even  and 
easy,  with  few  peculiarities  of  diction,  or  anomalies 
of  construction.  The  comic  part  raises  laughter, 
and  the  serious  fixes  expectation.  The  probabilitv 
of  either  one  or  the  other  storv  cannot  be  main- 
tained. The  union  of  two  actTons  in  one  event  is 
in  this  drama  eminently  happy.  Dryden  was 
much  pleased  with  his  own  address  in  connecting 
the  two  plots  of  his  Spanish  Friar,  which  vet,  "1 
believe,  the  critic  will  find  excelled  by  this  play. 

JOHNSON.. 


s';^ 


m 


(    S04    ) 


AS   aUU  liIKE  IT. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


Duke,  livine  in  exile. 

Frederick,  orother  to  the  Duke,  and  usurper  of 

his  doitiijiions. 
Amiens,  }  lords  attending  upon  the  Duke  in  his 
Jaques,    J  banishment. 

Le  Beau,  a  courtier  altendins  upon  Frederick. 
Charles,  his  wrestler. 
Oliver,     ) 

Jaque^,    >  sons  of  sir  Rowland  de  Bois. 
Orlando,  > 

Dennis,  h«,""=««*'°OZi.er. 

Touchstone,  a  clown. 

Sir  Oliver  Mar-text,  a  vicar. 

SyhiXh*^'''^"-^- 


William,  a  country  fellow,  in  love  with  Audrey, 
Ji  person  representing  Hymen. 

Rosalind,  daughter  to  fjie  banished  Dukt. 
Celia,  daughter  to  Frederick. 
Phebc,  a  shepherdess. 
Audrey,  a  country  wench. 

Lords  belon^ng  to  the  two  Dukes ;  pages,  foresters, 
and  other  attendants. 

The  Scene  lies,  first,  near  Oliver''s  house;  aftsr-t 
wards,  partly  m  the  usurper's  court,  and  partly 

in  the  forest  ofJlrden. 


ACT  I. 

SCE^TE  I. — ^J»  orchard,  near  Oliver's  kous:. 
Enter  Orlando  and  Adam. 

Orlando. 

./xS  I  remember,  Adam,  it  was  upon  this  fashion 
bequeathed  me:  By  will,  but  a  poor  thousand 
crowns ;  and,  as  thou  say'st,  charged  my  brother, 
on  his  blessing,  to  breed  me  well :  and  there  be- 
gins my  sadness.  My  brother  Jaques  he  keeps  at 
school,  and  report  speaks  goldenly  of  his  profit : 
for  my  part,  he  keeps  me  rustically  at  home,  or,  to 
speak  more  properly,  stays  njg  htrc  at  home  un- 
kept :  For  call  you  that  keeping  for  a  ecntlcman 
of  my  birth,  that  diflers  not  from  tiie  stallinij  of  an 
ox?  His  horses  are  bred  belter;  for,  besides  that 
they  are  fair  with  their  feeding,  thev  are  taiicht 
their  manage,  and  to  that  end  riders  dearly  hired  : 
but  I,  his  brother,  gain  nothing  under  him  but 

frowth ;  for  the  which  his  animals  on  his  dung- 
ills  are  as  much  bound  to  him  as  I.  Be^tides  this 
nothing  that  he  so  plentifully  gives  me,  the  some- 
thing that  nature  jjavc  mc,  his  countenance  seems 
to  take  from  me :  he  lets  me  feed  with  his  hinds, 
bars  me  the  place  of  a  brother,  and,  as  much  as 
in  hiin  lies,  mines  my  gentility  with  isiy  education. 
This  is  it,  Adam,  that  grieves  me ;  and  the  spirit 
of  my  father,  which  I  think  is  within  me,  beains 
to  mutiny  against  this  servitude  :  1  will  no  longrer 
endure  it,  though  yet  I  know  no  wise  remedy  how 
to  avoid  it 

Enter  Oliver. 

^'Jdoin.  Yonder  comes  my  master,  your  brother. 

Orl.  Go  apart,  Adam,  and  thou  shall  hear  how 
he  will  shake  me  up. 

Oli.  NoWjsir!  what  make  you  here?' 

Orl.  Nothmg :  I  am  not  taught  to  make  any  thin?. 

M)  What  do  you  here? 

(2)  Villain  is" used  in  a  double  sense ;  by  Oliver 
for  a  worthless  fellow,  and  by  Orlando  for  a  man 
of  base  extraction. 


Oli.  What  mar  you  then,  sir  ? 

Oi-l.  Marry,  sir,"  I  am  helping  you  to  mar  that 
which  God  made,  a  poor  u.iWort!iy  brothel-  of 
yours,  with  idleness. 

Oli.  Marry,  sir,  be  belter  cmploy'd,  and  be 
naught  a  while. 

Orl.  Shall  I  keep  your  hogs,  and  eat  husks  with 
them  ?  What  prodiojal  portion  have  I  spent,  that  I 
should  come  to  such  penury? 

Oli.  Know  you  where  you  are,  sir? 

Orl.  O,  sir,  very  well :  here  in  your  orchard. 

Oli.  Know  you  before  Mhom,  sfr? 

Orl.  Ay,  belter  than  he  I  am  before  knows  me. 
I  know  vou  are  my  eldest  brother,  and,  in  the  gen- 
tle condition  of  Mood,  you  should  so  know  me  • 
Tiie  courtesy  of  nations'allows  you  mv  better,  in 
that  you  are  the  first-born  ;  but  the  same  tradition 
takes  not  away  my  blood,  were  there  twenty  bro- 
thers betwixt  us :  'I  have  as  niucli  of  my  father  in 
me,  as  you  ;  albeit,  I  confess,  your  coming  before 
me  is  nearer  to  his  reverence. 
I     on.  Wiiat,  boy ! 

Orl.  Coinc,  come,  elder  brother,  you  are  too 
young  in  this. 

on.  Wilt  thou  lay  hands  on  me,  villain  ? 

Orl.  I  am  no  villain  :^  I  am  the  voiinffest  son  of 
sir  Rowland  de  Bois;  he  was  my  "father;  and  he 
is  thrice  a  villain,  that  says,  such  a  father  begot 
villains:  Wert  thou  not  ray  brother,  I  would  not 
take  this  hand  from  thy  throat,  till  this  other  had 
pulled  out  thj  tongue  for  saying  so ;  thou  hast  rail- 
ed  on  Ihyselt. 

Mam.  Sweet  masters,  be  patient;  for  vourfa* 
thcr's  remembrance,  be  at  accord. 

Oli,  Let  me  go,  I  say. 

Orl.  I  will  not,  till  I  please :  you  shall  hear  me. 
My  father  charged  you  in  his  will  to  eive  me  good 
etUication  :  vou  have  trained  me  like  a  peasant,  ob- 
scuring and  hiding  from  me  all  genlleman-like 
qualities :  the  spirit  of  my  father  grows  strong  in 
me,  and  I  will  no  longer  endure  it :  therefore  allow 
me  such  exercises  as  may  become  a  sentleman,  oi 
give  me  the  poor  allottery  my  father  left  me  by  te* 


Scene  IL 


AS  YOU  Ll^E  If. 


tament ;  with  that  1  will  go  buy  my  fortunes. 

Oli.  And  what  wilt  thou  do  ?  beg,  when  that  is 
spent  7  Well,  sir,  get  you  in :  I  will  not  long  be 
troubled  with  you:  you  shall  have  some  part  of 
your  will :  I  pray  you,  leave  me. 

Orl,  I  will  no  "further  offend  you  than  becomes 
me  for  my  good. 

Oli.  Get  you  with  lum,  you  old  dog. 

Mam.  Is  old  dog  my  reward? "Most  true,  I 
have  lost  my  teeth  in  your  service. — God  be  with 
my  old  master,  he  would  not  have  spoke  such  a 
word.  [Exeunt  Orlando  and  Adam 


and  have  by  underhand  means  labbured  to  dissuade 
him  from  it;  but  he  is  resolute.  I'll  tell  thee, 
Charles, — it  is  the  stubbornest  young  fellow  of 
P" ranee ;  full  of  ambition,  an  envious  emulator  of 
every  man's  good  parts,  a  secret  and  villanons 
contriver  against  me  his  natural  brothcf ;  Ihere-i 
fore  use  thy  discretion ;  I  had  as  lief  then  didst 
break  his  neck  as  his  fins;er :  And  thou  wert  best 
look  to't  •  for  if  thou  dost  him  any  slight  disgrace, 
or  if  he  do  not  mightily  grace  himself  on  thee,  he 
will  practise  agamst  thee  by  poison,  entrap  thee  bv 
some  treacherous  device,  and  never  leave  thee  till 


Oli.  Is  it  even  so  ?  begin  you  to  grow  upon  me  ?  he  hath  ta'en  thy  life  by  some  indirect  means  or 

I  will  physic  your  rankncss,  and  yet  give  no  thou-  other:  for,  I  assure  thee,  and  almost  with  tears  I 

"  "     '"^       ■  ■  speak  it,  there  is  not  one  so  young  and  so  villanous 

this  day  living.    I  speak  but  brotherly  of  him: 

but  should  I  anatomize  him  to  thee  as  he  is,  I 


sand  cro»vns  neither. — Holla,  Dennis ! 
Enter  Dennis, 


Den.  Calls  your  worship  ? 

Oli.  Was  not  Charles,  the  Duke's  wrestler,  here 
to  speak  with  me  ? 

Den.  So  please  you,  he  is  here  at  the  door,  and 
importunes  access  to  you. 

Oli.  Call  him  in.  [Exit  Dennis.]— 'Twill  be  a 
good  way ;  and  to-morrow  the  wrestling  is. 

Enter  Charles. 

Cha,  Good  morrow  to  vour  worship. 

Oli.  Good  monsieur  Charles !  what's  the  new 
news  at  the  new  court? 

Cha.  There's  no  news  at  the  court,  sir,  but  the 
old  news :  that  is,  the  old  duke  is  banished  by  his 
Younger  brother  the  new  duke ;  and  three  or  four 
loving  lords  have  put  themselves  into  Toluntafy 
exile  with  him,  whose  lands  and  revenues  enrich 
the  new  duke ;  therefore  he  gives  them  good  leave' 
to  wander. 

Oli.  Can  you  tell,  if  Rosalind,  the  duke's  daugh- 
ter, be  banished  with  her  father? 

Cka.  O,  no  ;  for  the  duke's  daughter,  her  cousin, 
so  loves  her, — being  ever  from  their  cradies  bred 
together, — that  she  would  have  followed  her  exile, 


must  blush  and  weep,  and  thou  must  look  pal6 
and  wonder. 

Cha.  I  am  heartily  glad  I  came  hithsr  to  you: 
If  he  come  to-morrow,  I'll  give  him  his  paymeht : 
If  ever  he  go  alone  again,  I'll  never  wrestle  for 
prize  more :  And  so,  God  keep  your  worship ! 

[Exit. 

OH.  Farewell,  good  Charles. — Now  will  I  stir 
Ihis  gamester:*  I  hope,  I  shall  see  an  end  of  him ; 
for  my  soul,  yet  I  know  not  why,  hates  nothing 
more  than  he.  Yet  he's  gentle ;  never  school'd, 
and  yet  learned  :  full  of  noble  device ;  of  all  sorts' 
enchantingly  beloved ;  and,  indeed,  so  much  in 
the  heart  of  the  world,  and  especially  of  my  own 
people,  who  best  know  him,  that  I  am  altogether 
misprized :  but  it  shall  not  be  so  long ;  this  wrestler 
shall  clear  all :  nothing  remains,  but  that  I  kindle 
the  boy  thither,  which  now  I'll  go  about.      [mtU. 

SCE,YE  II.— Ji  lawn  before  the  Duke's  palace. 
Enter  Rosalind  and  Celia. 

Cel.  I  pray  thee,  Rosalind,  sweet  my  coz,  be 
mfrry. 
Ros.  Dear  Cclia,  I  show  more  mirth  than  I  am 


or" have  died  to  stay  behind  her.  She  is  at  thelmistrcss  of;  and  would  you  yet  I  were  merrier? 
court,  and  no  less  beloved  of  her  uncle  than  his! Unless  you  could  teach  me  to  forget  a  banished 
own  daughter;    and  never  two  ladies  loved  as  I  father,  you  must  not  learn  me  how  to  remember 


thev  do. 

Oli.  Where  will  the  ola  duke  live  ? 


Cha.  They  say,  he  is  already  in  the  forest  ofjfull  weight  that  I  love  thee:  if  my  uncle,  thy  ba- 


Arden,  and  a  many  merrv  men  with  him ;  and 
there  they  live  like  the  old  Robin  Hood  of  England  : 
they  say,  many  youn^  gentlemen  flock  to  him  cvtry 
day ;  and  fleet  the  time  carelessly,  as  they  did  in 
the  golden  world. 

Oli.  What,  you  wrestle  to-morrow  before  the 
new  duke  ?  , 

Cha.  Marry,  do  I,  sir ;  and  I  carne  to  acqiiaint 
you  with  a  matter.  I  am  given,  sir,  secretly  to 
understand,  that  your  younger  brother,  Orlando, 
hath  a  disposition  to  come  in  dlsguis'd  acrainst  mc 
to  try  a  fall :  To-morrow,  sir,  I  wrestle  for  my 
credit :  and  he  that  ccaoes  me  without  some  brn 


any  extraordinary  pleasure. 

Cel.  Herein,  t&ve,  thou  lovest  me  net  with  the 


nished  fatiicr,  had  banished  thy  uncle,  the  duke 
my  father,  so  thou  hads't  been  still  with  me,  t  could 
have  tauaht  nsy  love  fo  take  th}'  father  for  mine ; 
so  would'st  thou,  if  the  truth  of  thy  love  to  ma 
were  so  ricrhloously  temperd  as  mine  is  to  thee. 

Ros.  ^V"ell,  I  will  forget  the  condition  of  my  es- 
tate, to  rejoice  in  }'ours. 

Cd.  You  know,  my  father  hafh  no  child  but  I, 
nor  none  is  like  to  have  ;  and,  truly,  when  he  dies, 
thou  shalt  be  his  heir:  for  what  lie  hath  taken 
away  from  thy  father  perforce,  I  will  render  the* 
again  in  affection ;  by  mine  honour,  I  will ;  and 
when  I  break  that  oath,  let  me  turn  monster :  there- 


ken  limb  shall  acquit  him  well.    Your  brother  is  i  fere,  my  sweet  Rose,  my  dear  Rose,  be  merry, 


but  young,  and  tender;  and,  for  your  love,  I  would 
be  loath  to  foil  him,  as  I  must,  for  my  own  honour, 
if  he  come  in :  therefore,  out  of  mv  love  to  you,  I 
came  hither  to  acquaint  you  withal;  that  either 
you  might  stay  him  from  his  intendment,  or  brook 
•nch  disgrace  well  as  he  shall  nm  into ;  in  that  it 
is  a  tiling  of  his  own  search,  and  altogether  against 
my  will. 

Oli.  Charles,  I  thank  thee  for  thy  love  to  me, 
which  thou  shalt  find  I  will  most  kindly  requite.  1 
}iad  myself  notice  of  my  brother's  purpose  herein, 

(1)  A  read;  wsent,     ^2)  FroUeksomc  r«U«w, 


Ros.  From  henceforth  I  will,  coz,  and  devise 
sports :  let  me  see ;  What  think  you  of  falling  in 
love  ? 

Cel.  Marry,  I  pr'ythee,  do,  to  make  sport  withal : 
but  love  no  man  in  good  earnest ;  nor  no  further  in 
tport  neither,  than  with  safety  of  a  pure  blush  thou 
mav'st  in  honour  come  ofi' again. 

Ros.  What  shall  be  our  snort  then  ? 

Cel.  Let  us  sit  and  mock  the  good  housewife. 
Fortune,  from  her  wheel,  that  her  gifts  may  kenoc* 
forth  be  bestowed  equally. 

(3)  OftUrenlu 


AS  YOU  LIK£  IT. 


AetL 


Ros.  I  would,  Tve  could  do  so ;  for  her  benefits 
are  mightily  misplaced :  and  the  bountiful  blind 
woman  doth  most  mistake  in  her  gifts  to  women. 

C'i.  'Tis  true  :  for  those,  that  she  makes  fair,  she 
scarce  maKes  nonesi ;  ana  mose,  that  she  makes 
honest,  she  makes  very  ill-fav')ur'dly 


Ros.  As  wit  and  fortune  will. 

Touch.  Or  as  the  destinies  decree. 

Cel.  Well  said  ;  that  was  laid  on  with  a  trowel. 

Touch.  Nay,  il  I  keep  not  my  rank, 

Jios.  Thou  losest  thy  old  smell. 

Le  Beau.  You  amaze^  me,  ladies :  I  would  have 


Ros.  Nay,  now  thou  goest  from  fortune's  office  i  told  you  of  good  wrestling',  which  you  have  lost  the 


to  nature's :  fortune  reigns  in  gifts  of  tlic  world, 
uot  in  the  lineaments  of  nature. 

Enter  Touchstone. 

Ctl.  No  ?  ^Vhcn  nature  hath  made  a  fair  crea- 
ture, may  she  not  by  fortune  fall  into  tha  fire ! — 
Though  nature  hath  given  us  wit  to  flout  at  for- 
tune, hath  not  fortune  sent  in  this  fool  to  cut  oil 
the  argument? 

Ros.  Indeed,  there  is  fortune  too  hard  for  nature  ; 
when  fortune  makes  nature's  natural  the  cutter  off 
of  nature's  wit. 

Cel.  Pe;  adventure,  this  is  not  fortune's  work 
neither,  but  nature's  ;  who  perceiving  our  natural 
wits  too  dull  to  reason  of  sucli  goddesses,  hath  sent 
this  natural  for  our  whetstone :  for  always  the  dull- 
ness of  the  fool  is  the  whetstone  of  his  wits. — How 
now,  wit  ?  whither  wander  you  ? 

Toiick.  Mistress,  you  must  come  away  to  your 
father. 

Ctl.  Were  you  made  the  messenger  ? 

Touch.  No,  by  mine  honour  ;  but  I  was  bid  to 
come  for  you. 

Ros.  W  here  learned  yon  that  oath,  fool  ? 

Touch.  Of  a  certain  knight,  that  swore  by  his 
honour  they  were  good  pancakes,  and  swore  by  his 
honour  tlic  mustard  was  naught :  now,  I'll  stand  to 
it,  the  pancakes  were  naught,  and  the  mustard  was 
good:  and  yet  was  not  the  knight  forsworn. 

Cel.  How  prove  you  that,  in  the  great  heap  of 
your  knowledge  ? 

Ros.  Ay,  marry ;  now  unmuzzle  your  wisdom. 

Touch.  Stand  vou  both  forth  now  :  stroke  your 
chins,  and  swear  by  your  beards  that  I  am  a  knave. 

Cel.  By  our  beards,  if  we  had  them,  thou  art. 

Touch.  By  my  knavery,  if  I  had  it,  then  I  were : 
but  if  you  swear  by  that  that  is  not,  you  are  not 
forsworn  :  no  more  was  this  knight,  swearing  by 
his  honour,  for  he  never  had  any ;  or  if  he  had,  he 
had  sworn  it  away,  before  ever  he  saw  tljose  pan- 
cakes or  that  mustard. 

Cel.  Pr'ythee,  who  is't  that  thou  mean'st? 

Touch.  One  that  old  Frederick,  your  father,  loves. 

Cel.  My  father's  love  is  enough  to  honour  him. — 
Enough !  speak  no  more  of  him :  you'll  be  whipp'd 
for  taxation,'  one  of  these  days. 

Touch.  The  more  pity,  that  fools  may  not  speak 
wisely,  what  wise  men  do  foolishly. 

Cel.  By  my  troth,  thou  say'st  true :  for  since  the 
little  wit,  that  fools  have,  was  silenced,  the  little 
foolery,  that  wise  men  have,  makes  a  great  show. 
Here  comes  monsieur  Le  Beau. 

Enter  Le  Beau. 

Ros.  With  his  mouth  full  of  news. 

Cel.  Which  he  will  put  on  us,  as  pigeons  feed 
their  young. 

Ros.  Then  shall  we  be  news-cramm'd. 

Cel.  All  the  better ;  we  shall  be  the  more  mar- 
ketable. Bon  jour,  monsieur  Le  Beau :  What's 
the  news  ? 

Le  Beau.  Fair  princess,  you  have  lost  milch 
grood  sport. 

Cel.  Of  what  colour? 


_ht  of. 

~Ros.  Yet  tell  us  the  manner  of  the  wrestling. 

Le  Beau.  I  vAW  tell  you  the  beginning,  and,  if  it 
please  your  ladyships,  you  may  see  the  end  ;  for  the 
best  is  yet  to  do  ;  and  here,  where  you  are,  they 
are  coming  to  perform  it. 

Cel.  Well, — the  beginning,  that  is  dead  and 
buried. 

Le  Beau.  There  comes  an  old  man,  and  his 
throe  sons, 

Cel.  I  could  match  this  beginning  with  an  old  tale. 

Le  Beau.  Three  proper  young  men,  of  excellent 
growth  and  presence  ; - 

Ros.  With  bills  on  their  necks, — JSe  it  knoicn 
unto  all  men  by  these  presents. 

Le  Beau.  The  eldest  of  the  three  wrestled  with 
Charles,  the  duke's  wrestler ;  which  Charles  in  a 
moment  threw  him,  and  broke  three  of  his  ribs, 
that  there  is  little  hope  of  life  in  him  :  so  he  served 
the  second,  and  so  the  third  :  Yonder  they  lie ;  the 
poor  old  man,  their  father,  making  such  pitiful 
dole  over  them,  that  all  the  beholders  take  his  part 
with  weeping. 

Ros.  Alas ! 

Touch.  But  what  is  the  sport,  monsieur,  that 
the  ladies  have  lost  ? 

Le  Beau.  Why,  this  that  I  speak  of. 

Touch.  Thus  men  may  grow  wiser  every  day 
it  is  the  first  time  that  ever  I  heard,  breaking  ot 
ribs  was  sport  for  ladies. 

Cel.  Or  I,  I  promise  thee. 

i?o5.  Butis  there  any  else  longs  to  see  this  broke 
music  in  his  sides  ?  is  there  yet  another  dotes  upon 
rib-breaking  ? — Shall  we  see  this  wrestling,  cousin  ? 

Le  Beau.  Y'ou  must,  if  you  stay  here  ;  for  here 
is  the  place  appointed  for  the  wrestling,  and  they 
are  ready  to  perform  it. 

Cel.  Yonder,  sure,  they  are  coming :  Let  us  now 
stay  and  see  it 

Flourish.    Enter  Duke  Frederick,  Lords,  Orlando, 
Charles,  and  attendants. 

Duke  F.  Come  on ;  since  the  youth  will  not  be 
entreated,  his  o^vn  peril  on  his  forwardness. 

Ros.  Is  yonder  the  man  ? 

Le  Beau.  Even  he,  madam. 

Cel.  Alas,  he  b  too  \  oung :  yet  he  looks  suc- 
cessfully. 

Duke  F.  How  now,  daughter,  and  cousin?  are 
you  crept  hither  to  s(,e  the  wrestling  ? 

Ros.  Ay,  my  liege  ?  so  please  you  give  us  leave. 

Duke  F.  You  will  take  little  delight  in  it,  I  can 
tell  you,  there  is  such  odds  in  the  men  :  In  pity  ot 
the  challenger's  youth,  I  would  fain  dissuade  him, 
but  lie  will  not  be  entreated :  Speak  to  him,  ladies  : 
see  if  you  can  move  him. 

Cel.  Call  him  hither,  good  monsieur  Le  Beau. 

Duke  F.  Do  so ;  I'll  not  be  by. 

[Duke  goes  apart. 

Le  Beau.  Monsieur  the  challenger,  the  prin- 
cesses call  for  you. 

OrL  I  attend  them,  with  all  respect  and  duty. 

Ros.  Young  man,  have  you  challenged  Charles 


LeJSeou.  What  colour,  madam?   How  shall! ,  *°",''e^tlcr  ? 
vuweryou?  |     ^"'  ^°>  ''^""  pnucess  ;  he  is  the  general  chal- 

ilenger:   I  come  but  in,  as  others  do,  to  try  with 
(I)  Satire.         (2)  Perplex,  confuse.  'him  the  strength  of  my  youth. 


Seene  lit. 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


S97 


Cel.  Young  gentleman,  your  spirits  are  too  bold 
for  your  years  :  You  have  seen  cruel  proof  of  this 
man's  strength:  if  you  saw  yourself  with  your  eyes, 
or  knew  yourself  with  your  judgment,  the  fear 
of  your  adventure  would  counsel  you  to  a  more 
equal  enterprise.  We  pray  you,  for  your  own 
sake,  to  embrace  your  own  safetj-,  and  give  over 
this  attempt. 

Ros.  Do,  young  sir;  your  reputation  shall  not 
therefore  be  misprized ;  we  will  make  it  our  suit  to 
the  duke,  that  the  wrestlinsr  might  not  go  forward. 
Oil.  1  beseech  yo^i,  punish  me  not  with  your 
hard  thouirhts  ;  wherein  I  confess  me  much  guilty, 
to  deny  so" fair  and  excellent  ladies  any  thing.  But 
let  vour  fair  eyes,  and  gentle  wifihcs,  go  with  me 
to  mv  trial :  wherein  if  I  be  foiled,  Ihcre  is  but 
one  sliamed  that  was  never  gracious  ;  if  killed,  but 
one  dead  that  is  willing  to  be  so :  I  shall  do  my 
friends  no  %vrong,  for  T have  none  to  lament  me  ; 
the  world  no  injury,  for  in  it  I  have  nothing  ;  only 
in  the  world  I  till  up  a  place,  which  may  be  better 
supplied  when  1  have  made  it  empty. 

Ros.  The  little  strength  that  I  have,  I  would  it 
were  with  you. 

Cel.  Ana  mine,  to  eke  out  hers. 
Ros.   Fare  you  well. — Pray  heaven,  I  be  dc' 
ceived  in  you ! 

Cei,  Your  heart's  desires  be  with  you  ! 
Cha,  Come,  where  is  this  young  gallant,  that  is 
so  desirous  to  lie  with  his  mother  earth  ? 

Orl.  Ready,  sir  ;  but  his  will  hath  in  it  a  more 
modest  working. 

Duke  F.  You  shall  try  but  one  fall. 
Cha.  No,  I  warrant  your  grace  ;  you  shall  not 
entreat  him  to  a  second,  that  nave  so  mightily  per- 
suaded him  from  a  first. 

Orl.  You  mean  to  mock  me  after ;  you  should 
not  have  mocked  me  before :  but  come  your  ways. 
Ros.  Now,  Hercules  be  thy  speed,  young  man  ! 
Cel.  I  would  I  were  invisilile,  to  catch  the  strong 
fellow  by  the  leg.      [Charles  and  Orlando  wrestle. 
Ros.  0  excellent  young  man  ! 
Cel.  If  I  had  a  thunderbolt  in  mine  eye,  I  can 
tell  who  should  down.  [Charles  is  thrown.    Shout. 
Duke  F.  No  more,  no  more. 
Orl.  Yes,  I  beseech  your  grace ;  I  am  not  yet 
well  breathed. 
Duke  F.  How  dost  thou,  Charles  ? 
Le  Beau.  He  cannot  speak,  my  lord. 
Duke  F.  Bear  him  away.  [Charles  is  bomie  out.] 
What  is  thy  name  young  man  ? 

Orl.  Orlando,    my  liege ;  the  youngest  son  of 
sir  Rowland  de  Bois. 
Duke  F.  I  would,  thou  hadst  been  son  to  some 
man  else. 
The  world  esteem'd  thy  father  honourable, 
But  I  did  find  him  still  mine  enemy  : 
Thou  should'st  have  better  pleas'd  me  with  this 

deed, 
Hadst  thou  descended  from  another  house. 
But  fare  thee  well ;  thou  art  a  gallant  youth ; 
I  would,  thou  hadst  told  me  of  another  father. 

[Exeunt  Duke  Fred,  train,  and  Le  Beau. 
Cel.  Were  I  my  father,  coz,  would  I  do  this  ? 
Orl.  I  am  more  proud  to  be  sir  Rowland's  son. 
His  youngest  son ; — and  would  not  change  that 

calling.' 
To  be  adopted  neir  to  Frederick. 

Ros.  My  father  lov'd  sir  Rowland  as  his  soul. 
And  all  the  world  was  of  my  father's  mind  : 
Had  I  before  known  this  young  man  his  son, 

il)  Appellation.    (2)  Turned  out  of  her  service. 
S)  Tne  object  to  oart  at  in  martial  exercises. 


I  should  hare  given  him  tears  unto  entreaties. 
Ere  he  should  thus  have  ventur'd. 

Cel.  Gentle  cousin, 

Let  us  go  thank  him,  and  encourage  him : 
My  father's  rough  and  envious  disposition 
Sticks  me  at  heart. — Sir,  you  have  well  desenr'd : 
If  you  do  keep  your  promises  in  love, 
But  justly,  as  you  have  exceeded  promise, 
Your  mistress  shall  be  happy. 

Ros.  Gentleman, 

[Giving  him  a  chain  from  her  neck. 
Wear  this  for  me  ;  one  out  of  suits  with  fortune  ;* 
That  could  give  more,  but  that  her  hand  lacks 

means. — 
Shall  we  go,  coz  ? 

Cel.  Ay: — Fare  you  well,  fair  gentleman. 

Orl.  Can  I  not  say,  I  thank  you  ?  Mv  better  parts 
Arc  all  thrown  down  ;  and  that  which  here  stands 
Is  l)ut  a  quintain,^  a  mere  lifeless  block.  [up, 

Ros.  He  calls  us  back :  My  pride  fell  with  my 
fortunes : 
I'll  ask  him  what  he  would : — Did  you  call,  sir? 
Sir,  you  have  wrestled  well,  and  overthrown 
More  than  your  enemies. 

Cel.  Will  you  go,  coz  ? 

Ros.  Have  with  you  : — Fare  you  well. 

[Exeunt  Rosalind  and!  Celia. 

Orl.  What  passion  hangs  these  weights  upoo 
my  tongue  ? 
I  cannot  speak  to  her,  yet  she  urg'd  conference. 

Re-enter  Le  Beau. 


0  poor  Orlando !  thou  art  overthrown  ; 

Or  Charles,  or  something  weaker,  masters  thee. 

Le  Beau.  Good  sir,  I  do  in  friendship  counsel  you 
To  leave  this  place  :  Albeit,  you  have  deserv'd 
High  commendation,  true  applause,  and  love ; 
Yet  such  is  now  the  duke's  condition,* 
That  he  misconstrues  all  that  you  have  done. 
The  duke  is  humorous  :  what  he  is,  indeed. 
More  suits  you  to  conceive,  than  me  to  speak  of. 

Ori.  I  thank  you,  sir:  and,  pray  you,  tell  me  this; 
Which  of  the  two  was  daughter  of  the  duke 
That  here  was  at  the  wrestling  ? 

Le  Beau.  Neither  his  daughter,  if  we  judge  by 
manners ; 
But  yet,  indeed,  the  shorter  is  his  daughter: 
The  other  is  daughter  to  the  banish'd  duke. 
And  here  dctain'd  by  her  usurping  uncle. 
To  keep  his  daughter  company  ;  whose  loves 
Are  dearer  than  the  natural  bond  of  sisters. 
But  I  can  tell  you,  that  of  late  this  duke 
Hath  ta'en  displeasure  'gainst  his  gentle  niece  5 
Grounded  upon  no  other  argument. 
But  that  the  people  praise  Her  for  her  virtues, 
And  pity  her  for  her  good  father's  sake  ; 
And,  on  my  life,  his  malice  'gainst  the  ladv 
Will  suddenly  break  forth. — Sir,  fare  you  veil ; 
Hereaft^'.r,  in  a  belter  world  than  this, 

1  shall  desire  more  love  and  knowledge  of  you. 

Orl.  I  rest  much  bounden  to  you ;  fare  you  well ! 
[Exit  he  Beau. 
Thus  must  I  from  the  smoke  into  the  smother  ; 
From  tyrant  duke,  unto  a  tyrant  brother : — 
But  heavenly  Rosalind!  '    [Exit. 

SCEJ^E   JIL—Jl  room  in  the  palace.     Enter 
Celia  and  Rosalind. 

Cel.  Whv,  cousin ;  why,  Rosalind ; — Cupid  have 
mercy ! — Not  a  word  ? 
Ros.  Not  one  to  throw  at  a  dog. 
Cel.  No,  thy  words  are  too  precious  to  be  cast 

(4)  Temper,  disposition. 


^m 


kh  Y6\j  LIKE  tt. 


^t: 


away  apdii  turs,  throw  sdme  of  them  at  me ;  come, 
lame  mc  with  reasons. 

Ros.  Then  there  were  two  cousins  laid  up ;  when 
the  one  should  be  lamed  with  reasons,  and  the  other 
mad  without  any. 

Cel.  But  is  all  this  for  your  father  ? 

Ros.  No,  some  of  it  for  my  child's  father:  O, 
how  full  of  briers  is  this  working-day  world ! 

Cel.  They  are  but  burs,  cousin,  thrown  upon 
thee  in  holiday  foolery;  if  we  walk  not  in  the 
trodden  paths,  our  very  petticoats  will  catch  them. 

Ros.  I  could  shake  tiiem  oif  my  coat ;  these  burs 
are  in  my  heart. 

Cd.  flcm  them  away. 

Ros.  I  would  try ;  if  I  could  cry  hem,  and  have 
him. 

Cel.  Come,  come,  Avrestle  with  thy  alTections. 

Ros.  O,  they  take  the  part  of  a  better  wrestler 
than  myself. 

Cel.  0,  a  ^ood  wish  upon  you !  you  will  try  in 
time,  in  despite  of  a  fall. — But,  turning  these  jests 
out  of  service,  let  us  talk  in  good  earnest :  Is  it  pos- 
sible, on  such  a  sudden,  you  should  fall  into  so 
strong  a  likinj^  with  old  sir  Rowland's  youngest  son  ? 

Ros.  The  duke  my  father  lov'd  his  father  dearly. 

Cel.  Doth  it  therefore  ensue,  that  you  should 
lore  his  son  dearly?  By  this  kind  of  chase,  I  should 
hate  him,  for  my  father  hated  his  father  dearly ; ' 
yet  I  hate  not  Orlando. 

Ros.  No,  'faith,  hate  him  not,  for  my  sake. 

Cel.  Why  should  I  not  ?  doth  he  not  deserve  well  ? 

Ros.  Let  me  love  him  for  that ;  and  do  you  love 
him,  because  I  do : — Look,  here  comes  the  duke. 

Cel.  With  his  eyes  full  of  anger. 

Enter  Duke  Frederick,  with  lords. 

Duke  F.  Mistress,  despatch  you  with  your  safest 
haste, 
And  get  you  from  our  court. 

Ros.  RIe,  uncle  ? 

Duke  F.  You,  cousin  ; 

Within  these  ten  days  if  that  thou  be'st  found 
So  near  our  public  court  as  twenty  miles, 
Thou  diest  for  it. 

Ros.  I  do  beseech  vour  ^ace. 

Let  me  the  knowledge  of  my  fauft  bear  v.ilh  me : 
If  with  myself  I  hold  intelli;jcnce. 
Or  have  acquaintance  with  mine  own  desires  ; 
If  that  I  do  not  dream,  or  be  not  frantic, 
(As  I  do  trust  I  am  not,)  then,  dear  uncle, 
Never,  so  much  as  in  a  thought  unborn. 
Did  I  offend  your  highness. 

Diike  F.  Thus  do  all  traitors ; 

If  their  purgation  did  consist  in  words, 
Thev  are  as  innocent  as  prace  itself: — 
Let  it  suffice  thee,  that  I  trust  thee  not. 

Ros.  Yet  your  mistrust  cannot  make  me  a  traitor ; 
Tell  me,  whereon  the  likelihood  depends. 

Duke  F.  Thou  art  thy  father's  daughter,  there's 
enough. 

Ros.   So  was  I,  when  your  highness  took  his 
dukedom ; 
So  was  1,  when  your  highness  banish'd  him ; 
'  Treason  is  not  inheritet^  my  lord  ; 
Or,  if  we  did  derive  it  from  our  friends, 
What's  that  to  me  ?  my  father  was  no  traitor : 
Then,  jrood  my  liege,  mistake  mc  not  so  much. 
To  think  my  poverty  is  treacherous. 

Cel.  Dear  sovercisrn,  hear  me  speak. 

Duke  F.  Ay,  Celia ;  we  stay'd  her  for  your  sake. 
Else  had  she  with  her  father  rang'd  along. 

in  Inveterately,  (2)  Compassic>iu 

S)  A  duskjr,  jrsltoW'esloured  earlh. 


Cel.  I  did  not  then  ehtreat  to  hare  her  stay. 
It  was  your  pleasure,  and  your  own  remorse  ;• 
I  was  too  young  that  time  to  value  her. 
But  now  I  know  her:  if  she  be  a  traitor. 
Why  so  am  I ;  We  still  have  slept  together. 
Rose  at  an  instant,  learn'd,  play'd,  eat  together; 
And  wheresoe'er  we  went,  like  Juno's  swans, 
Slill  we  went  coupled,  and  inseparable. 

Duke  F.   She  is  too  subtle  for  thee ;  iJii  hfcr 
smoothness, 
Her  very  silence,  and  her  patience, 
Speak  to  the  people,  and  they  pity  her. 
Thou  art  a  fool :  she  robs  thee  of  thy  name ; 
And  thou  wilt  show  more  bright,  and  seem  mort 

virtuous. 
When  she  is  gone :  then  open  not  thy  lips  ; 
Finn  and  irrevocable  is  my  doom 
Which  I  have  pass'd  upon  her ;  she  is  banished. 

Cel.  Pronounce  that  sentence  then  on  mc,  my 
liege ; 
I  cannot  live  out  of  her  company. 

Duke  F.  You  are  a  fool :— You,  niece,  providft 
yourself; 
If  you  out-stay  the  time,  upon  mine  honour, 
And  in  the  greatness  of  mv  word,  you  die. 

[Exennl  Duke  Frederick  and  lords. 

Cel.  O  mv  poor  Rosalind  !  whither  wilt  thou  go  ? 
Wilt  thou  change  fathers  ?  I  will  give  thee  mine. 
I  charge  thee,  be  not  thou  more  gricv'd  than  I  am. 

Res.  I  have  more  cause. 

Cel.  Thou  hast  not,  cousin ; 

Pr'ylhee,  be  cheerful :  know'st  thou  not,  the  duke 
Hath  banish'd  me  his  daughter  ? 

Ros.  That  he  hath  not. 

Cel.  No  ?  halh  not  ?  Rosalind  lacks  then  the  love 
Which  teacheih  ihec  that  thou  and  I  am  one: 
Shall  we  be  sunder'd?  shall  we  part,  siveet  girl? 
No  ;  let  my  father  seek  another  heir. 
Therefore  devise  with  me,  how  we  may  fly, 
Whither  to  go,  and  ivhat  to  bear  with  us  ; 
Ai:d  do  not  seek  to  lake  your  change  upon  you, 
To  bear  your  griefs  yourself,  and  leave  me  out; 
For,  by  this  heaven,  now  at  our  sorrows  pale, 
Sav  what  thou  canst,  I'll  go  along  with  thee. 

kos.  Why,  whither  shall  we  go  ? 

Cel.  To  seek  my  unelt. 

Ros.  Alas,  nhat  danger  will  it  be  to  us, 
Maids  as  we  are,  to  travel  forth  so  far  ? 
Beauty  provoketh  thieves  sooner  than  gold. 

Cel.  I'll  put  myselfin  poor  and  mean  attiri, 
And  with  a  kind  of  umber'  smirch  my  face; 
The  like  do  you ;  so  shall  we  pass  along, 
And  never  stir  assailants. 

Ros.  Were  it  net  bettfcr, 

Because  that  I  am  more  than  common  tall, 
That  I  did  suit  me  all  points  like  a  man  ? 
A  gallant  cui  tIe-axe*  upon  my  thigh, 
A  boar-spear  in  my  hand  ;  and  (in  my  heart 
Lie  there  what  hidden  woman's  fear  there  will,) 
We'll  have  a  swashing*  and  a  martial  outside ; 
As  many  other  mannish  cowards  have. 
That  do  outface  it  with  their  semblances. 

Cel.   What  shall  I  call  thee,  when  thou  art  a 
man? 

jRoj.  I'll  have  no  worse  a  name  than  Jove's  uUrn 
patre. 
And  therefore  look  you  call  me,  Ganymede. 
But  what  will  you  be  rall'd? 

Cel.  Something  that  hat h  a  reference  to  my  stAte , 
No  longer  Celia,  but  Aliena. 

Rox.  But,  cousin,  what  if  we  assav'd  to  itedl 
The  clownish  fool  out  of  your  father's  court? 


(4)  Cutlasf. 


{6)  B^friitttib$, 


Scene  I,  H,  III. 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


SU9 


Would  he  not  be  a  comfort  to  our  trarel  ? 

Ctl.  He'll  go  along  o'er  the  wide  world  with  me ; 
Leave  me  alone  to  woo  him  :  Lei's  away, 
And  get  our  jewels  and  our  wealth  together ; 
Devise  the  fittest  time,  and  safest  way 
To  hide  us  from  pursuit  that  will  be  made 
After  my  flight :  Now  go  Ave  in  content, 
To  liberty,  and  not  to  banishment.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  II. 


SCEXE  I.— The  fm-esl  0/ Arden.  Enter  Duke 
stnior,  Amiens,  and  other  Lords,  in  the  dress  of. 
Foresters.  I 

Duke  S.  Now,  my  co-mates,  and  brothers  in 
exile. 
Hath  not  old  custom  made  this  life  more  sweet 
Than  that  of  painted  pomp  ?    Are  not  these  woods 
More  free  from  peril  than  the  envious  court? 
Here  feel  we  but  the  penalty  of  Adam, 
The  seasons'  difierence  ;  as  the  icy  fane. 
And  churlish  chiding  pf  the  wintei's  wind  ; 
Which  when  it  bites  and  blows  upon  my  body, 
Even  till  I  shrink  with  cbld,  I  smile,  and  say, — 
This  is  no  flattery  :  these  are  counsellors 
That  feelingly  persuade  me  what  I  am. 
Sweet  are  the  uses  of  adversiiy  ; 
Which,  like  the  toad,  ugly  and  venomou?. 
Wears  jet  a  precious  jewel  in  his  head  ; 
And  this  our  life,  exempt  from  public  haunt, 
Finds  tongues  in  trees,  books  in  the  running  brooks, 
Sermons  in  stones,  and  sooA  in^very  thing. 

w3;nt.  1  would  not  change  it:    Happy  is  your 
grace. 
That  can  translate  the  stubbornness  of  fortune 
Into  so  quiet  and  so  sweet  a  style. 

Duke  S.  Come,  shall  we  go  and  kill  us  venison? 
And  yet  it  irks  me,  the  poor  dappled  fools, — 
fieing  native  burghers  of  this  desert  city, — 
Should,  in  their  own  confines,  with  forked  heads' 
Have  their  round  haunches  gor'd. 

1  Lord.  Indeed,  my  lord, 

The  melancholy  Jaques  grieves  at  that ; 
And,  in  that  kind,  swears  you  do  more  usurp 
Than  doth  your  brother  that  hath  banish'd  you. 
To-day,  my  lord  of  Amiens,  and  mjself, 
Did  steal  behind  him,  as  he  lay  alon;j 
Under  an  oak,  whose  antique  root  peeps  out 
Upon  the  brook  that  brawls  along  this  wood  : 
To  the  which  place  a  poor  sequester'd  stag. 
That  from  the  hunters'  aim  had  ta'en  a  hurt. 
Did  come  to  languish  ;  and,  indeed,  my  lord. 
The  wretched  animal  heav'd  f^rth  such  crroans, 
That  their  discharge  did  stretch  his  leathern  coat 
Almost  to  bursting  ;  and  the  big  round  tears 
Cours'd  one  another  down  his  innocent  nose 
In  piteous  chase  :  and  thus  the  hairy  fool. 
Much  marked  of  the  melancholy  Jaques, 
Stood  on  the  extremcst  verge  of  the  swift  brook, 
Auffmenting  it  Avith  tears. 

Duke  S.  But  what  said  Jaques  ? 

Did  he  not  moralize  this  spect?t;le  ? 

1  Lord.  O,  yes,  into  a  thousand  similes. 
First,  for  his  weeping  in  the  needless  stream ; 
Poor  deer,  quoth  lie,  thou  mak''st  a  testum^it 
.3s  worldlings  do,  givini^thy  svni  of  more 
To  tlial  ichich  had  too  much  :  Then,  being  alone, 
Left  and  abandon'd  of  his  velvet  friends ; 

(\)  Barbed  arrows.    (2)  Encounter.    (3)  Sctxrry. 
(4)  Sink  into  dejection.  (a)  Memorial. 


'  Tis  ri^ht,  quoth  he  ;  this  misery  doth  part 

Thejlxix  of  company  :  Anon,  a  careless  herd, 

Full  of  the  pasture,  jumps  along  by  him. 

And  never  slays  to  greet  him  ;  .iy,  quoUi  Jaques, 

Sireep  on,  you  fat  and  sreasy  citizens  ; 

'  Tis  just  the  fashion  :  Wherefore  do  you  look 

Upon  that  poor  and  broken  bankrupt  there  7 

Thus  most  invectively  he  pierceth  through 

The  body  of  the  country,  city,  court. 

Yea,  and  of  this  our  life ;  swearing,  that  we 

Are  mere  usurpers,  tyrants,  and  what's  worse, 

To  fright  the  animals,  arid  to  kill  them  up, 

In  their  assicrn'd  and  native  dwelling-place. 

Duke  S.  And  did  you  leave  him  in  this  contem-       •• 
plation  ? 

2  Loj-d.   We  did,  my  lord,  weeping  and  com- 
menting 
Upon  the  sobbing  deer. 

Duke  S.  Show  me  the  place ; 

I  love  to  cope*  him  in  these  sullen  fits, 
For  then  he's  full  of  matter. 

2  Lord.  I'll  bring  you  to  him  straight.    [Exeunt. 

S  CEJ^E  U.—Ji  room  in  the  palace.    Enter  Duke 
Frederick,  Lords,  and  attendants. 
Duke  F.  Can  it  be  possible,  that  no  man  law 

them  ?  • 

It  cannot  be :  some  villains  of  my  court 

Are  of  consent  and  sufferance  in  this. 

1  Lord.  I  cannot  hear  of  any  that  did  see  her. 
The  ladies,  her  attendants  of  her  chamber. 
Saw  her  a-bed  ;  and,  in  the  morning  early. 
They  found  the  bed  untreasur'd  of  their  mistress. 

2  Lord.  My  lord,  the  roynish'  clown,  at  whom 

so  oft 
Your  grace  Avas  AA'ont  to  laugh,  is  also  missing. 
Hesperia,  the  princess'  gentleAvoman, 
Confesses,  that  she  secretly  o'erheard 
Your  daughter  and  her  cousin  much  commend 
The  parts  and  graces  of  the  Avrestler, 
That  did  but  lately  foil  the  sinewy  Charles  ; 
And  she  believes,  Avherever  they  are  gone. 
That  youlh  is  surely  in  their  company. 
Duke  F,  Send  to  his  brother ;  fetch  that  gallant 

hither ; 
If  I'.e  be  absent,  bring  his  brother  to  me, 
I'll  make  him  find  him  :  do  this  suddenly: 
And  let  not  search  and  inquisition  quail* 
To  bring  again  these  foolish  runaAvays.     [Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E  IIL— Before  Oliver's  house.    Enter  Or- 
lando and  Adam,  meeting. 

Orl.  WTio's  there? 

Adam.  'What !  my  young  master  ? — O,  my  gen- 
tle master, 
0,  my  sAvcet  master,  O  you  memory' 
Of  old  sir  RoAvland  !  Avhy.  Avhat  make  you  here? 
Why  are  you  virtuous  ?  Why  do  people  love  you  ? 
And  Avherefore  are  you  gentle,  strong,  and  valiant 
Why  Avould  vou  be  so  fond'  to  overcome 
The  bony  priser  of  the  humorous  duke  ? 
Your  praise  is  come  too  SAvilily  home  before  y 
KnoAv  you  not,  master,  to  some  kind  of  men 
Their  grr.ces  serve  them  but  as  enemies  ? 
No  more  do  yours :  your  virtues,  gentle  master, 
Are  sanctified  and  holy  traitors  to  you. 
O,  Avhat  a  Avorld  is  this,  Avhen  Avhat  is  comely 
Envenoms  him  that  bears  it  ? 

(hi.  Why,  Avhat's  the  matter ? 

Jldam.  O  unhappy  yr.'ith 

Come  not  within  these  doors  ;  within  this  roof 
The  eaemy  of  all  your  graces  lives : 

(6)  Inconsiderate. 
2D 


210 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


Jettt. 


Your  brother— (no,  no  brother :  yet  the  son- 
Yet  not  the  son  ;— I  will  not  call  him  son — 
Of  him  I  was  about  to  call  his  father,) — 
Halh  heard  your  praises ;  and  this  night  he  means 
To  burn  the  lodging  where  you  used  to  lie, 
And  you  within  it :  if  he  fail  of  that. 
He  will  hare  other  means  to  cut  you  off: 
I  overheard  him,  and  his  practices. 
This  is  no  place,'  this  house  is  but  a  butchery ; 
Abhor  it,  fear  it,  do  not  enter  it. 

Orl.  Why,  whither,  Adam,  would'st  thou  have 
me  go? 

Jldam.  No  matter  whither,  so  you  come  not  here. 

Orl.  What,  would'st  thou  have  me  go  and  beg 
my  food  ? 
Or,  with  abase  and  boisterous  sword,  enforce 
A  thievish  living  on  the  common  road  ? 
This  I  must  do,  or  know  not  what  to  do : 
Yet  rtiis  I  will  not  do,  do  how  I  can ; 
I  rather  will  subject  me  to  the  malice 
Of  a  diverted  blood,'  and  bloody  brother. 

Mam.  But  do  not  so :    I  have  five  hundred 
crowns. 
The  thrifly  hire  I  sav'd  under  your  father, 
Which  I  did  store,  to  be  my  foster-nurse, 
*  When  service  should  in  my  old  limbs  lie  lame. 
And  unregarded  aee  in  corners  thrown  ; 
Take  that :  and  He  that  doth  the  ravens  feed. 
Yea,  providently  caters  for  the  sparrow. 
Be  comfort  to  my  age !  Here  is  the  gold  ; 
All  this  I  give  you :  Let  me  be  your  servant ; 
Though  I  look  old,  yet  I  am  strong  and  lusty : 
For  in  my  youth  I  never  did  apply 
Hot  and  rebellious  liquors  in  my  blood ; 
Nor  did  not  with  unbashful  forehead  woo 
The  means  of  weakness  and  debility ; 
Therefore  my  age  is  as  a  lusty  winter, 
Frosty,  but  kindly :  Let  me  go  with  you ; 
I'll  do  the  service  of  a  younger  man 
In  all  your  business  and  necessities. 

Orl.  O  good  old  n.an ;  how  well  in  thee  appears 
The  constant  service  of  the  antique  world, 
When  service  sweat  for  duty,  not  for  meed ! 
Thou  art  not  for  the  fashion  of  these  times. 
Where  none  will  sweat,  but  for  promotion ; 
And  having  that,  do  choke  their  service  up 
Even  with  the  having :  it  is  not  so  with  thee. 
But,  poor  old  man,  thou  prun'st  a  rotten  tree. 
That  cannot  so  much  as  a  blossom  yield, 
In  lieu  of  all  thy  pains  and  husbandry  ; 
But  come  thy  ways,  we'll  go  along  together; 
And  ere  we  have  thy  youthful  wages  spent. 
We'll  light  upon  some  settled  low  content. 

Adam.  Master,  go  on ;  and  I  will  follow  thee, 
To  the  last  gasp,  vfith  truth  and  loyalty. — 
From  seventeen  years  till  now  almost  fourscore 
Here  lived  I,  but  now  live  here  no  more. 
At  seventeen  years  many  their  fortunes  seek ; 
But  at  fourscore,  it  is  too  late  a  week ; 
Yet  fortune  cannot  recompense  me  better. 
Than  to  die  well,  and  not  my  master's  debtor. 

[Exeunt. 

SCEJfE    IV.— The   Forest    of  Jirden.     Enter 

Rosalind    in   boy's  tlothes,   Celia  drest  like  a 

Shepherdess,  ana  Touchstone. 

Ros.  O  Jupiter !  how  weary  are  my  spirits ! 

Touch.  I  care  not  for  my  spirits,  if  my  legs  were 
not  weary.  . 

Jtos.  I  could  find  in  my  heart  to  disgrace  jny 

il)  Mansion,  residence, 
ti  Blood  turned  from  its  natural  course.  " 
')  A  piece  ormonejr  attaiped  with  a  crow* 


man's  apparel,  and  to  cry  like  a  woman :  but  I  must 
comfort  the  weaker  vessel,  as  doublet  and  hose 
ought  to  show  itself  courageous  to  petticoat :  there- 
fore, courage,  good  Aliena. 

Cel.  I  pray  you,  bear  with  me ;  I  cannot  go  no 
further. 

Touch.  For  my  part,  I  had  rather  bear  with  you, 
than  bear  you :  yet  I  should  bear  no  cross,"  if  I  did 
bear  you ;  for,  I  think,  you  have  no  money  in  your 
purse. 

Ros.  Well,  this  is  the  forest  of  Arden. 

Touch.  Ay,  now  am  I  in  Arden :  the  more  fool 
I ;  when  I  was  at  home,  I  was  in  a  better  place  ; 
but  travellers  must  be  content. 

Ros.  Ay,  be  so,  good  Touchstone : — Look  you 
who  comes  here  ;  a  young  man,  and  an  old,  in 
solemn  talk. 

Enter  Corin  and  Silvius. 

Cor.  That  is  the  way  to  make  her  scorn  you  still. 

S'U.  0  Corin,  that  thou  knew'st  how  I  do  love  her ! 

Cor.  I  partly  guess  ;  for  I  have  lov'd  ere  now. 

Sil.  No,  Corin,  being  old,  thou  canst  not  guess ; 
Though  in  thy  youth  thou  wast  as  true  a  lover 
As  ever  sigh'd  upon  a  midnight  pillow  : 
But  if  thy  love  were  ever  like  to  mine 
(As  sure  I  think  did  never  man  love  so,) 
How  many  actions  most  ridiculous 
Hast  thou  been  drawn  to  by  thy  fantasv  T 

Cor.  Into  a  thousand  that  I  have  forgotten. 

Sil.  O,  thou  didst  then  ne'er  love  so  heartily : 
If  thou  remember'st  not  the  slightest  folly 
That  ever  love  did  make  thee  run  into. 
Thou  hast  not  lov'd  : 
Or  if  thou  hast  not  sat  as  I  do  now. 
Wearying  thy  hearer  in  thy  mistress'  praise, 
Thou  hast  not  lov'd  ;  ^ 

Or  if  thou  has  not  broke  from  company. 
Abruptly,  as  mv  passion  jiow  makes  me. 
Thou  hast  not  lov'd  :— O  Phebe,  Phcbe,  Phebe  ! 

[Exit  Silvius. 

Ros.  Alas,  poor  shepherd !    searching  of  thy 
wound, 
I  have  by  hard  adventure  found  mine  own. 

Touch.  And  I  mine :  I  remember,  when  I  was 
in  love,  I  broke  my  sword  upon  a  stone,  and  bid 
him  take  that  for  coming  anight*  to  Jane  Smile  : 
and  I  remember  the  kissing  of  her  batlet,'  and  the 
cow's  dugs  that  her  pretty  chop'd  hands  had  milk'd  : 
and  I  remember  the  wooing  of  a  peascod  instead 
of  her ;  from  whom  I  took  two  cods,  and  giving 
her  them  again,  said  with  weeping  tears,  "Wear 
these  for  my  sake.  We,  that  are  true  lovers,  run 
into  strange  capers ;  but  as  all  is  mortal  in  nature, 
so  is  all  nature  in  love  mortal  in  folly. 

Ros.  Thou  speak'st  wiser,  than  thou  art  'ware  of. 

Touch,  Nay,  I  shall  ne'er  be  'ware  of  mine  own 
wit,  till  I  break  my  shins  against  it. 

Ros.  Jove !  Jove !  this  shepherd's  passion 
Is  much  upon  my  fashion. 

Touch.  And  mine ;  but  it  grows  something  stale 
with  me. 

Cel.  I  pray  you,  one  of  you  question  yond  man. 
If  he  for  gold  ivill  give  us  any  food  ; 
I  faint  almost  to  death. 

Touch.  Holla ;  you,  clown  ! 

Ros.  Peace,  fool ;  he's  not  thy  kinsman. 

Cor.  Who  calls  7 

Touch.  Your  betters,  sir. 

Cor,  Else  are  they  very  wretched. 

(4)  In  the  night. 

(5)  The  instrument  with  which  wasbcn  feMf 
clotb«a, 


Scent  r,  ri,  vn. 


AS  VOU  LIKE  It. 


2tl 


Good  even  to  you,  friend 

Cor.  And  to  you,  gentle  sir,  and  to  you  all. 

Ros.  I  pr'ythee,  shepherd,  if  that  love,  or  gold, 
Can  in  this  desert  place  buy  entertainment, 
Bring  us  where  we  may  rest  ourselves,  and  feed : 


Peace,  I  say:—  Come,  sing;  and  you  that  will  not,  hold  yonr 

■  tongues.  > 

Ami.  Well,  I'll  end  the  song.— Sirs,  corcr  the 
while  ;  the  duke  will  drink  under  this  tree: — he 
hath  been  all  this  day  to  look  you. 


Here's  a  young  maid  with  travel  much  oppress'd, ;  He 
And  faints'  for  succour. 

Cor.  Fair  sir,  I  pify  her. 

And  wish  for  her  sake,  more  than  for  mine  own, 
My  fortunes  were  more  able  to  relieve  her : 
But  I  am  shepherd  to  another  man. 
And  do  not  shear  the  fleeces  that  I  graze  j 
My  master  is  of  churlish  disposition, 
And  little  recks'  to  find  the  way  to  heaven 
By  doing  deeds  of  hospitality  : 
Besides,  his  cote,  his  flocks,  and  bounds  of  feed, 
Are  now  on  sale,  and  at  our  sheepcote  now. 
By  reason  of  his  absence,  there  is  nothing 
Tnat  you  will  feed  on :  but  what  is,  come  sec. 
And  in  my  voice  most  welcome  shall  you  be. 

Ros.  ^Vhat  is  he  that  shall  buy  Kis  flock  and 
pasture  ? 

Cor.  That  voung  swain  that  you  saw  here  but 
erewhile. 
That  little  cares  for  buying  any  thing. 

Ros.  I  pray  thee,  if  it  stand  with  honesty, 
Buy  thou  the  cottage,  pasture,  and  the  flock, 
And  thou  shalt  have  to  pay  for  it  of  us. 

Cd,  And  we  will  meni  thy  wages :  I  like  this 
place. 
And  wilhngly  could  waste  my  time  in  it. 

Cor.  Assuredly,  the  thing  is  to  be  sold  : 

00  with  me  ;  if  you  like,  upon  report. 
The  soil,  the  profit,  and  this  Idnd  of  life, 

1  will  your  verv  faithful  feeder  be. 
And  buy  it  with  your  gold  right  suddenly. 


Jaq.  And  I  have  been  all  this  day  to  avoid  him. 
e  is  too  disputable^  for  my  company :  I  think  of 


[Exe. 

SCE.S'E  V. — The  same.    £n(er  Amiens,  Jaques, 
and  others. 


SONG. 
Ami.    Under  the  grecnicood  tree, 
.  Who  loves  to  lie  with  me, 
iind  tune  his  merry  note 
Unto  the  sice.et  bird's  throat, 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hUlur; 
Here  shall  he  see 
.\*o  enemy, 
But  winter  and  rough  weather.  > 

Jaq.  More,  more,  I  pr'ythee,  more. 

%9mi.  It  will  make  you  melancholy,  monsieur 
Jaques. 

Jaq.  I  thank  it.  More,  I  pr'ythee,  more.  I  can 
suck  melancholy  out  of  a  song,  as  a  weazel  sucks 
eggs :  More,  I  pr'ythee,  more. 

.imi.  My  voice'  is  ragged  ;'  I  know,  I  cannot 
please  you. 

Jaq.  I  do  not  desire  you  to  please  me,  I  do  desire 
you  to  sing  :  Come,  more ;  another  stanza ;  Call 
you  them  stanzas  ? 

.'Jmi.  What  you  will,  monsieur  Jaques. 

Jaq.  Nay,  I  care  not  for  their  names;  they  owe 
me  nothins :  Will  you  sing  ? 

Ami.  More  at  your  request,  than  to  please  myself. 

Jaq.  Well  then,  if  ever  I  thank  any  man,  I'll 
thauK  you :  but  that  they  call  compliment,  is  like 
the  encounter  of  two  dog-af>es  ;  and  when  a  man 
thanks  me  heartily,  melbinks  I  have  given  him  a 
penny,  and  he  records  me  the  beggarly  thanks. 

(n  Cares. 

(2)  Ragged  and  rugged  had  formerly  the  wme 
meanini;. 


as  manv  matters  as  he  ;  but  I  give  heaven  thanks, 
and  make  no  boast  of  them.    Come,  warble,  come. 

SONG. 
Who  doth  amhilion  shun,  [All  together  here. 
And  loves  to  live  V  the  sun. 
Seeking  the  food  he  eats, 
And  pleased  with  what  we  gets. 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither; 
Here  shall  he  see 
Ao  enemy. 
But  winter  and  rough  weather. 
Jaq.  I'll  ffive  you  a  verse  to  this  note,  that  I 
made  yesterday  in  despite  of  my  invention. 
Amu  And  I'll  sing  it. 
Jaq.  Thus  it  goes : 

If  it  do  come  to  pass, 
That  any  man  turn  ass, 
Leaving  bis  wealth  ana  ease, 
A  stubborn  will  to  please, 
Ducdame,  ducdame,  ducdamt} 
Here  shall  he  see. 
Gross  fools  as  he. 
An  if  he  will  come  to  Amu 
Ami.  AVhat's  that  ducdame  ? 
Jaq.  'Tis  a  Greek  invocation,  to  call  fools  into  A 
circle.     I'll  go  sleep  if  I  can  ;  if  I  cannot,  I'll  rail 
against  all  the  first-born  of  Eg%-pt. 
*Ami.  And  I'll  go  seek  the  ^uke ;  his  banquet  is 
prepar'd.  [Exeunt  severally. 

SCEJfE  VI.— The  same.  Enter  Orlando  and 
Adam. 

Adam.  Dear  master,  I  can  go  no  further :  O,  I 
die  for  food  !  Here  lie  I  down,  and  measure  out 
my  grave.    Farewell,  kind  master. 

Orl.  Why,  how  now,  Adam !  no  greater  heart 
in  thee  ?  Live  a  little ;  comfort  a  little  ;  cheer  thy- 
self a  little  :  If  this  uncouth  forest  yield  any  thing 
savage,  I  will  either  be  food  for  it,'  or  bring  it  for 
food  to  thcc.  Thy  conceit  is  nearer  death  than 
thy  powers.  For  my  sake,  be  comfortable  ;  hold 
death  a  while  at  the  "arm's  end :  I  will  here  be  with 
thee  presently ;  and  if  I  brina  thee  not  something 
to  eat,  I'll  give  thee  leave  to  die  :  but  if  thou  diest 
before  I  come,  thou  art  a  mocker  of  my  labour. 
Well  said  !  thou  look'st  cheerly  :  and  I'll  be  with 
thee  quickly. — Yet  thou  liest  in  the  bleak  air : 
Come,  I  will  bear  thee  to  some  shelter  ;  and  thou 
shalt  not  die  for  lack  of  a  dinner,  if  there  live  any 
thing  in  this  desert.     Cheerly,  good  Adam  !   [Ejce. 

SCEJ^E  VII.— The  same.  A  table  set  out.  Enter 
Duke  senior,  Amiens,  Lords,  and  others. 

Duke  S.  I  think  he  be  transform'd  into  a  beast ; 
For  I  can  no  where  find  him  like  a  man. 

1  Lord.  My  lord,  he  is  but  even  now  gone  hence ; 
Here  was  he  merry,  hearing  of  a  song. 

Duke  S.  If  he,  compact  of  jars,*  grow  musical. 
We  shall  have  shortly  discord  in  the  spheres  : — 
Go,  seek  him ;  tell  him,  I  would  speak  with  him. 

Enter  Jaques. 
1  Lord.  He  saves  my  labour  by  his  own  approacb. 

(3}  DisputatiQUf.       (4)  Made  up  of  discords. 


SIS 


AS  YQU  LIKE  IT. 


JlctU. 


Duke  S.  Vnxr,  how  now,  monsieur !  what  a  life|The  cost  of  princes  on  unworthy  shoulders  ? 
jg  i]ijs  Who  can  come  in,  and  say,  that  I  mean  her, 

'  -  •     ■  "    When  such  a  one  as  she,  such  is  her  neighbour  T 

Or  what  is  he  of  basest  function, 
That  says,  his  bravery"  is  not  on  my  cost 


That  your  poor  friends  must  woo  your  company  ? 
What !  you  look  merrily. 

Jaq.  A  fool,  a  fool ! 1  met  a  fool  i'  the  forest, 

A  motley  fool ; — a  miserable  world ! — 
As  I  do  live  by  food,  I  met  a  fool  j — 
Who  laid  him  down  and  bask'd  him  in  the  sun, 
And  rail'd  on  lady  Fortune  in  good  terms, 
In  good  set  terms, — and  yet  a  motley  foo!. 
Good-mcrrow,  fool,  quoth  I :  Ab,  sir,  quoth  he. 
Call  me  net  fool,  till  heavm  halh  sent  vts^fortunt : 
And  then  he  drew  a  dial  from  his  poke ; 
And  lookin<j,on  it  with  lack-lustre  eye. 
Says,  very  wisely,  It  w  ten  o'c/oc/;  ; 
Thus  may  toe  see,  quoth  he,  how  the  icorld  wagf : 
^Tis  but  an  hour  ago,  since  it  loas  nine  ; 
^nd  after  an  hour  more,  HwUl  be  eleven  ; 
^nd  so,  from  hour  to  hour,  we  ripe,  and  r^)e, 
^nd  then,  from  hour  to  hour,  we  rot^  and  rot, 
^nd  thereby  hangs  a  tale.    AVhen  I  did  hear 
The  motley  fool  thus  moral  on  the  lime, 
My  lungs  began  to  croM'  like  chanticleer. 
That  fools  Should  be  so  deep-contemplative ; 
And  I  did  laugh,  sans  intermission. 
An  hour  by  his  dial. — O  noble  fool ! 
A  worthy  fool !  Motley's  the  only  wear.' 
Duke 'S.  What  fool  is  this  ? 
Jaq.   O  worthy  fool !— One  that  hath  been  a 
courtier ; 
And  says,  if  ladies  be  but  young,  and  fair. 
They  have  the  gift  to  know  it :  and  in  his  brain, — 
Which  is  as  dry  as  the  remainder  bisket 
After  a  voyage, — he  hath  strani^e  places  cranun'd 
With  observation,  the  which  he  vents 
In  mangled  forms :— 0,  that  I  were  a  fool ! 
I  am  ambitious  for  a  motley  coat. 
ihike  S,  Thou  shalt  have  one. 
Jaq.  It  is  my  only  suit ; 

Provided,  that  you  weed  your  better  judgments 
Of  all  opinion  that  grows  rank  in  them. 
That  I  am  wise.    I  must  have  liberty 
Withal,  as  large  a  charter  as  the  wind, 
To  blow  on  whom  I  please  ;  for  ?o  fools  have : 
And  they  that  are  most  galled  with  my  folly. 
They  most  must  laugh :  And  why,  sir,  must  thej  so ? 
The  why  is  plain  as  way  to  parish  church : 
He,  that  a  fool  doth  vc  y  wisely  hit, 
Doth  very  foolishly,  although  he  smart. 
Not  to  seem  senseless  of  the  bob :  if  not. 
The  wise  man's  fol'y  is  anatomiz'd 
Even  by  the  squandering  g!:inces  of  the  fool. 
Initest  me  in  my  motley  ;  pive  me  ler.ve 
To  speak  my  mind,  -md  I  will  through  and  through 
Cleanse  the'foul  body  of  the  infected  world, 
If  they  will  patiently  receive  my  .medicine. 
DuKe  S.   Fie  oh  thee !    I  can  tell  what  thou 

would'st  do. 
Jaq.  WTiat,  for  a  counter,  would  I  do,  but  good  7 
Duke  S.  Most  mischievous  foul  sin,  inchiding  sin: 
For  thou  thyself  hast  been  a  libertine, 
As  sensual  as  tlie  brutish  sting  itself; 
And  all  the  embossed  sores,  and  lieaded  evils 
That  thou  with  license  of  free  foot  hast  caught, 
Would'st  thou  disgorge  into  the  general  world. 

Jaq.  Why,  who  cries  out  on  pride. 
That  can  therein  tax  any  private  party  ? 
Doth  it  not  flow  as  liugely  as  the  sea, 
rill  that  the  very  very  means  do  ebb  / 
What  woman  in  the  city  do  I  name. 
When  that  I  say.  The  city- woman  bears 

11)  The  fool  was  anciently  dressed  in  a  party- 
}ured  coat. 


(Thinking  that  I  mean  him,)  but  therein  suit* 
His  folly 'to  the  mettle  of  my  speech? 
There  then  ;  How,  what  then  7  Let  me  see  whcreia 
My  tongue  hath  wrong'd  him  :  if  it  do  him  right, 
Tlien  he  hath  wrong'd  himself;  if  he  be  free, 
Whv  then,  rny  taxing  like  a  wild  goose  files, 
Unclaun'a  ofany  man. — But  who  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Orlando,  with  his  sword  drawn. 

Orl.  Forbear,  and  eat  no  more. 

Jaq.  Why,  I  have  eat  none  yet. 

Orl.  Nor  shalt  not,  till  necessity  be  serv'd. 

Jaq.  Of  what  kind  should  this  cock  come  of? 

Duke  S.  Art  thou  thus  bolden'd,  man;  by  thy 
distress ; 
Or  else  a  rude  dcspiser  of  good  manners. 
That  in  civility  thou  seem'st  so  empty  ? 

Orl.  You  louch'd  my  vein  at  first ;  the  thorny  . 
point 
Of  bare  distress  hath  ta'en  from  me  the  show 
Of  smooth  civility :  yet  am  I  inland  bred,' 
And  know  some  nurture  :^  But  forbear,  I  say ; 
He  dies,  that  toiidi^'s  any  of  this  fruit, 
'Pill  I  and  my  affairs  arc  answered. 

Jaq.  An  you  ivill  not  be  answered  with  reason, 
I  must  die. 

Duke  S.  What  would  you  have?    Your  gentle* 
ness  shall  force, 
More  than  your  force  move  us  to  gentleness. 

Orl.  1  almost  die  far  food,  and  let  me  have  it. 

Duke  S.    Sit  down  and  feed,  welcome  to  our 
table. 

Orl.  Speak  you  so  gently  ?  Pardon  me,  I  pray 
you: 
I  thought  that  all  things  had  been  savage  here ; 
And  therefore  put  I  on  the  countenance 
Of  stern  commandment:  But  whate'er  you  are, 
That  in  this  desert  inaccessible. 
Under  the  shade  of  melancholy  boughs, 
Lose  and  neglect  the  creeping  hours  of  time ; 
Ff  ever  you  have  look'd  on  better  days ; 
If  ever  been  where  bells  have  knoU'd  to  church ; 
If  ever  sat  at  any  good  man's  feast ; 
If  ever  from  your  eye-lids  wip'd  a  tear. 
And  know  what  'tis  to  pity,  and  be  pitied ; 
Let  gentleness  my  Etrvin?;  (.nrorcement  be : 
In  tlie  which  iiope,  I  blush,  and  hide  my  sword. 
Dike  S.    True  is  it  that  we  have  seen  bettei 
days ; 
And  have  with  holy  hell  been  knoll'd  to  church ; 
And  sat  at  good  men's  feasts ;  and  wip'd  our  eyes 
Of  drops  that  sacred  pity  hath  eiigender'd  : 
And  tliercfore  sit  you  down  in  gentleness. 
And  take  upon  command  what  help  we  have. 
That  to  your  wanting  may  be  ministred. 

Orl.  Then,  but  forbear  your  food  a  little  while, 
Whiles,  like  a  doe,  T  ^'o  to  find  my  fawn. 
And  give  it  food.    There  is  an  old  poor  rnan, 
Who  afler  me  hath  many  a  wearj  step 
Limp'd  in  pure  love ;  till  he  be  hrst  suflic'd, — 
Oppress'd  with  two  weak  evils,  age  and  hunger,— 
I  will  not  touch  a  bit. 

Duke  S.  Go  find  him  out. 

And  we  will  nothing  waste  till  you  return. 

Orl.  I  thank  ye  ;"and  be  bless'd  for  your  jrood 
comfort !  [Exit, 

m  Finer}-.  (3)  Well  brought  up, 

I    (4)  Good  manners. 


Scent  /,  11. 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


213 


Duke  S.  Thou  seest,  we  are  not  all  alone  un- 


This  wide  and  universal  theatre 

Presents  more  woful  pageants  than  the  scene 

Wherein  we  play  in. 

Jaq.  All  the  world's  a  stasre, 

And  all  the  men  and  women  merely  players : 
They  have  their  exits,  and  their  entrances  ; 
And'  one  man  in  his  time  plays  many  parts, 
His  acts  being  seven  age«.    At  first,  the  infant, 
Mewling  and  pukinjf  in  tlie  nurse's  arms  : 
And  then,  the  whining  school-boy,  witiihis  satchel, 
And  shining  morning  face,  creeping  like  snail 
Unwillingly  to  school :  And  then,  the  lover ; 
Sighing  like  furnace,  with  a  woful  ballad 
Made  to  his  mistress'  eye-brow  :  Then,  a  soldier; 
Full  of  strange  oaths,  and  bearded  like  the  pard. 
Jealous  in  honour,  sudden'  and  quick  in  quarrel, 
Seeking  the  bubble  reputaticn 
Even  in  the  cannon's  mouth :  And  then,  the  justice ; 
In  fair  round  belly,  with  good  capon  lin'd, 
With  eyes  severe,  and  beard  of  ibrmal  cut. 
Full  of  wise  saws  and  modem*  instances. 
And  so  he  plays  his  part :  The  sixth  age  shiils 
Into  the  lean  and  slipper'd  pantaloon  ; 
With  spectacles  on  nose,  and  pouch  on  side  ; 
His  youthful  hose  well  sav'd,  a  world  too  wide 
For  his  shrunk  shank ;  and  his  bi^  manly  voice, 
Turning  a^ain  toward  childish  treble,  pipes 
And  whistles  in  his  sound  :  Last  pcene  of  all, 
That  ends  this  strange  eventful  history, 
Is  second  childishness,  and  mere  oblivion  ; 
Sans  teeth,  sans  eyes,  sans  taste,  sans  every  thing. 

Rt'tnter  Orlando,  tcti/t  Adam. 
Duke  S.   Welcome:   set  down  your  venerable 
burden, 
And  let  him  feed. 
Orl.  I  thank  you  most  for  him. 

Adam.  So  had  vou  need  ; 
I  scarce  can  speak  to  thank  you  for  myself. 

Duke  S.  Welcome,  fall  to :  I  will  not  trouble  you 
As  yet,  to  question  Vou  about  your  fortunes : — 
Give  us  some  music ;  and,  good  cousin,  sing. 
Amiens  sin^s. 
SONG. 
I. 
BUtw,  blow,  thoti  winter  usind. 
Thou  art  not  so  unkind* 
As  man''s  ingratitude  ; 
Thy  tooth  is  not  so  keen. 
Because  thou  art  not  seen, 
Although  thy  brrcdh  be  rude. 
Heigh,  ho !  sing,  heigh,  ho  !  unto  the  green  hoUy . 
Jl'jst  friendship  is  feigning,  most  hving  mere 
folly : 
Then,  hei'h,  ho,  the  holly  I 
This  life  is  most  jolly. 

II. 

Freeze,  freeze,  thou  bitter  sky, 
That  dost  not  bite  so  nigh, 

As  benefits  forgot : 
Though  thou  the  waters  warp, 
Thy  sling  is  not  so  sharp 

^s  friend  remembered*  not. 
Heigh,  ho !  sing,  heigh,  ho !  fyc. 

Dukt  S.    If  that  you  were  the  good  sir  Row- 
land's son, — 


As  you  have  whisper'd  faithfully,  you  were ; 
And  as  mine  eye  doth  his  effigies  witness 
Most  truly  limn'd,  and  living  in  your  face, — 
Be  truly  welcome  hither :  I  am  the  duke, 
Thatlov'd  your  father:  The  residue  of  vour  fortune, 
Go  to  my  cave  and  tell  me. — Good  old  man, 
Thou  art  right  welcome  as  thy  master  is : 
Support  him  by  the  arm."— Give  me  your  hand. 
And  let  me  all  your  fortunes  understand.       [Ext. 


ACT  in. 

SCEJ^E  I.— ,1  room  in  the  palace.    Enter  Duke 
Frederick,  Oliver,  Lords,  and  attendants. 

Duke  F.  Not  see  him  since  ?  Sir,  sir,  that  can- 
not  be: 
B|ut  were  I  not  the  better  part  made  mercy, 
I  should  not  seek  an  absent  argument 
Of  my  revenge,  thou  present:  But  look  to  it ; 
Find  out  thy  brother,  wheresoe'er  he  is ; 
Seek  him  with  candle  ;  bring  him  dead  or  living. 
Within  tliis  twelvemonth,  or  turn  thou  np  more 
To  seek  a  living  in  our  territory. 
Thy  lands,  and  all  tilings  that  thou  dost  call  thine, 
W'orfh  seizure,  do  we  seize  into  our  hands : 
Till  thou  canst  ouit  thee  by  thy  brother's  mouth, 
Of  what  we  think  a^rainst  thee. 

OH.  O,  that  your  highness  knew  my  heart  in  this  • 
I  never  lov'd  my  brother  in  my  life. 

Duke  F.  More  villain  thou.— Well,  push  him 
out  ofdnors  J 
And  let  my  officers  ol  such  a  nature 
Make  an  extent'  npr.n  his  house  and  lands : 
Do  this  expediently,*  and  turn  him  gomg.      [Exe. 

SCEJ^E  II.— The  Forest.    Enter  Orlando,  with 
a  paper. 

Orl.  Hang  there,  my  verse,  in  witness  of  my  love: 

And,  thou,  thrice-crowiicd  queen  of  night,  survey 
With  thy  chaste  eye,  from  thy  pale  sphere  above. 

Thy  huntress'  name,  that  niy  full  life  doth  sway. 
0  Rosalind !  these  treei  shall  be  my  books. 

And  in  their  barks  my  thoughts  I'll  character; 
That  every  eve,  which  in  this  forest  looks, 

Shall  see  thy  virtue  witness'd  every  where. 
Run,  run,  Orlando  ;  carve,  on  every  tree, 
The  fair,  the  chaste,  and  unexpressive'  she.  [ExiL 

Enter  Corin  and  Touchstone. 

Cor.  And  how  liiic  you  this  shepherd's  life,  mas» 
tcr  Touchstone? 

Touch.  Truly,  shepherd,  in  respect  of  itself,  it 
is  a  good  life ;  but  in  respect  that  it  is  a  shepherd's 
life,  It  is  ni.ught.  In  respect  that  it  is  solitary,  I 
like  it  very  well ;  but  in  respect  that  it  is  private, 
it  is  a  very  vile  life.  Now  m  respect  it  is  in  the 
fields,  it  plcaseth  me  well ;  but  in  respect  it  is  not 
in  the  court,  it  is  tedious.  As  it  is  a  spare  life, 
look  you,  it  fits  my  humour  well ;  but  as  there  is  no 
more  plenty  in  it,  it  goes  much  agahist  my  stomach. 
Hast  thou  any  philosophy  in  thee,  shepherd  ? 

Cor.  No  more,  but  that  I  know,  the  more  one 
sickens,  the  worse  at  ease  he  is  ;  and  that  he  that 
wants  money,  means,  and  content,  is  without  three 
good  friends : — That  the  property  of  rain  is  to  wet, 
and  fire  to  bum:  That  good  pasture  makes  fat 
sheep  ;  and  that  a  great  cause  of  the  night,  is  lack 
of  Ujc  sun :  That  he,  that  hatli  learned  no  wit  by 


m  Violent. 
(3)  Unnatural. 


(2)  Trite,  common. 
(4)  Remembering. 


(5)  Seize  by  legal  process. 
(7)  Inc-jpressiblc. 


(6)  £.xpeditiouilT. 


214 


AS  YOD  LIKE  IT. 


Act  III. 


nature  nor  art,  may  complain  of  good  breeding,  or 
comes  of  &  very  dull  kindred. 

Toucft.  Such  a  one  is  a  natural  philosopher.-- 
Wast  ever  in  court,  shepherd  ? 

Cor.  No,  truly. 

Touch.  Then  thou  art  damn'd. 

Cor.  Nay,  I  hope, — 

Touch.  Truly,  thou  art  damn'd;  like  an  ill- 
roasted  egg,  all  on  one  side. 

Cor.  For  not  being  at  court  ?  Your  reason. 

Touch.  Wiy,  if  thou  never  wast  at  court,  thou 
never  saw'st  good  manners  ;  if  thou  never  saiv'st 
good  manners,  then  thy  manners  must  be  wicked  ; 
and  wickedness  is  sin,  and  sin  is  damnation :  Thou 
art  in  a  parlous  state,  shepherd. 

Cor.  Not  a  whit,  Touchstone:  those,  that  are 
good  manners,  at  the  court,  are  as  ridiculous  in  the 
country,  as  the  behaviour  of  the  country  is  most 
mockabie  at  the  court.  You  told  me,  you  salute 
not  at  the  cour/,  but  you  kiss  your  hands;  that 
courtesy  would  be  uncleanly,  if  courtiers  were 
shepherds. 

Touch.  Instance,  briefly ;  come,  instance. 

Cor.  Why,  we  are  still  handling  our  ewes ;  and 
their  fells,  vou  knov,-,  are  greasy. 

Touch.  Why,  do  not  your  courtier's  hands 
sweat?  and  b  not  the  grease  of  a  mutton  as  whole- 
some as  the  sweat  of  a  man  ?  Shallow,  shallow : 
A  better  instunce,  I  say ;  come. 

Cor.  Besiiles,  our  hands  are  hard. 

Touch.  Your  lips  will  feel  them  the  sooner. 
Shallow,  again:  A  more  sounder  instance,  come 

Cor.  And  they  are  often  tarr'd  over  with  the 
surgery  of  our  sheep ;  And  would  you  have  us  kiss 
tar?  The  courtier's  hands  are  perfumed  with  civet. 

Touch.  Most  shallow  man !  Thou  worms-meat, 
in  respect  of  a  good  piece  of  flesh :  Indeed ! — 
Learn  of  the  wise,  and  perpend:  Civet  is  of  a 
baser  birth  than  tar ;  the  very  uncleanly  flux  of  a 
cat.    Mend  the  instance,  shepherd. 

Cor.  You  have  too  courtly  a  wit  for  me ;  I'll  rest, 

Touch.  Wilt  thou  rest  damn'd  ?  God  help  thee, 
shallow  man !  God  make  incision  in  thee !  thou  art 
raw.' 

Cor.  Sir,  I  am  a  true  labourer;  I  earn  that  I 
eat,  get  that  I  wear ;  owe  no  man  hate,  envy  no 
man's  happiness ;  glad  of  other  men's  good,  con- 
tent with  my  harm :  and  the  greatest  of  my  pri>k 
is,  to  see  mv  ewes  graze,  and  my  lambs  suck. 

Touch.  That  is  anotiier  simple  sin  in  you ;  to 
bring  the  ewes  and  the  rams  together,  and  to  oflR;r 
to  pet  your  living  by  the  copulation  of  cattle :  to 
be  bawd  to  a  bell-wether;  and  to  betray  a  she- 
lamb  of  a  twelvemonth,  to  a  crookod-pated,  old, 
cuckoldly  ram,  out  of  all  reasonable  match.  If 
thou  be'st  not  damn'd  for  this,  the  devil  himself 
•will  have  no  shepherds;  I  cannot  see  eke  how 
thou  should'st  'scape. 

Cor.  Here  comes  young  master  Ganymede,  my 
new  mistress's  brother. 

Enter  Rosalind,  reading  a  paper. 
Eos,  From  the  east  to  western  Ind, 

J^o  jewel  is  like  Rosalind. 

Her  worth,  being  mounted  on  the  wind. 

Through  all  the  world  bears  Rosalind. 

,911  the  piclures,  fairest  lin'd,* 

tire  bxd  black  to  Rosalind. 

jAt  no  face  be  kept  in  mind. 

But  the  fair^  of  Rosalind. 
Touch.  I'll  rhyme  you  so,  eight  years  together ; 


*\\  Unexperienced. 
(3)  Cumpiexion,  beauty. 


ir\  Delineated. 


Grave,  solemn. 


dinners,  and  suppers,  and  sleeping  hours  excepted* 
it  is  the  right  butter-woman's  rank  to  market. 

Ros.  Out,  fool! 

Touch.  For  a  taste : 


Jf  a  hart  do  lack  ahind. 
Let  him  i     ' 


:  seek  cut  Rosalind. 
If  the  cat  will  after  kind. 
So,  be  sure,  will  Rosalind, 
Ivinter-garnients  must  be  lvn?d, 
So  must  slender  Rosalind. 
They  that  reap,  must  sheaf  and  bind; 
Then  to  cart  with  Rosalind. 
Sweetest  nut  hath  sourest  rind. 
Such  a  nut  is  Rosalind. 
He  that  sweetest  rose  tvillfind, 
JUustJind  lovers  prick;  and  Rosalind. 
This  is  the  very  faljc  gallop  of  verses ;  Why  do 
yon  infect  yourself  with  them  ? 
Ros.  Peace,  you  dull  fool ;  I  found  them  on  a  tree. 
Touch.  Truiv,  the  tree  yields  bad  Iruit. 
Ros.  I'll  gran  it  with  you,  and  then  I  shall  graft 
it  with  a  medlar :  then  it  will  be  the  earliest  fruit 
in  the  country:  for  you'll  be  rotten  ere  you  be  half 
ripe,  and  that's  the  right  virtue  of  the  nicdlar. 

Touch.  You  have  said;  but  whether  wisely  or 
no,  let  the, forest  judge. 

Enter  Cclia,  reading  a  paper. 

Ros.  Peace! 
Here  comes  rny  sister,  reading ;  stand  aside. 
Cel.    Why  should  this  desert  siltnt  be  ? 
For  it  is  unpeopled  ?  .A'b; 
Ton^tes  I'll  hang  en  every  tree. 
That  shall  ciril'*  saijings  show. 
Sotne,  how  brief  the  life  of  man 

Runs  his  erring  pilgrimage}  ■ 
That  the  stretching  of  a  span 
Duckies  in  his  sum  of  age. 
Some,  of  violated  vows 

^Twixt  the  souls  of  friend  and  friend: 
But  upon  the  fairest  bouglis, 
Or  at  eveni  sentence^  end. 
Will  I  Rosalinda  write  ; 

Teaching  all  that  read,  to  know 
The  quintessence  of  every  sprite 

Heaven  would  in  Utile  show. 
Therefore  heaven  nature  charged 

That  one  body  should  befilVd 
With  all  graces  wide  enlarg'd  : 

Mature  presently  distill'a 
Helen's  cheek,  but  not  her  heart; 

Cleopatra's  majesty  ; 
Jll(danta's  better  part ; 

Sad  Lucretla's  modesty. 
Thus  Rosalind  of  many  parts 

By  heavenly  synod  was  devised; 
Of  many  faces,  eyes,  and  hearts. 
To  have  the  tottches''  dearest  priz'd. 
Heaven  would  that  she  these  gijts  snould  have, 
And  I  to  live  and  die  her  slave. 
Ros.   O  most  gentle  Jupiter ! — what  tedious  ho- 
mily of  love  have  you  wearied  your  parishioners 
withal,   and   never   cry'd,   Have  patience,  good 
people ! 

Cel.  How  now !  back,  friends ; — Shepherd,  go 
off  a  little : — Go  with  him,  sirrah. 

Touch.  Come,  shepherd,  let  us  make  an  honour- 
able retreat ;  though  not  with  bag  and  bagpaere,  yel 
with  scrip  and  scrippage.     [Exe.  Cor.  and  Touch, 
Cel.  Didst  thou  hear  these  verses  ? 
Ros.  0,  yes,  I  heard  them  all,  and  more  too ; 

(5)  Features. 


Seiiu  tt. 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


215 


for  some  of  them  had  in  them  more  feet  than  thelthe  propositions  of  aIoTer:-7-but  take  a  taat«  of  my 

Terses  would  bear.  finding  him,  and  relish  it  with  a  ^ood  obserrancc. 

Cel.  That's  no  matter ;  the  feet  might  bear  the  I  found  him  under  a  tree,  like  a  dropp'd  acorn. 


Terses. 

Ros.  Ay,  but  the  feet  were  lame,  and  could  not 
bear  themselves  without  the  verse,  and  therefore 
stood  lamely  in  the  verse. 

Cel.  But  didst  thou  hear,  without  wondering 
how  thy  name  should  be  hang'd  and  carv'd  upon 
these  trees  ? 

Ros.  I  was  seven  of  the  nine  days  out  of  the 
wonder,  before  you  came ;  for  look  here  what  I 
found  on  a  palm-tree :  I  was  never  so  be-rhymed 
since  Pythagoras'  time,  that  I  was  an  Irish  rat, 
which  I  can  hardly  remember. 

Cel.  Trow  you,  who  hath  dune  tliis? 

Ros.  Is  it  a  man '/ 

Cel.  And  a  chain,  that  you  once  wore,  about  hia 
neck :  Change  you  colour  ? 


Ros.  It  may  well  be  call'd  Jore's  tree,  when  it 
drops  forth  such  fruit. 

Cel.  Give  me  audience,  good  madam. 

Ros.  Proceed. 

Cel.  There  lay  he,  stretch'd  along,  like  a  wounded 
knight. 

Ros.  Though  it  be  pity  to  see  such  a.  sight,  it 
well  becomes  the  ground. 

Cel.  Cry,  holla!  to  thy  tongue,  I  pr'ythee;  it 
curvets  very  unseasonably.  He  was  furnish'd  like 
a  hunter. 

Ros.  O  ominous !  he  comes  to  kill  my  heart. 

Cel.  I  would  sing  my  song  without  a  burden; 
thou  bring'st  me  out  of  tune. 

Ros.  Ho  you  not  know  I  am  a  woman  ?  when  I 
think,  I  must  speak.    Sweet,  say  on. 


Ros,  I  pr'ythee,  who  ?  r  .     /-»  i     j        j  t 

Cel.  0  lord,  lord !  it  is  a  hard  matter  for  friendsl  ^"',«'"  0"ando  and  Jaques. 

to  meet ;   but  mountains  may  be  removed  with)     Cel.  You  bring  me  out : — Soft !  comes  he  not 

earthquakes,  and  so  encounter,  here  ? 


Ros.  Nay,  but  who  is  it  / 

Cel.  Is  it  possible  ? 

Ros.  Nay,  I  pray  thee  now,  with  most  petition- 
ary vehemence,  tell  me  who  it  is. 

Ctl.  O  wonderful,  wonderful,  and  most  wonder- 
ful wonderful,  and  yet  again  wonderful,  and  after 
that  out  of  all  whooping ! ' 

Ros.  Good  my  complexion!  dost  thou  think, 
though  I  am  caparison'd  like  a  man,  I  have  a  dou- 
blet and  hose  in  my  disposition?  One  inch  of  delay 
more  is  a  South-sea-oti  discovery."*  I  pr'ythee,  tell 
me,  who  is  it?  quickly-,  and  speak  apace :  I  would 
thou  could'st  stammer,  that  thou  might'st  pour 
this  concealed  man  out  of  thy  mouth,  as  wine 
comes  out  of  a  narrow-mouth'd  bottle  ;  either  too 
much  at  once,  or  none  at  all.  I  pr'ythee,  take  the 
cork  out  of  Ihy  mouth,  that  I  may  drink  thv  tidings. 

Cel.  So  you  may  put  a  man  in  your  belly. 

Ros.  Is  he  of  God's  making?  ^Vhat  manner  ofl 
man  ?  Is  his  head  worth  a  hat,  or  his  chin  worth  a| 
beard  ? 


Ros.  'Tis  he ;  slink  by,  and  note  him. 

fCelia  and  Rosalind  retire, 

Jaq.  I  thank  you  for  your  company ;  but,  good 
faith,  I  had  as  lief  have  been  myself  alone. 

Orl.  And  so  had  I :  but  yet,  for  fashion's  sake, 
I  thank  vou  too  for  your  society. 

Jaq.  God  be  with  you ;  let's  meet  as  little  as  wq 
can. 

Orl,  I  do  desire  we  may  be  better  strangers. 

Jaq.  I  pray  you,  mar  no  more  trees  with  writing 
love-songs  in  their  barks. 

Orl,  I  pray  you,  mar  no  more  of  my  verses  with 
reading  them  ill-favourcdly. 

Jaq.  Rosalind  is  your  love's  name  ? 

Orl.  Yea,  just. 

Jaq.  I  do  not  like  her  name. 

Orl.  There  was  no  thought  of  pleasing  yon, 
when  she  was  christcn'd. 

Jaq.  What  stature  is  she  of? 

Orl.  Just  as  high  as  my  heart. 

Jaq.  You  are  lull  of  pretty  answers :  Hare  you 


Cel.  Nay,  he  hath  but  a  little  beard.  [not  been  acquainted  with  goldsmiths'  wives,  and 

Ros.  Why,  God  will  send  more,  if  the  man  will  conn'd  them  out  of  rings  ? 


be  thankful :  let  me  stay  the  growth  of  his  beard, 
if  thou  delay  me  not  the  knowledge  of  liis  chin. 

Cel.  It  is  young  Orlando  ;  that  tripp'd  up  the 
wrestler's  heels,  and  your  heart,  both  in  an  instant, 

Ros.  Nay,  but  the  devil  take  mockin 
sad  brow,  and  true  maid.^ 

Cel.  I'faith,  coz,  'tis  he. 

Ros,  Orlando? 

Ctl.  Orlando. 

Ros.   Alas  the  day!  what  shall  I  do  with  my 


Orl.  Not  so ;  but  I  answer  you  right  painted 
cloth,^  from  whence  you  have  studied  your  ques- 
tions. 

Jaq.  You  have  a  nimble  wit;  I  think  it  was 
speak  made  of  Atalanta's  heels.  Will  you  sit  down  with 
me  ?  and  we  tivo  will  rail  against  our  mistress  the 
world,  and  all  our  misery. 

Orl.  I  will  chide  no  breather  in  the  world,  but 
rofself ;  against  whom  I  know  most  faults. 

Jaq.  The  worst  fault  you  have,  is  to  be  in  lore. 


doublet  and  hose  ? — What  did  he,  when  thou  saw'st]     Orl.  'Tis  a  fault  I  will  not  change  for  your  best 

him?  What  said  he?   How  look'd  he?   Wherein  virtue.    I  am  weary  of  vou. 

went  he  ?'    What  makes  he  here  ?    Did  he  ask  for     Jaq.    By  my  troth,  t  was  seeking  for  a  fool, 

mc?    Where  remains  he?    How  parted  he  with  when  I  found  you. 

thee?  and  when  shalt  thou  see  him  again?  Answer      Orl.  He  is  drown'd  in  the  brook;  look  but  in, 

me  in  one  word.  and  you  sliall  see  him. 

Cel.  You  must  borrow  me  Garagantua's*  mouthj    Jaa.  There  shall  I  see  mine  own  figure, 
first :  'tis  a  word  too  great  for  any  mouth  of  this      Orl.  Which  I  take  to  be  either  a  fool,  or  a 
age's  size :  To  say,  ay,  and  no,  to  these  particulars,  cypher. 
is  more  than  to  answer  in  a  catechism.  I    Jaq.   I'll  tarry  no  longer  with  you :  farewell, 

Rof:.  But  doth  he  know  that  I  am  in  the  forest,! good  signior  love, 
and  in  man's  apparel  ?  Looks  he  as  freshly  as  he!     Orl.  I  am  glad  of  your  departure  ;  adieu,  gooa 
did  the  day  he  wrestled  ?  [monsieur  melancholy. 

Ctl.  It  15  as  easy  to  count  atomies,'  as  to  resolve     [ExiMaques. — Celia  ond  Rosalind  come  forward. 


(1)  Out  of  all  measure. 

(2)  Speak  seriously  and  honestly. 

(3)  now  was  be  dressed  ? 


I     (4)  The  giant  of  Rabelais.  (5)  Motes. 

I    (6)  An  allusion  to  the  moral  sentences  on  old 
Itapestry  hangings. 


Ros.  I  will  speak  to  him  lik6  a  saucy  lacquey, 
and  under  that  iiabit  play  the  knave  with  him. — 
Do  you  liear,  forester  ? 

Orl.  Very  well ;  What  would  you  ? 

Ros.  I  pray  you,  what  is't  a'clock  ? 

Orl.  You  should  ask  me,  %vhat  time  o'  day ;  there's 
no  clock  in  the  forest. 

Ros.  Then,  there  is  no  true  lover  in  tlie  forest ; 
else  sighing  every  minute,  and  groaning  every  hour, 
would  detect  the  laz  v  foot  of  time,  as  well  as  a  clock. 

Orl.  And  why  no't  the  swift  foot  of  time  ?  had 
not  that  been  as  proper  ? 

Ros.  By  no  means,  sir ;  Time  travels  in  divers 
paces  with  divers  persona :  I'll  tell  you  who  time 
ambles  withal,  who  lime  trots  withal,  who  time 
gallops  withal,  and  who  he  stands  still  withal. 

Orl.  I  pr'ythce,  who  doth  he  trot  withal. 

Ros.  Marry,  he  trots  hard  with  a  young  maid, 
between  the  contract  of  her  marriage,  and  the  day 
it  is  solemnized :  if  the  interim  be  but  a  se'nnight, 
time's  pace  is  so  hard  that  it  seems  the  length  of 
■even  years. 

Orl.  Who  ambles  time  withal  ? 

Ros.  With  a  priest  that  lacks  Latin,  and  a  rich 
man  that  hath  not  the  gout :  for  the  onfc  sleeps  ea- 
sily, because  he  cannot  study ;  and  the  other  lives 
merrily,  because  he  feels  no  pain  :  the  one  lacking 
the  burden  of  lean  and  wasteful  learning  ;  the 
Other  knowing  no  burden  of  heavy  tedious  penury 
I'hese  time  ambles  Avilhal. 

Orl.  Who  doth  he  gallop  withal  ? 

Ros.  With  a  thief  to  the  gallows :  for  though  he 
go  as  softly  as  foot  can  fall,  he  thinks  himself  too 
soon  there. 

Orl.  Who  stays  it  still  withal  ? 

Ros.  With  lawyers  in  the  vacation :  for  they  sleep 
between  term  and  term,  and  then  tliey  perceive  not 
how  time  moves. 

Orl.  Where  dwell  you,  pretty  youth  ? 

Ros.  With  this  shepherdess,  my  sister ;  here  in 
Che  skirts  of  the  forest,  like  fringe  upon  a  petticoat. 

Orl,  Are  you  a  native  of  this  place  ? 

Ros.  As  the  coney,  that  you  see  dwell  where 
she  is  kindled. 

Orl.  Your  accent  is  something  finer  than  you 
could  purchase  in  so  remov'd'  a  dwelling. 

Ros.  I  have  been  told  so  of  many :  but,  indeed, 
an  old  religious  uncle  of  mine  taught  me  to  speak, 
who  was  in  his  youth  an  in-land^  man ;  one  that 
knew  courtship  too  well,  for  there  he  fell  in  love. 
I  have  heard  him  read  many  lectures  against  it ; 
and  I  thank  God,  I  am  not  a  woman,  to  be  touch'd 
with  so  many  giddy  oftences  as  he  hath  generally 
tax'd  their  whole  sex  withal. 

Orl.  Can  you  remember  any  of  the  principal 
evils,  that  he  laid  to  the  charge  of  women  ? 

Ros.  There  were  none  principal ;  they  were  all 
like  one  another,  as  half-pence  are :  every  one  fault 
seeming  monstrous,  till  his  fellow  fault  came  to 
match  it. 

Orl.  I  pr'ythee,  recount  some  of  them. 

Ros.  No  ;  I  will  not  cast  away  my  physic,  but 
on  those  that  are  sick.  There  is  a  man  haunts  the 
forest,  that  abuses  our  young  plants  with  carving 
Rosalind  on  their  barks ;  hangs  odes  upon  haw- 
thorns, and  elegies  on  brambles ;  all,  forsooth, 
deifying  the  name  of  Rosalind  :  if  I  could  meet 
that  fancy-monger,  I  would  give  him  some  good 
counsel,  for  he  seems  to  have  the  quotidian  of  love 
upon  him. 

Orl.  I  am  he  that  is  so  love-shaked ;  I  pray  you, 
tell  me  your  remedy. 

(n  Sequestered.  (2)  Civilized. 

{S)  A  spirit  averse  to  conversation.    (4)  Estate. 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


Jiet  111, 


Ros.  There  is  none  of  my  uncle's  marks  upon  you  C 
he  taught  me  how  to  know  a  man  in  love ;  in  which 
cage  of  rushes,  I  am  sure,  you  are  not  prisoner. 

Orl.  What  were  his  marks  ? 
Ros.  A  lean  cheek ;  which  you  have  not :  a  blue 
eye,  and  sunken ;  which  you  have  not :  an  un- 
questionable spirit ;'  which  you  have  not :  a  beard 
neglected  ;  which  you  have  not : — but  I  pardon 
you  for  that ;  for,  simply,  your  having"  in  beard  is 
a  younger  brother's  revenue : — Then  your  hose 
should  be  ungarter'd,  your  bonnet  unhanded,  your 
sleeve  unbuttoned,  your  shoe  untied,  and  every 
t  hing  about  you  demonstrating  acarelessdesolatiori. 
But  you  are  no  such  man  ;  you  are  rather  point- 
device^  in  your  accoutrements ;  as  loving  yourself, 
than  seeming  the  lover  of  any  other. 

Orl.  Fair  youth,  I  would  I  could  make  thee 
believe  I  love. 

Ros.  Me  believe  it?  you  mav  as  soon  make  her 
that  you  love  believe  it;  which,  I  warrant,  she  is 
apte'r  to  do,  than  to  confess  she  does :  that  is  one 
of  the  points  in  the  which  women  still  give  the  lie 
to  their  consciences.  But,  in  good  sooth,  are  you 
he  that  hangs  the  verses  on  the  trees,  wherein 
Rosalind  is  so  admired  ? 

Orl.  I  swear  to  thee,  youth,  by  the  white  hand 
of  Rosalind,  I  am  that  he,  that  unfortunate  he. 

Ros.  But  are  you  so  much  in  love  as  your  rhymes 
speak  ? 

Orl.  Neither  rhyme  nor  reason  can  express  how 
much. 

Ros.  Love  is  merely  a  madness ;  and,  I  tell  you, 
deserves  as  well  a  dark  house  and  a  v/hip,  as  mad- 
men do  :  and  the  reason  why  they  are  not  so  pu- 
nished and  cured,  is,  that  th%lunacyis  so  ordinary, 
that  the  whippers  are  in  love  too :  Yet  I  profess 
curing  it  by  counsel. 

Orl,  Did  you  ever  cure  any  so  ? 

Ro^.  Y'es,  one ;  and  in  this  manner.  He  was  to 
imagine  me  his  love,  his  mistresa ;  and  I  set  him 
every  day  to  woo  me :  At  which  time  would  I, 
being  but  a  moonish*  youth,  grieve,  be  effeminate, 
changeable,  longing,  and  liking ;  proud,  fantasti- 
cal, apish,  shallow,  inconstant,  full  of  tears,  full  of 
smiles ;  for  every  passion  something,  and  for  no 
passion  truly  any  thin?,  as  boys  and  women  are  for 
the  most  part  cattle  of  (his  colour :  would  now  like 
him,  now  loatn  him  ;  then  entertain  him,  then  for- 
swear him  ;  now  weep  for  him,  then  spit  at  him  ; 
that  I  drave  my  suitor  from  his  mad  humour  of  love, 
to  a  living  humour  of  madness  ;  which  was,  to  for- 
swear the  full  stream  of  the  world,  and  to  live  in  a 
nook  merely  monastic  :  And  thus  I  cured  him  ; 
and  this  "ny  will  I  take  upon  me  to  wash  your 
liver  as  clean  as  a  sound  sheep's  heart,  that  l!here 
sliall  nnl  be  one  spot  of  love  in't. 

Orl.  I  would  not  be  cured,  youth. 

Ros.  I  would  cure  you,  if  you  would  but  call 
me  Rosalind,  and  come  every  day  to  my  cote,  and 
woo  me. 

Orl.  Nowj  by  the  faith  of  my  love,  I  will ;  tell 
me  where  it  is. 

Ros.  Go  with  me  to  it,  and  I'll  show  it  you  :  and, 
by  the  way,  vou  shall  tell  me  where  in' the  forest 
you  live  :  Will  you  £ro  ? 

Orl.  -With  all  my  heart,  cood  youth. 
Ros.  Nay,  you  must  call  me  Rpsalind :— Come, 
sister,  will  you  go  ?  [Exeunl. 

SCEJ^E   ///.—Ejifer Touchstone,  anrf  Audrey; 
Jaqucs  al  a  distcw.ce,  observing  them. 

Touch,  Come  apace,  good  Audrey;  I  will  fetch 
(5)  Over-exact,  (6)  Variable. 


Seme  IV, 


AS'YOU  LIKE  IT. 


S17 


up  your  goats,  Audrey :  And  how,  Audrey  ?  am  I 
the  man  yel  ?  Dolh  n\}'  simple  feature  content  you  ? 

Aud.  Your  features  •  Lord  warrant  us  !  what 
features  ? 

2'ouch.  I  am  here  with  thee  and  thy  ?oats,  as 
the  most  capricious'  poet,  honest  Ovid,  was  among 
the  Goths. 

Jaq.  0  knowledge  ill-inhabited  !=*  worse  than 
Jove  in  a  thatch'd  house !  [^Iside 


stood,  nor  a  man's  good  wit  seconded  v/ith  the  for- 
ward child,  understanding,  it  strikes  a  man  more 
dead  than  a  ^reat  reckoning  in  a  little  room  : — 
Truly,  I  would  the  gods  had  made  thee  poetical. 

miilJ.  I  do  not  know  ivhat  poetical  is  :  Is  it 
honest  in  deed,  and  word  ?  Is  it  a  true  thing  ? 

Tmich.  No,  truly ;  for  the  truest  poetry  is,  the 
most  feig'ning;  and  lovers  are  given  to  poeirv;  and 
what  Ihev  swear  in  poetry,  may  be  said,  as  lovers, 
they  do  feign. 

^iud.  Do  you  wish  then,  that  the  gods  had  made 
me  poetical  ? 

Touch,  I  do,  truly :  for  thou  swear'st  to  me,  thou 
art  honest ;  now,  if  tlica  wert  a  poet,  I  might  have 
some  hope  thou  didst  feig^n. 

t^iid.  Would  you  not  have  me  honest  ? 

Touch.  No  truly,  unless  thou  wert  hard- fa vour'd : 
for  honesty  coupled  to  beauty,  is  to  have  houcy  a 
sauce  to  sugar, 

Jaq.  A  material  fool !'  [Aside. 

dud.  Well,  I  am  not  fair ;  and  therefore  I  pray 
the  gods  make  me  honest ! 

Touch.  Truly,  and  to  cast  away  honesty  upon 
a  foul  slut,  were  to  put  good  meat  into  an  unclean 
dish. 

Mid.  I  am  not  a  slut,  though  I  thank  the  gods  I 
am  fou!.* 

Touch.  Well,  praised  be  the  gods  for  thy  foul- 
ness !  sluttishness  may  come  hereaHer.  But  be  it 
as  it  may  be,  I  will  marr>'  thee :  and  to  that  end  I 
have  been  with  sir  OliverMar-text,  the  vicar  of  the 
next  villaire ;  who  hath  promised  to  meet  mo  in  this 
place  of  the  forest,  and  to  couple  us. 

Jaq.  I  would  fain  see  this  meeting.  [Aside. 

Aud.  Well,  the  gods  give  us  joy  ! 
.  Touch.  Amen.  A  man  may,  if  he  were  of  a 
fearful  heart,  stajrger  in  this  attempt ;  for  here  we 
have  no  temple  but  the  wood,  no  assembly  but 
horn-beasts.  But  what  though  ?  Courage  !  As 
horns  are  odious,  they  are  necessary.  It  is  said, — 
Many  a  man  kno^vs  no  end  of  his  eoods  :  right : 
many  a  man  has  good  horns,  and  knows  no  end  of 
them.     Well,  that  is  the  dowry  of  his  wife ;  'tis 

none  of  his  own  gettiug.— Horr.s  !   Even  so: 

Poor  men  alone;— — No,  no;  the  noblest  deer  ha' h 
them  as  huie  as  the  rascal.'  I"!  the  single  man 
therefore  blessed  ?  No  :  as  a  wall'd  town  is  more 
worthier  Ihan  a  village,  so  is  the  forehead  of  a  mar- 
ried man  more  honourable  Ihan  the  bare  brow  ofa 
bachelor:  and  by  how  much  defence"  is  better  than 
no  skill,  by  so  much  is  a  horn  more  precious  than 
to  want. 

Euler  Sir  Oliver  Mar-text, 
Here  comes  sir  Oliver: — sir  Oliver  Mar-text,  you 
arc  well  mot :  Will  you  despatch  us  here  undcrthis 
tree,  or  shall  wc  tro  with  you  to  your  chapel  ? 

Sir  OH.  Is  there  none  here  to  give  the  woman  ? 

Touch.  I  will  not  take  her  on  gift  of  any  man. 

Sir  on.  Truly,  she  must  be  given,  or  the  mar- 
riage is  not  lawful, 

(1)  Lascivious.  (2)  Ill-lodged.      . 

(3)  A  fool  with  matter  in  him.        (4)  Homely. 

(5)  Lean  deer  are  called  rascul  deer. 


Jaq.  [DUcovenng  himaetf.]  Proceed,  proceed ; 
I'll  give  her. 

Touch.  Good  even,  good  master  What  ye  ealVt : 

How  do  you,  sir  ?  You  are  very  well  met :  God'ild 

you'  for  your  last  company :  I  am  very  elad  to  see 

you : — Even  a  toy  in  hand  here,  sir : — Nay ;  pray, 

be  covcr'd, 

Jaq.  Will  you  be  married,  motley  ? 

Touch.  As  the  ox  hath  his  bow,'  sir,  the  horse 

Touch.  AVhen  a  man's  verses  cannot  be  under-  his  curb,  and  the  falcon  her  bells,  so  man  hath  his 

desires;  and  as  pigeons  bill,  so  wedlock  would  be 
nibtting. 

Jaa.  And  will  you,  being  a  man  of  your  breed- 
ing, DC  married  under  a  bush,  like  a  beggar  ?  Get 
you  to  church,  and  have  a  good  priest  that  can  tell 
you  what  marriage  is :  this  iellow  will  but  join  you 
together  as  they  join  wainscot ;  then  one  of  you 
will  prove  a  shrunk  pannel,  and,  like  green  timber, 
warp,  warp. 

Touch.  I  am  not  in  the  mind  but  I  were  better 
to  be  married  of  him  than  of  another :  for  he  is  not 
like  to  marry  me  well ;  and  not  being  well  married, 
it  v/ill  be  a  good  excuse  fpr  me  hereafter  to  leave 
my  wife.  [Aside, 

Jaq.  Go  thou  with  me,  and  let  me  counsel  thee. 
Touch.  Come,  sweet  Audrey ; 
We  must  be  married,  or  we  must  live  in  bawdry. 
Farewell,  good  master  Oliver ; 
Not — O  sweet  Oliver, 
O  brave  Oliver, 
Leave  me  not  behi'  thee ; 
But — ^\Vind  away, 
Begone,  I  say, 
I  will  not  to  wedding  wi'  thee. 

[Exe.  Jaq.  Touch,  and  Audrey. 

Sir  Oil.  'Tis  no  matter ;  ne'er  a  fantastical  knave 

of  them  all  shall  flout  me  out  of  my  calling,     [Ex. 

SC£JV£    JV.—TJfe    same.     Before   a  CoUage. 
Enter  Rosalind  and  Celia. 

Ros.  Never  ta'k  to  me,  I  will  weep. 

Cel.  Do,  I  pr'ythee;  but  yet  have  the  grace  to 
consider,  that  tears  do  not  become  a  man. 

Res.  But  have  I  not  cause  to  weep  ? 

Cel.  As  good  cause  as  one  would  desire ;  there- 
fore weep. 

Ros.  His  very  hair  is  of  the  dissembling  colour. 

Cd.  Something  browner  than  Judas's :  many, 
his  kisses  are  Judas's  own  children. 

Ros.  I'faith,  his  hair  is  ofa  good  colour. 

Cel.  An  excellent  colour :  your  chesnut  wa« 
ever  the  only  colour. 

Ros.  And  his  kissing  is  as  full  of  sanctity  as  the 
touch  of  holy  bread. 

Cel.  He  hath  bourhtapair  of  cast  lips  of  Diana; 
a  nun  of  winter's  sisterhood  kisses  not  more  reli- 
gio'isly :  the  very  ire  of  chastity  is  in  them. 

Ros.  IJut  why  did  he  swear  he  would  come  this 
mornin",  and  comes  not? 

Cel.  Nay  certain'*',  th?!re  is  no  truth  in  him. 

Ros.  Do  yr'--  .iimk  so? 

Cel.  Yes  :  I  think  he  is  net  a  pick-purse,  nor  a 
horsc-stcaler  ;  but  for  his  verity  in  love,  I  do  thinly 
him  as  concave  as  a  covcr'd  goblet,  or  a  worn 
eaten  nu». 

Ros.  Not  true  in  love  ? 

Cel.  Yes,  when  he  is  in  ;  but,  I  think  he  is  not  in. 

Ros.  Y'ou  have  heard  him  swear  downright,  he 
was. 

Ce!.  Was  is  not  is :  besides,  the  oath  of  a  lorei 
is  no  stronger  than  the  word  ofa  tapster;  they  ar» 


(6)  The  art  of  fencing, 
(S)  Yoke. 


(7)  God  reward  yow 


2  F. 


218 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


Jet  HI, 


both  the  eonfirmers  of  falae  reckoning :  He  at- 
tends here  in  the  forest  on  the  duke  your  father. 

Ros.  I  met  the  duke  yesterday,  and  had  much 
question*  with  him.  He  asked  me,  of  what  parent- 
age I  was ;  I  told  him,  of  as  good  as  he :  so  he 
laugh'd,  and  let  me  go.  But  what  talk  we  of 
fathers,  when  there  is  such  a  man  as  Orlando  ? 

Cel,  O,  that's  a  brave  man!  he  writes  brave 
Terses,  speaks  brave  words,  swears  brave  oaths, 
and  breaks  them  bravely,  quite  traverse,  athwart 
the  heart  of  his  lover:'*  as  a  puny  tilter,  that  spurs 
his  horse  but  on  one  side,  brealcs  his  stalTlike  a  noble 
goose :  but  all's  brave,  that  youth  mounts,  and  folly 
guides : — Who  comes  here ! 

Enter  Corin. 

Cor.  Mistress,  and  master,  you  have  oft  inquired 
After  the  shepherd  tliat  complain'd  of  love ; 
Who  you  saw  sitting'  by  me  on  the  turf, 
Praismg  the  proud  disdainful  shepherdess 
That  was  his  mistress. 

Cel.  Well,  and  what  of  him  ? 

Cor.  If  you  will  see  a  pageant  truly  play'd, 
Between  tiie  pale  complexion  of  true  love 
And  the  red  glow  of  scorn  and  proud  disdain, 
Go  hence  a  little,  aud  I  shall  conduct  you. 
If  you  will  mark  it 

Ros.  O,  come,  let  us  remove ; 

The  sight  of  lovers  feedeth  those  in  love  • — 
Bring  us  unto  this  sijrht,  and  you  shall  say 
I'll  prove  a  busy  actor  in  their  play.        '[Exeur^. 

SCE^E  v.— .Another  part  of  the  Forest.    Enter 
Silvius  and  Fhcbe. 

Sit.  Sweet  Piiebc,  do  not  scorn  mc :   do  not, 

Phebe : 
Say,  that  you  love  me  not ;  but  say  not  so 
In  bitterness :  The  common  executioner. 
Whose  heart  the  accustom'd  sight  of  death  makes 

hard,  ^ 

Falls  not  the  axe  upon  the  humble  neck. 
But  first  begs  pardon ;  Will  you  sterner  be 
Than  he  that  dies  and  lives  by  bloody  drops  ? 
Enter  Rosalind,  Celia,  and  Corin,  at  a  distance, 
Pke.  I  would  not  be  thy  executioner ; 
I  fly  thee,  for  I  would  not  injure  thee. 
Thou  tell'st  me,  there  is  murder  in  mine  eye : 
Tb  pretty,  sure,  and  very  probable. 
That  eyes, — that  are  the  frail'st  and  softest  things, 
Who  shut  their  coward  gates  on  atomies, — 
Should  be  call'd  tyrants,  butchers,  murderers ! 
Now  I  do  frown  on  thee  with  all  my  heart ; 
And,  if  mine  eyes  can  wound,  now  let  them  kill 

thee  ; 
Now  counterfeit  to  swoon  ;  why  now  fall  down ; 
Or,  if  thou  canst  not,  O,  for  shame,  for  shame, 
Lie  not,  to  say  mine  eyes  are  murderers. 
Now  show  the  wound  mine  eye  hath  made  in  thee : 
Scratch  thee  but  vilh  a  pin,  and  there  remains 
Some  scar  of  it ;  lean  but  upon  a.  r'lsh. 
The  cicatrice  and  capable  impressure 
Thy  palm  some  moment  keeps :  but  now  mine  eyes, 
Which  I  have  darted  at  thee,  hurt  thee  not ; 
Nor,  I  am  sure,  there  is  no  force  in  eyes 
That  can  do  hurt. 

Sil.  O  dear  Phete, 

If  ever  (as  that  ever  may  be  near,) 
Ton  meet  in  some  fresh  cheek  the  power  of  fancy,' 
Then  shall  you  know  the  wounds  invisible 
That  love's  keen  arrows  make. 
Pke.  But,  till  that  time, 

(n  ConrersatioD.     (!)  Mistress,     (3)  Love. 


Come  not  thou  near  me :  and,  when  that  time  cornea, 
Afflict  me  with  thy  mocks,  pity  me  not ; 
As,  till  that  time,  I  shall  not  pity  thee. 
Ros.  And  why,  I  pray  you  /  [Mvancing.]  Wh« 

might  be  your  mother. 
That  you  insult,  exult,  and  all  at  once. 
Over  the  wretched '/  What  though  you  have  more 

beauty, 
(As,  by  my  faith,  I  see  no  more  in  you 


on  me  7 

I  see  no  more  in  you.  than  in  the  ordinary 
Of  nature's  sale-wovk: — Od's  my  little  life! 
I  think,  she  means  to  tangle  my  eyes  too : — 
No,  'faith,  proud  mistress,  hope  not  after  it ; 
'Tis  not  your  inky  brows,  your  black-silk  hair, 
Your  bugle  eye-balls,  nor  your  cheek  of  cream, 
That  can.entame  my  spirits  to  your  worship. — 
You  foolish  shepherd,  %vherefore  do  you  follow  her. 
Like  foggy  south,  purting  with  wind  and  rain  ? 
You  are  a  thousand  times  a  properer  man. 
Than  she  a  woman :  'Tis  such  tools  as  you. 
That  make  the  world  full  of  ill-favour'd  children ; 
'Tis  not  her  glass,  but  you,  tliat  flatters  her  ; 
And  out  of  you  she  sees  herself  more  proper, 
Than  any  of  her  lineaments  can  show  her. — 
But,  mistress,  know  yourself ;  down  on  your  knees. 
And  thank  heaven,  fasting,  for  a  good  man's  love : 
For  I  must  tell  you  friendly  in  your  ear, — 
Sell  when  you  can ;  you  are  not  for  all  markets : 
Cry  the  man  mercy ;  love  him ;  take  his  offer ; 
Foul  is  most  foul,  being  foul  to  be  a  scofl'er. 
So  take  her  to  thee,  shepherd  ; — fare  you  well. 

Phe.  Sweet  youth,  I  pray  you,  chide  a  year  to 
gether ; 
I  had  rather  hear  you  chide,  than  this  man  woo. 

Ros.  He's  fallen  in  love  with  her  foulness,  and 
she'll  fall  in  love  with  my  anger :  If  it  be  so,  as 
fast  as  she  answers  thee  with  frowning  looks,  I'll 
sauce  her  with  bitter  words. — Why  look  you  so 
upon  me  ? 

Phe.  For  no  ill  will  I  bear  you. 

Ros.  I  pray  you,  do  not  fall  in  love  with  me, 
For  I  am  falser  than  vows  made  in  wine : 
Besides,  I  like  you  not :  If  you  will  know  my  house, 
'Tis  at  the  tuil  of  olives,  here  hard  by  : — 
Will  you  go,  sister? — Shepherd,  ply  her  hard  : — 
Come,  sister :  Shepherdess,  look  on  him  better. 
And  be  not  proud :  though  all  the  world  could  see, 
None  could  be  so  abus'd  in  sight  as  he. 
Come,  to  our  flock.  [Exe.  Ros.  ^el.  and  Cor. 

Phe.  Dear  shepherd!  now  I  find  thy  saw  of  might; 
Who  ever  lov^d,  that  lovUl  not  a»  jCrxt  siglU  ? 

Sil.  Sweet  Phfcbe, — 

Phe.  Ha !  what  say'st  thou,  Silvias  ? 

Sil.  Sweet  Phebe,  pity  me. 

Phe.  Why,  I  am  sorry  for  thee,  gentle  Silvius. 

Sil.  Wherever  sorrow  is,  relief  would  be ; 
If  you  do  sorrow  at  my  grief  in  love. 
By  giving  love,  your  sorrow  and  my  grief 
Were  both  extcrmin'd, 

Phe.  Thou  hast  my  love ;  Is  not  that  neighbourly  7 

Sil.  I  would  have  you. 

Phe.  Why,  that  were  covetousness. 

Silvius,  the  time  was,  that  I  hated  thee ; 
And  yet  it  is  not,  that  I  bear  thee  love  : 
But  since  that  thou  canst  talk  of  love  so  well. 
Thy  company,  which  erst  was  irksome  to  me, 
I  will  endure  ;  and  I'll  employ  thee  too : 
But  do  not  look  for  further  recompense. 
Than  thine  own  gladness  that  thou  art  emploj'd. 

Sil.  So  holj-,  and  so  perfect  is  my  love, 
And  I  in  such  a  poverty  of  grace, 


Setntl. 


AS  you  LIKE  IT. 


819 


That  I  shall  think  it  a  most  plenteous  crop 

To  glean  the  broken  ears  alter  the  man 

That  the  main  harvest  reaps :  loose  now  and  then 

A  scatter'd  smile,  and  that  I'll  live  upon. 

Fhe.  Know'st  ihou  the  youth  that  spoke  to  me 
ere  while  ? 

Sit.  Not  very  well,  but  I  have  met  him  ofl ; 
And  he  hath  bo'ught  the  cottage,  and  the  bounds, 
That  the  old  carlot'  once  was  master  of. 

Plu.  Think  not  I  love  him,  though  I  ask  for  him; 
'Tis  but  a  peevish*  boy :— yet  he  talks  well ; — 
But  %vhat  care  I  for  words'?  yet  words  do  \iell, 
When  he  that  speaks  them  pleases  those  that  hear. 
It  is  a  pretty  youth  : — not  very  pretty  ; — 
But,  sure  he'sproud ;  and  yet  his  pride  becomes  him: 
He'll  make  a  proper  man  :  The  best  thing  in  him 
Is  his  complexion ;  and  faster  tiian  his  tongue 
Did  make  offence,  his  eye  did  heal  it  up. 
He  is  not  tall ;  yet  for  liis  years  he's  tall : 
His  leg  is  but  so  so  ;  and  yet  'tis  well : 
There  was  a  pretty  redness  in  his  lip  ; 
A  little  riper  and  more  lusty  red 
Than  that  mix'd  in  liis  cheek ;  'twas  just  the  dif- 
ference 
Betwixt  the  constant  red,  and  mingled  damask. 
There  be  some  women,  Silvius,  had  they  mark'd  him 
In  parcels  as  I  did,  would  have  gone  near 
To  fall  in  love  with  him :  but,  for  mv  part, 
I  love  him  not,  nor  iiate  him  not ;  and  vet 
I  have  more  cause  to  hate  him  than  to  love  him : 
For  what  had  lie  to  do  to  chide  at  me  ? 
He  said,  mine  eyes  were  black,  and  my  hair  black ; 
And,  now  I  am  rememberd,  scom'd  at  me : 
I  marvel,  why  I  answer'd  not  again : 
1?ut  that's  all  one  ;  omittance  is  no  quittance. 
I'll  write  to  him  a  very  taunting  letter, 
And  thou  shalt  bear  it ;  Wilt  thou,  bilvius  ?        ' 

Sil.  Phebe,  with  all  my  heart. 

Phe.  I'll  write  it  straight ; 

The  matter's  in  my  head,  and  in  my  heart : 
I  will  be  bitter  with  him,  and  passing  short : 
Go  with  me,  Silvius,  [Exeunt. 


ACT  IV. 

SCEJ^E  I.— The  same.    Enter  Rosalind,  Celia, 
and  Jaques. 

Jaq.  I  pr'ythee,  pretty  youth,  let  me  be  better 
acquainted  with  tiiee. 

Kos.  They  say,  vou  are  a  melancholy  fellow. 

Jaq.  I  am  so  ;   f  do  love  it  better  than  laughing. 

Ros.  Those,  that  are  in  extremity  of  either,  are : 
abominable  fellows  ;  and  betray  themselves  to 
every  modern  censure,  worsfe  than  drunkards. 

Jaq.  Why,  'tis  good  to  be  sad  and  say  nothing. 

Ros.  Why  then,  'tis  good  to  be  a  post. 

Jao.  I  have  neither  the  scholar's  melancholy, 
which  is  emulation  ;  nor  the  musician's,  which  is 
fantastical;  nor  the  courtier's,  which  is  proud  ;  nor 
the  soldier's,  which  is  ambitious ;  nor  the  lawyer's, 
which  is  politic ;  nor  the  lady's,  which  is  nice ;' 
nor  the  lover's,  which  is  all  these  :  but  it  is  a  me- 
lancholy of  mine  own,  compounded  of  many  sim- 
ples, extracted  from  m'any  objects :  and,  indeed, 
the  sundry  contemplation  of  my  travels,  in  which 
my  often  rumination  wraps  me,  is  a  most  humorous 
Badness. 

Ros.  A  traveller !  By  my  faith,  you  have  great 
reason  to  be  sad:  I  fear,  you  have  sold  your  own 
lands,  to  see  other  men's ;  then,  to  have  seen  much, 

(1)  Peasant         (8)  Silly.         (3)  Trifling. 


and  to  have  nothing,  Is  to  have  rich  tjta  and  poor 
hands. 
Jaq.  Yes,  I  have  gained  my  experience. 

Enter  Orlando. 

Ros.  And  your  experience  makes  you  sad :  I 
had  rather  have  a  fool  to  make  me  merry,  than  ex- 
perience to  make  me  sad  ;  and  to  travel  for  it  too. 

Orl.  Good  day,  and  happiness,  dear  Rosalind ! 

Jaq.  Nay,  then,  God  be  wi'  you,  an  you  talk  in 
blank  verse.  [£iit. 

Ros.  Farewell,  monsieur  traveller:  Look,  you 
lisp,  and  wear  stran:>e  suits ;  disable*  all  the  bene- 
fits of  your  own  country  ;  be  out  of  love  with  your 
nativitj-,  and  almost  chide  God  for  making  you' that 
counteniince  you  ace  ;  or  I  will  scarce  iliink  you 
have  swam  in  a  gondola. — Why,  how  now,  Orlan- 
do !  Where  have  you  been  all  this  while  ?  You  a 
lover? — An  you  serve  me  such  another  trick,  never 
come  in  my  sight  more. 

Orl.  My  fair  Rosalind,  I  come  within  an  hour  of 
my  promise. 

Ros.  Break  an  hour's  promise  in  love?  He  that 
will  divide  a  minute  into  a  thousand  parts,  and 
break  but  a  part  of  the  thousandth  part  of  a  minute 
in  the  affairs  of  love,  it  may  be  said  of  him,  that 
Cupid  hath  clap'd  him  o'  the  shoulder,  but  I  war- 
rant him  heart-whole. 

Orl.  Pardon  me,  dear  Rosalind. 

Ros.  Nav,  an  you  be  so  tardy,  come  no  more  m 
my  sight ;  1  had  as  lief  be  woo'd  of  a  snail. 

Orl.  Of  a  snail? 

Ros.  Ay,  of  a  snail ;  for  though  he  comes  slowly, 
he  carries  his  house  on  his  head  ;  a  better  jointure, 
I  think,  than  you  can  make  a  woman :  Besides,  be 
brings  his  destiny  with  him. 

Orl.  What's  tiiat? 

Ros.  Wiiv.  horns ;  which  such  as  you  are  fain 
to  be  behoWen  to  your  wives  for :  but  he  comes 
armed  in  liis  fortune,  and  prevents  the  slander  of 
liis  wife. 

Orl.  Virtue  is  no  horn-maker ;  and  my  Rosalind 
is  virtuous. 

Ros.  And  I  am  your  Rosalind. 

Cel.  It  pleases  him  to  call  you  so ;  but  he  hath 
a  Rosalind  of  a  better  leer'  than  you. 

Ros.  Come,  woo  me,  woo  nie ;  for  now  I  am  in 
a  holiday  humour,  and  like  enough  to  consent : — 
What  would  you  say  to  me  now,  an  1  were  your 
very  verv  Rosalind  ? 

Orl.  i  would  kiss,  before  I  spoke. 

Ros.  Nay,  you  were  better  speak  first ;  and 
when  you  were  gravelled  for  lack  of  matter,  yoa 
might  "take  occasion  to  kiss.  Very  good  orators, 
v.hen  they  are  out,  they  will  spit ;  and  for  lovers, 
lacking  (God  warn  us  !)  matter,  the  cleanliest  shift 

to  kiss. 

Orl.  How  if  the  kiss  be  denied  ? 

Ros.  Then  she  puts  you  to  entreaty,  and  thera 
begins  new  matter. 

Orl.  Who  coidd  be  out,  being  before  his  beloved 
mistress  ? 

Ros.  Marry,  that  should  you,  if  I  were  yoor 
mistress ;  or  I  should  think  my  honesty  ranker  thaa 
my  wit, 

Orl.  What,  of  my  suit? 

Ros.  Not  out  of  your  apparel,  and  yet  oat  of 
your  suit.    Am  not  I  your  Rosalind  ? 

Orl.  I  take  some  joy  to  say  you  are,  because  I 
would  be  talking  of  her. 

Ros.  Well,  in  her  person,  I  say — I  will  not  hare 
you. 


(4)  Undervalue. 


(5)  Complexioo. 


S20 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


Jletir. 


OrL  Then,  In  mine  own  person,  I  die. 

Ros,  No,  failh,  die  by  altorney.  The  poor  world 
is  almost  six  thousand  years  old,  and  in  all  this 
time  there  was  not  any  man  died  in  his  own  person, 
videlicet,  in  a  love-cause.  Troiius  had  his  brains 
dashed  out  with  a  Grecian  club  ;  yet  he  did  ivhat 
he  could  to  die  before ;  and  he  is  one  of  the  pat- 
terns of  love.  Leander,  he  would  have  lived  many 
a  fair  year,  though  Hero  had  turned  nun,  if  it  hacl 
not  been  lor  a  not  miasummer  nieht:  for,  good 
youth,  he  went  but  forth  to  wash  him  in  the  Hel- 
lespont, and,  beinpr  taken  with  the  cramp,  was 
drowned ;  and  the  foolish  chroniclers  of  that  ag:e 
found  it  was — Hero  of  Sestos.  But  these  are  all 
lies ;  men  have  died  from  time  to  time,  and  worms 
have  eaten  them,  but  not  for  love. 

Orl.  I  would  not  have  my  right  Rosalind  of  this 
mind ;  for,  I  protest,  her  frown  mi^ht  kill  me. 

Ros.  By  this  hand,  it  will  not  Kill  a  fly.  But 
come,  now  I  will  be  your  Rosalind  in  a  more 
comin{y-on  disposition;  and  ask  me  what  you  wil), 
I  will  grant  it. 

Orl.  Then  love  me,  Rosalind. 

Ros.  Yes,  faith  will  I,  Fridays,  and  Saturdays, 
and  all. 

Orl.  And  wilt  thou  have  me  7 

Ros.  Ay,  and  twenty  such. 

Orl.  'Whatsay'stthou? 

Ros.  Are  you  not  good  ? 

Orl.  I  hope  so. 

Ros.  Why  then,  can  one  desire  too  much  of  a 
good  thing? — Come,  sister,  you  shall  be  the  priest, 
and  marrv  us. — Give  mc  your  hand,  Orlando: — 
What  do  you  say,  sister  ? 

Orl.  Pray  thee,  marry  us. 

Cel.  I  cannot  say  the  words. 

Ros.  You  must  berin, Will  you,  Orlando, — 

Cel.  Go  to : ^^Vill  you,  Orlando,  have  to  wife 

this  Rosalind  i 

Orl.  I  will. 

Ros.  Ay,  but  when  ? 

Orl.  Why  now ;  as  fast  as  she  can  marry  us. 

Ros.  Then  you  must  say, — /  take  thee,  Rosa- 
lind, for  wife. 

Orl.  I  take  thee^  Rosalind,  for  wife. 

Ros.  I  miffht  asK  you  for  your  commission  ;  but 
—I  do  take  thee,  Orlando,  for  my  husband :  There 
a  girl  goes  before  the  priest;  and,  certainly,  a 
woman's  thought  runs  before  her  actions. 

Orl.  So  do  all  thoughts  ;  they  arc  winjred. 

Ros.  Now  tcU  me,  how  long  yoa  would  have 
her.  after  you  have  possessed  her. 

OrL  For  ever,  and  a  day. 

Ros.  Say  a  day,  Avithout  the  ever:  No,  no,  Or- 
lando ;  men  are  April  when  they  woo,  December 
when  they  wed:  maids  are  May  when  they  are 
maids,  but  the  sky  changes  when  they  arc  wives. 
I  will  be  more  jealous  of  thee  than  a  Barbary  cock- 
pigeon  over  his  hen ;  more  clamorous  than  a  par- 
rot against  rain  ;  more  new-fangled  than  an  ape  ; 
more  giddy  in  my  desires  than  a  monkey ;  I  will 
weep  for  nothin?,  like  Diana  in  the  fountain,  and 
I  will  do  that  when  you  arc  disposed  to  be  merry; 
I  will  laugh  like  a  hyen,  and  that  when  thou  art 
inclined  to  sleep. 

Orl.  But  will  my  Rosalind  do  so  ? 

Ros.  By  my  life,  she  will  do  as  I  do. 

Orl.  O,  but  she  is  wise. 

Ros.  Or  else  she  could  not  have  the  wit  to  do 
this :  the  wiser,  the  waywarder :  Make  the  doors' 
upon  a  woman's  wit,  and  it  will  out  at  the  case- 
ment ;  shut  that,  and  'twill  out  at  the  key-hole ; 

(1)  Bar  the  doors. 


stop  that,  'twill  fly  with  the  imoke  out  at  the 
chimney. 

Orl.  A  man  that  had  a  wife  with  such  a  wit,  he 
miirht  say, — IVit,  whither  wilt  ? 

Ros.  Naj',  you  might  keep  that  check  for  it,  till 
you  met  your  wife's  wit  going  to  your  neighbour's 
bed. 

Orl.  And  what  wit  could  wit  have  to  excuse  that? 

Ros.  Marry,  to  say, — she  came  to  seek  you  there. 
You  shall  never  take  her  without  her  answer,  un- 
less you  take  her  without  her  tongue.  O,  that 
woman  that  cannot  make  her  fault  her  husband'* 
occasion,  let  her  never  nurse  her  child  herself,  for 
she  will  breed  it  like  a  fool, 

Orl.  For  tiiese  two  hours,  Rosalind,  I  will  leave 
thee. 

Ros.  Alas,  dear  love,  I  cannot  lack  thee  two 
hours. 

Orl.  I  must  attend  the  duke  at  dinner ;  by  two 
o'clock  I  will  be  with  thee  again. 

Ros.  Ay,  go  vour  ways,  go  your  ways; — I  knew 
what  you  would  prove ;  my  frieYids  told  me  as 
much,  and  1  tlioupht  no  less  :-^that  fiattering  tongue 
of  jours  won  me : — 'tis  but  one  cast  away,  and 
so, — come,  death. — Two  o'clock  is  your  hour  ? 

Orl.  Ay,  sweet  Rosalind. 

Ros.  By  my  troth,  and  in  good  earnest,  and  so 
God  mend  me,  and  by  all  pretty  oaths  that  are  not 
dangerous,  if  you  break  one  jot  of  your  promise, 
or  come  one  minute  behind  your  hour,  I  will  think 
you  the  most  pathetical  break-promise,  and  the 
most  hoUo^v  lover,  and  the  most  unworthy  of  her 
you  can  Rosalind,  that  may  be  chosen  out  of  the 
gross  band  of  the  unfaithful :  therefore  beware  my 
censure,  and  keep  your  promise. 

Orl.  With  no  less  religion,  than  if  thou  wert  in- 
deed my  Rosalind :  So,  adieu. 

Uos.  Well,  time  is  the  old  justice  ttiat  examines 
all  such  offenders,  and  let  time  try :  Adieu ! 

[Exit  Orlando. 

Cel.  You  have  simply  misus'd  our  sex  in  vour 
love-prate:  we  must  have  your  doublet  and  nose 
plucked  over  your  head,  and  show  the  world  what 
the  bird  hath  done  to  her  own  nest. 

Ros.  O  coz,  coz,  coz,  my  pretty  litile  coz,  that 
thou  didst  know  how  many  fathom  deep  I  am  in 
love!  But  it  cannot  be  sounded ;  my  affection  hath 
an  unknown  bottom,  like  the  bay  of  Portugal. 

Cel.  Or  rather  bottomless ;  that  as  last  as  you 
pour  affection  in,  it  runs  out, 

Ros.  No,  that  same  wicked  bastard  of  Venn*, 
that  was  begot  of  thoueht,'  conceived  of  spleen, 
and  bom  of  madness  ;  that  blind  rascally  boy,  that 
abuses  every  one's  eyes,  because  his  own  are  out. 
let  him  be  judge,  how  deep  I  am  in  lore : — I'll 
tell  thee,  Aliena,  I  cannor,  be  out  of  the  sight  of 
Orlando :  I'll  go  find  a  shadow,  and  sigh  till  he 
come. 

Cel.  And  I'll  sleep.  [Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E  II.— Another  part  of  the  Forest.    Enter 
Jaques  and  Lords,  in  the  Mbit  of  Foresters. 

Jaq.  Which  is  he  that  killed  the  deer  7 

1  Lord.  Sir,  it  was  I. 

Jaq.  \jeVs  present  him  to  the  duke,  like  a  Ro- 
man conqueror;  and  it  would  do  well  to  set  Ihe 
deer's  horns  upon  his  head,  for  a  branch  of  victory: 
— Have  von  no  song,  forester,  for  this  purpose  7 

2  Lord.  Yes,  sir. 

Jaq.  Sing  it ;  'tis  no  matter  how  it  be  in  tune 
so  it  malce  noise  enough, 

(2)  Melancholy. 


Stent  III. 


A3  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


SONG. 


1.  What  shall  he  have,  that  kilPd  the  deer? 
i.  His  leather  akin,  and  horns  to  icear, 

1.   TUtn  sins  him  home  : 
Take  thou  no  scorn,  to  wear  the  horn;  )  The  rest  shall 
It  loot  a  crest  ere  thou  wast  bom  ;        5  3^,^;^  '^  ''"'- 

1 .  Thy  father's  fath  er  wore  it ; 

i.  Aid  thy  father  bcre  it  : 
All.  The  horn,  the  horn,  the  lusty  horn, 

Is  not  a  tiling  to  laugh  to  scorn.         [Exeiint, 

SC£.V£  III.— The  Forest.  Enter  Rosalind  and 
Celia. 

Ros.  How  say  you  now?  Is  it  not  past  two 
o'clock?  and  here  much  Orlando ! 

Cel.  I  warrant  you,  with  pure  love,  and  troubled 
brain,  he  hath  ta'en  his  bow  and  arrows,  and  is 
gone  forth— to  sleep :  Look,  who  comes  here. 

Enter  Silvius. 

Sil.  My  errand  is  to  you,  fair  youth ; — 
My  gentle  Phebe  bid  me  give  you  this : 

[Giving  a  Utter. 
I  know  not  the  contents ;  but,  as  I  guess, 
Bv  the  stern  brow,  and  waspish  action 
\^ich  she  did  use  as  she  was  writing  of  it. 
It  bears  an  angry  tenor :  pardon  m^, 
I  am  but  as  a  guiltless  messenger. 

Ros.  Patience  herself  would  startle  at  this  letter. 
And  play  the  swajrgerer ;  bear  this,  bear  all : 
She  savs,  I  am  not  fair  ;  that  I  lack  manners  ; 
She  calls  me  proud ;  and,  that  she  could  not  love  me 
Were  man  as  rare  as  phoenix ;  Od's  my  will ! 
Her  love  is  not  the  hare  that  I  do  hunt : 
Why  writes  she  so  to  me  ? — Well,  shepherd,  well, 
This  is  a  letter  of  your  own  device. 

Sil.  No,  I  protest,  I  know  not  the  contents ; 
Phebe  did  write  it. 

Ros.  Come,  come,  you  are  a  tool, 

And  tum'd  into  the  extremity  of  love. 
I  saw  her  hand :  she  has  a  leathern  hand, 
A  freestone-colour'd  hand ;  I  verily  did  think 
That  her  old  gloves  were  on,  but  'twas  her  hands ; 
She  has  a  huswife's  hand ;  but  that's  no  matter : 
I  say,  she  never  did  invent  this  letter ; 
This  is  a  man's  invention,  and  Ids  Jund. 

Sil.  Sure,  it  is  hers. 

Ros.  Why,  'tis  a  boisterous  and  cruel  style, 
A  style  for  challengers  ;  why,  she  defies  me, 
Like  Turk  to  Christian :  woman's  srentle  brain 
Could  not  drop  fortli  such  giant  rude  invention, 
Such  Ethiop  words,  blacker  in  their  effect 
Than  in  their  countenance : — Will  you  hear  the 
letter  ? 

Sil.  So  please  you,  for  I  never  heard  it  yet ; 
Yet  heard  too  much  of  Phebe's  cruelty. 

Ros.   She  Phebes  me :    Mark  how  the  tyrant 
writes. 

.fri  thoit  god  to  shepherd  tttm-d,         [Reads. 

That  a  maiden's  heart  hath  huni'd  ? — 
Can  a  woman  rail  thus  ? 

SU.  Call  you  tliis  railins? 
Ros.  Why,  thy  godhead  laid  apart, 

Warr^st  thou  with  a  woman^s  heart  ? 
Did  you  ever  hear  such  railina:  ? 

While  the  eye  of  man  did  woo  me. 

That  coidd  do  no  vengeatice'  to  me.— 
Meanin?  me  a  beast. — 

If  the  scorn  of  your  bright  eyne* 

Have  power  to  raise  such  love  in  mine, 

(I)  Miwhief,       (2)  Eyes,       (S)  Nature, 


Jilack,  in  me  what  strange  effect 

WoiUd  they  work  in  mitU  aspiet  7 

Whiles  you  chid  me,  I  did  love  ; 

How  then  might  your  prayers  move  7 

He,  that  brings  this  love  to  thee, 

Little  knows  this  love  in  me  : 

.And  by  him  seal  up  thy  mind; 

Whether  that  thy  youth  and  kind* 

Will  the  failUfuL  offer  take 

Of  me,  and  all  that  I  caji  make; 

Or  else  by  him  my  love  deny, 

jlnd  then  Til  study  how  to  die. 
Sil.  Call  you  this  chiding  ? 
Cel.  Alas,  poor  shepherd! 
^05.  Do  you  pity  him?  no,  he  deserves  no  pity. 
— Wilt  thou  love  such  a  woman  ? — What,  to  make 
thee  an  instrument,  and  play  false  strains  upon 
thee!  not  to  be  endured ! — Well,  go  your  wav  to 
her,  (for  I  see,  love  hath  made  thee  a  tame  snake,) 
and  sav  this  to  her: — That  if  she  love  me,  I  charge 
her  to  love  thee :  if  she  will  not,  I  will  never  have 
her,  unless  thou  entreat  for  her. — If  you  be  a  true 
lover,  hence,  and  not  a  word ;  for  here  comes  more 
company.  [Exit  Silvias. 

Enter  Oliver. 

Olu  Good-morrow,  fair  ones:  Pray  you,  if  you 
know 
■WTiere,  in  the  purlieus*  of  this  forest,  stands 
A  sheepcote,  fenc'd  about  with  olive-trees  ? 
'    Cel.  West  of  iliis  place,  down  in  the  neighbour 

bottom. 
The  rank  of  osiers,  by  the  murmuring  stream. 
Left  on  vour  ri?;ht  hand,  brings  vou  to  the  place : 
But  at  this  hour  the  house  doth  tecp  itself, 
There's  none  within. 

Oli.  If  that  an  eye  may  profit  by  a  tongue. 
Then  I  should  know  you  by  description ; 
Such  gannents,  and  such  years :   The  boy  is  fair. 
Of  female  favour,  and  bestows  himself 
Like  a  ripe  sister :  but  the  iroman  low, 
,1nd  browner  than  her  brother.    Are  not  you 
The  owner  of  the  house  I  did  inquire  for "? 

Cel.  It  is  no  boast,  being  ask'd,  to  say,  we  are. 

OH.  Orlando  doth  commend  I.im  to  you  both  ; 
And  to  timt  vouth,  he  calls  his  Rosalind, 
He  sends  this  bloody  napkin  ;*  Are  you  he  ? 

Ros.  I  am :   What  must  we  understand  by  this  7 

Oil.  Some  of  my  shame ;  if  you  will  know  of  me 
What  man  I  am,  and  how,  and  why,  and  where 
This  handkerchief  was  stain'd. 

Cel.  I  pray  you,  tell  it. 

Oli.  When  last  the  young  Orlando  parted  from 
you. 
He  left  a  promise  to  return  again 
Within  an  hour ;  and,  pacing  through  the  forest, 
Chcwinjc  tlie  food  of  sweet  and  bitter  fancy, 
Lo,  what  befe! !  he  threw  his  eye  aside, 
And,  murk,  ivhat  object  did  present  itself! 
Under  an  oak,  whose  boughs  were  moss'd  with  age, 
Aiid  high  top  bald  with  dry  antiquity, 
A  wretched  ragged  man,  o'ergrowpwith  hair. 
Lay  sleeping  on  his  back :  about  his  neck 
A  green  and  gilded  snake  had  wreath'd  itself. 
Who  with  her  head,  nimble  in  threats,  approach'd 
The  opening  of  his  mouth ;  but  suddenly 
Seeing  Orhindo,  it  unlink'd  itself, 
And  with  indented  glides  did  slip  away 
Into  a  bush :  under"^which  bush's  shade 
A  lioness,  with  udders  all  drawn  dry. 
Lay  couchinsr,  head  on  ground,  with  cat-like  watch, 
When  that  the  sleeping  man  should  stir ;  for  'tis 

(4)  Environs  of  »  forest.      (5)  HandkerdueC 


^  AS  you  LIKE  IT. 

The  royal  disposition  of  that  beast, 
To  prey  on  northing  that  doth  seem  as  dead : 
This  seen,  Orlando  did  approach  the  man, 
And  found  it  was  his  brother,  his  elder  brother. 

Cel.  0,  I  have  heard  him  speak  of  that  same 
brother ; 
And  he  did  render'  him  the  most  unnatural, 
That  liv'd  'mongst  men. 

Oli.  And  ivell  he  might  do  so, 

For  well  I  know  he  was  unnatural. 

Ros.  But,  to  Orlando ;— Did  he  leave  him  there, 
Food  to  the  suck'd  and  hungry  lioness  ? 

Oil.  Twice  did  he  turn  his  back,  and  purpos'dso: 
But  kindness,  nobler  ever  than  revenge, 
And  nature,  stronger  than  his  just  occasion, 
Made  him  give  battle  to  the  lioness. 
Who  quickly  fell  before  him ;  in  which  hurtling,* 
From  miserable  slumber  I  awak'd. 

Cel.  Are  you  his  brother  ? 

Ros.  *  Was  it  you  he  rescu'd  ? 

Cel.  Was't  you  that  did  so  oft  contrive  to  kill 
'  him  ? 

Oli.  'Twas  I ;  but  'tis  not  I :  I  do  not  shame 
To  tell  you  what  I  was,  since  my  conversion 
So  sweetly  tastes,  bein^  the  thin?  I  am. 

Ros,  But,  for  the  bloody  napkin  ? — 

Oli.  By  and  by. 

When  from  the  first  to  last,  betwixt  us  two. 
Tears  our  recountments  had  most  kindly  bath'd, 
As,  how  I  came  into  that  desert  place  :— 
In  brief,  he  led  me  to  the  gentle  duke. 
Who  gave  me  fresh  array,  and  entertainment, 
Committing  me  unto  my  brother's  love ; 
Who  led  me  instantly  unto  his  cave. 
There  stripp'd  himself,  and  here  upon  his  arm 
The  lioness  had  torn  some  flesh  away, 
Which  all  this  while  had  bled ;  and  now  he  fainted. 
And  cry'd,  in  fainting,  upon  Rosalind. 
Brief,  I  recover'd  him;  bound  up  his  wound  ; 
And,  after  some  small  space,  being  strong  at  heart, 
He  sent  me  hither,  stranger  as  I  am. 
To  tell  this  story,  that  you  might  excuse 
His  broken  promise,  and  to  give  this  napkin, 
Dy'd  in  this  blood,  unto  the  shepherd  youth 
That  he  in  sport  doth  call  his  Rosalind. 

Cel.  Why,  how  now,  Ganymede  ?  sweet  Gany- 
mcae  1  [Rosalind  faints. 

OH:  Many  will  swoon  when  they  do  look  on 
blood. 

Cel.  There  is  more  in  it :— Cousin— Ganymede  ! 

Oli.  Look,  he  recovers. 

jRo*.  I  would  I  were  at  home. 

Cel.  We'll  lead  you  thither : — 
I  pray  you,  will  you  take  him  by  the  arm  ? 

Oil.  Be  of  good  cheer,  youth: — You  a  man? — 
You  lack  a  man's  heart, 

Ros.  I  do  so,  I  confess  it.  Ah,  sii',  a  body  would 
think  this  was  well  counterfeited :  I  pray  you  tell 
your  brother  how  well  I  counterfeited. — Heigh 
ho! 

Oli.  This  was  not  counterfeit ;  there  is  too  great 
testimony  in  your  complexion,  that  it  was  a  pas- 
sion of  earnest. 

Ros.  Counterfeit,  I  assure  you. 

Oli.  Well  then,  take  a  good  heart,  and  counter- 
feit to  be  a  man. 

Ros.  So  I  do :  but,  i'faith  I  should  have  been  a 
woman  by  right, 

Cel.  Come,  you  look  paler  and  paler ;  pray  you, 
draw  homewards  :— Good  sir,  go  with  us. 

Oli.  That  will  I,  for  I  must  bear  answer  back 
Hon  you  excuse  my  brother,  Rosalind. 


Ros,  I  shall  devise  something :  BuL  I  pray  yon- 
ommend  my  counterfeiting  to  nim : — Will  you  go  1 

[Exeunt. 


(U  Describe, 


(2)  SculBe. 


ACT  V. 

SCEXE  l.^The  same.    Enter  Touchsiont  and 
Audrey. 

Touch.  We  shall  find  a  time,  Audrey ;  patience, 
gentle  Audrey. 

^.JiwZ.  'Faith,  the  priest  was  good  enough,  for  all 
the  old  gentleman's  saying. 

Toucli.  A  most  wicked  sir  Oliver,  Audrey,  a 
most  vile  Mar-text.  But,  Audrey,  there  is  a  youth 
here  in  the  forest  lays  claim  to  you. 

Jlud.  Ay,  I  know  who  'tis,  he  hath  no  interest  in 
me  in  the'world :  here  conies  the  man  you  mean. 

Eater  William. 

Touch.  It  is  meat  and  drink  to  me,  to  see  a 
clown :  By  my  troth,  we  that  have  good  wits,  have 
much  to  answer  for ;  we  shall  be  flouting ;  we  can- 
not hold. 

Will.  Good  even,  Audrey. 

.^((rf.  God  ye  good  even,  William. 

Will.  And  good  even  to  you,  sir. 

Touch.  Good  even,  gentle  friend  :  Cover  Ihr 
head,  cover  thy  head  ;  nay,  pr'ythee,  be  covered. 
How  old  are  you,  friend  l 

Will.  Five  and  twenty,  sir. 

Touch.  A  ripe  age ;  Is  thy  name  William  ? 

Will.  William,  sir. 

Touch.  A  fair  name :  Wast  born  i'the  forest  here  1 

Will.  Av,  sir,  I  thank  God. 

Touch.  Thank  God; — a  good  answer:  Art  rich? 

Will.  'Faith,  sir,  so,  so. 

Touch.  So,  so,  is  good,  very  good,  very  excellent 
good : — and  yet  it  is  not ;  it  is  but  so  so.  Art  thou 
wise  ? 

Will.  Ay,  sir,  I  have  a  prettv  wit. 

Touch.  VVhy,  thou  say'st  well.  I  do  now  remem- 
ber a  saying  ;  The  fool  doth  think  he  is  wise,  but 
the  loise  man  knuios  himself  to  be  a  fool.  The 
heathen  philosopher,  when  he  had  a  desire  to  eat  a 
grape,  would  open  his  lips  when  he  put  it  into  his 
mouth ;  meaning  thereby,  that  grapes  were  made 
to  eat,  and  lips  to  open.    You  do  love  this  maid  ? 

Will.  I  do,  sir. 

Touch.  Give  me  your  hand :   Art  thou  learned  ? 

Will.  No,  sir. 

Touch.  Then  learn  this  of  me ;  To  have,  is  to 
hare :  For  it  is  a  figure  in  rhetoric,  that  drink 
being  poured  out  of  a  cup  into  a  glass,  by  filling 
the  one  doth  empty  the  other :  For  all  your  writers 
do  consent,  that  ipse  is  he ;  now  you  are  not  ipse, 
for  I  am  ho. 

Will.  Which  he,  sir  ? 

Touch.  He,  sir,  that  must  marry  this  woman : 
Therefore,  you  clown,  abandon, — which  is  in  the 
vulgar,  leave, — the  society,  which  in  the  boorish 
is,  company, — of  this  female,— Avhich  in  the  com- 
mon is, — woman,  which  together  is,  abandon  the 
society  of  this  female  ;  or,  clown,  thou  perishest ; 
or,  to  fhy  better  understanding,  diest ;  to  wit,  I 
kill  thee,  make  thee  away,  translate  thv  life  into 
death,  thy  liberty  into  bondage  :  I  will  deal  in 
poison  with  thee",  or  in  bastinado,  or  in  steel  ;  I 
will  bandy  with  thee  in  faction ;  I  will  o'er  run  Ihee 
with  policy ;  I  will  kill  thee  a  hundred  and  fifty 
ways  ;  therefore  tremble,  and  depart, 

Jind.  Do,  good  William. 

WUL  God  rest  you  merry,  sir,  [Emt^ 


Sttne  11. 

Enter  Corin. 

Car.  Our  master  and  mistress  seek  you  ;  come, 
away,  away.  .      .    ,  »    ..     ■. 

Touch.  Trip,  Audrey,  trip,  Audrey ;— I  attend, 
I  attend.  .     [Exeunt. 

SCEXE  II.— The  same.  Enter  Orlando  and 
Oliver. 

Orl.  Is't  possible,  that  on  so  little  acquaintance 
you  should  liiie  her  ?  that,  but  seeing,  you  should 
loTe  her  ?  and,  lovine,  woo  ?  and,  wooinj^,  she 
■hould  ^rant?  and  will  you  pers^ver  to  enjoy  her  ? 

OH.  Neither  call  the  giddiness  of  it  in  question, 
the  poverty  of  her,  the  small  acquaintance,  my  sud- 
den wooin!»,  nor  her  sudden  consenting  ;  but  say 
with  me,  I  love  Aliena  ;  say  with  her,  that  she 
loves  me  ;  consent  with  both,  that  we  may  enjoy 
each  other :  it  shall  be  to  your  good  ;  for  my  fa- 
ther's house,  and  all  the  revenue  that  was  old  sir 
Rowland's,  will  I  estate  upon  you,  and  here  live 
and  die  a  shepherd. 

Enter  Rosalind. 

Orl.  You  have  my  consent.  Let  your  wedding 
be  to-morrow :  thither  will  I  invite  the  duke,  and 
all  his  contented  followers :  Go  you,  and  prepare 
Aliena ;  for,  look  you,  here  comes  my  Rosalind. 

llos.  God  save  you,  brother. 

Oil.  And  you,  fair  sister. 

Ros.  0,  my  dear  Orlando,  how  it  grieves  me  to 
see  thee  wear  thy  heart  in  a  scarf  ! 

Orl.  It  is  my  arm. 

Ros.  I  thought  thy  heart  had  been  wounded  with 
the  claws  of  a  lion. 

Qrl.  Wounded  it  is,  but  %vith  the  eyes  of  a  lady. 

Ros.  Did  your  brother  tell  you  how  I  counter- 
feited to  swoon,  when  he  showed  me  your  hand- 
kerchief ? 

Orl.  Ay,  and  greater  wonders  than  that. 

Ros.  O,  I  know  where  you  are :— Nay,  'tis  true : 
there  was  never  any  thing  so  sudden,  but  the  fisrht 
of  two  rams,  and  Caesar's  thrasonical  brag  of— 
I  came,  saw,  and  overcame  :  For  your  brother  and 
my  sister  no  sooner  met,  but  they  looked ;  no 
sooner  looked,  but  they  loved ;  no  sooner  loved,  but 
they  sighed ;  no  sooner  sighed,  but  they  asked  one 
another  the  reason ;  no  sooner  knew  the  reason, 
but  they  sought  the  remedy ;  and  in  these  degrees 
have  they  made  a  pair  of  stairs  to  marriage,  which 
they  will  climb  incontinent,  or  else  be  incontinent 
before  marriage  :  they  are  in  tlie  very  %vrath  of 
love,  and  they  will  together  ;  clubs  cannot  part 
them. 

Orl.  They  shall  be  married  to-morrow ;  and  I 
will  bid  the  duke  to  the  nuptial.  But,  O,  how  bit- 
ter a  thing  it  is  to  look  into  happiness  through  an- 
other man's  eyes !  By  so  much  the  more  shall  I  to- 
morrow be  at  the  height  of  heart-heaviness,  by  how 
much  I  shall  think  my  brother  happy,  in  havin 
what  he  wshes  for. 

Ros.  Why  then,  to-morrow  I  cannot  serve  your 
turn  for  Rosalind  ? 

Orl.  I  can  live  no  longer  by  thinkinaf. 

Ros.  I  will  weary  you  no  longer  then  with  idle 
talking.  Know  of  me  then  (for  now  I  speak  to 
some  purpose,)  that  I  know  you  are  a  gentleman 
of  good  conceit :  I  speak  not  this,  that  you  should 
bear  a  good  opinion  of  my  knowledge,  insomuch, 
1  say,  I  know  you  are  ;  neither  do  I  labour  for  a 
greater  esteem  than  may  in  some  little  measure 
oraw  a  belief  from  you,  to  do  yourself  good,  and 
not  to  erace  me.  Believe  then,  if  you  please,  that 
i  can  09  strange  things :  I  baTe,  since  I  was  tbrc« 


AS  YOD  LIKE  IT.  SlS^ 

years  old,  conversed  with  a  magician,  most  pro- 
found in  this  art,  and  yet  not  damnable.  If  you 
do  love  Rosalind  so  near  the  heart  as  your  gesture 
cries  it  out,  when  your  brother  marries  Aliena,  shall 
you  marry  her :  I  know  into  %vhat  straits  of  fortune 
she  is  driven  ;  and  it  is  not  impossible  to  me,  if  it 
appear  not  inconvenient  to  you,  to  set  her  before 
your  eyes  to-morrow,  human  as  she  is,  and  without 
any  danger. 

Orl.  Speakest  thou  in  sober  meanings  ? 

Ros.  By  my  life,  I  do ;  which  I  tender  dearly, 
though  1  say  1  am  a  magician :  Therefore,  put  you 
in  your  best  array,  bid'  your  friends ;  for  if  vou 
will  be  married  to-morrow,  you  shall;  and  to 
Rosalind,  if  you  will. 

Enter  Silvius  and  Phebe. 

Look,  here  comes  a  lover  of  mine,  and  a  lover  of 
hers. 

Phe.  Youth,  you  have  done  me  much  ungentle- 
ness. 
To  show  the  letter  that  I  writ  to  you. 

Ros.  I  care  not,  if  I  have :  it  is  my  study, 
To  seem  despiteful  and  ungentle  to  you : 
You  are  there  folio w'd  by  a  faithful  shepherd ; 
Look  upon  him,  love  him  ;  he  worships  you. 

Phe.  Good  shepherd,  tell  this  youth  what  'tis  tc 
love. 

Sil.  It  is  to  be  all  made  of  sighs  and  tears  ;— 
And  so  am  I  for  Phebe. 

Phe.  And  I  for  (Janymcde. 

Orl.  And  I  for  Rosalind. 

Res.  And  I  for  no  woman. 

Sil.  It  is  to  be  all  made  of  faith  and  service  ;— 
And  so  am  I  for  Phebe. 

Phe.  And  I  for  Ganymede. 

Orl.  And  I  for  Rosalind. 

Ros.  And  I  for  no  woman. 

Sil.  It  is  to  be  all  made  of  phantasy,  _ 
All  made  of  passion,  and  all  made  of  wishes ; 
All  adoration,  duty  and  observancCj 
All  humbleness,  all  patience,  and  impatience, 
All  purity,  all  trial,  all  observance ; — 
And  so  am  I  for  Phebe. 

Phe.  And  so  am  I  for  Ganymede. 

Orl.  And  so  am  I  for  Rosalind. 

Ros.  And  so  am  I  for  no  woman. 

Phe.  If  this  be  so,  why  blame  you  me  to  love  you  ? 
[To  Rosalind. 

SU.  If  this  be  so,  why  blame  you  me  to  love  you  ? 

[To  Phebe. 

Orl.  If  this  be  so,  why  blame  you  me  to  love  you  ? 

Ros.  Who  do  you  speak  to,  Why  blame  you  me 
to  love  you  7 

Orl.  To  her,  that  is  not  here,  nor  doth  not  hear. 

Ros.  Pray  you,  no  more  of  this ;  'tis  like  the 
howling  of  Irish  wolves  aorainst  the  moon. — I  will 
help  von,  \To  Silvins.]  if  I  can: — I  would  love 
you,  fro  Phebe.]  if  I  could. — To-morrow  meet  me 
all  together. — I  will  marry  you,  [To  Phebe.]  if  ever 
I  marry  woman,  and  I'll  be  married  to-morrow  : — 
I  will  satisfy  you,  [To  Orlando.]  if  ever  I  satisfied 
man,  and  you  shall  be  married  to-morrow  : — I 
will  contei.t  you,  [To  Silvius.l  if  what  pleases 
you  contents  you,  and  you  shall  be  married  to- 
morrow.— As  you  [To  Orlando.]  love  Rosalind, 
meet; — as  you  [To  Silvius.]  love  Phebe,  meet; 
And  as  I  love  no  woman,  I'll  meet. — So,  fare  you 
well ;  I  have  left  you  commands. 

Sil.  I'll  not  fail,  if  I  live. 

Phe.  Nor  I. 

Orl,  Nor  I.  [Ext, 


(1)  Invito 


tu 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


jictr. 


S  CEJ^E  III.-^Tlie  same.  Enter  Touchstone  md 
Audrey. 

Touch.  To-morrow  is  the  joyful  day,  Audrey  5 
to-morrow  will  we  be  married.  ' 

,3uJ.  I  do  desire  it  with  all  my  heart:  and  I 
hope  it  is  no  dishonest  desire,  to  desire  to  be  a 
woman  of  the  world.'  Here  comes  two  of  the 
banished  duke's  pages. 

Enter  two  Pages. 

1  Page.  Well  met,  honest  gentleman. 
Touch.  By  my  troth,  well  met:  Come,  sit,  sit, 

and  a  song. 

2  Page.  We  are  for  vou :  sit  i'  the  middle. 

1  Page.  Shall  we  clap  into't  roundly,  without 
hawking,  or  spitting,  or  saying  we  are  hoarse ; 
which  axe  the  only  prologues"  to  a  bad  voice  ? 

2  Page.  I'faith.  i'faith  ;  and  both  in  a  tune,  like 
two  gypsies  on  a  iiorsc. 

SONG. 
I. 

It  was  a  lover,  and  his  lass, 

With  a  hey,  and  a  ho,  and  a  hey  nonino, 
That  o'er  the  green  corn-field  did  pass 

In  the  spring  time,  the  only  pretty  rank  time, 
When  birds  do  sin^,  hey  ding  a  ding,  ding; 
Swtet  lovers  love  the  spritig. 

II. 

Bettoeen  the  acres  of  the  rye, 

With  a  hey,  and  a  ho,  and  a  hey  nonino, 
These  pretty  countryfolks  would  lie. 

In  spring  time,  i,-c. 

III. 
This  carol  they  began  that  hour, 

With  a  hey,  ana  a  ho,  and  a  hey  nonino^ 
Hoic  that  a  life  was  but  ajlower 

In  spring  time,  ^c. 

IV.' 
Jind  therefore  take  the  present  time. 

With  a  hey,  and  a  ho,  n?ici  a  hey  nonino; 
For  love  is  crowned  with  the  prime, 

In  spring  time,  4"C. 

Touch.  Truly,  youn^  gentlemen,  though  there 
was  no  great  matter  in  the  ditty,  yet  the  note  %vas 
Tery  untunable. 

1  Page.  You  are  deceived,  sir ;  we  kept  time,  we 
lost  not  our  time. 

Touch.  By  my  troth,  yes ;  I  count  it  but  time 
lost  to  hear  such  a  foolish  sons:.  God  be  with  you ; 
and  God  mend  your  voices ! — Come,  Audrev. 

[Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E  IV.— Another  part  of  the  Fcrest.    Enter 

Duke  senior,  Amiens,  Jaqucs,  Orlando,  Oliver, 

and  Celia. 

Duke  S.  Dost  thou  believe,  Orlando,  that  the  boy 
Can  do  all  this  that  he  hath  promised? 

Orl.  I  sometimes  do  believe,  and  sometimes  do 
not; 
Aa  those  that  fear  they  hope,  and  know  they  fear. 

Enter  Rosalind,  Silvius,  and  Phebe. 
Ros.  Patience  once  more,  whiles  our  complct  is 

urg'd: 

You  say.  if  I  bring  in  your  Rosalind,  [  To  the  Duke. 
You  will  bestow  her  on  Orlando  here  ? 
Ihike  S.  That  would  I,  had  I  kingdoms  to  give 
with  her.  ' 

(1)  A  married  woman. 


lios.  And  you  say,  you  will  have  her,  when  1 

bring  her?  [To  Orlando. 

Orl.  That  would  I,  were  I  of  all  kingdoms  king. 

lios.  You  say,  you'll  marry  me,  if  I  be  willing  7 

[To  Phebe. 
Phe.  That  will  I,  should  I  die  the  hour  after. 
Ros.  But,  if  you  do  refuse  to  marry  me, 
i  You'll  give  yourself  to  this  most  faithful  shepherd? 
Phe.  So  is  the  bargain. 

lios.   You  say,  that  you'll  have  Phebe,  if  she 

will?  [To  Silvius. 

Sil.  Though  to  have  her  and  death  were  both 

one  thing. 
Eos.   I  have  promis'd  to  make  all  this  matter 
even. 
Keep  you  your  word,  0  duke,  to  give  your  daugh- 
ter;— 
You  yours,  Orlando,  to  receive  his  daughter  :— 
Keep  yaur  word,  Phebe,  that  you'll  marrv  me  ; 
Or  else,  refusing  me,  to  wed  this  shepherd  ; — 
Keep  your  word,  Silvius,  that  you'll  marry  her, 
If  she  refuse  me  : — and  from  hence  I  go, 
To  make  these  doubts  all  even. 

[Exeunt  Ros.  and  Cel. 
Duke  S.  I  do  remember  in  this  shepherd-boy 
Some  lively  touches  of  my  daughter's  favour. 

Orl.  My  lord,  the  first  time  that  I  ever  saw  him, 
Methought  he  was  a  brother  to  your  daughter: 
But,  my  good  lord,  this  boy  is  forest-born ; 
And  halh  been  tulor'd  in  the  rudiments 
Of  many  desperate  studies  by  his  uncle. 
Whom  he  reports  to  be  a  great  magician, 
Obscured  in  the  circle  of  this  forest. 

Enter  Touchstone  and  Audrey. 

Jaq.  There  is,  sure,  another  flood  toward,  and 
these  couples  are  coming  to  the  ark !  Here  comes 
a  pair  cf  very  strange  beasts,  which  in  all  tongues 
are  called  fools. 

Touch.  Salutation  and  greeting  to  j'ou  all ! 

Jaq.  Good  my  lord,  bid  him  welcome ;  This  is 
the  motley-minded  gentleman,  that  I  have  so  oflen 
met  ill  the  forest:  he  hath  been  a  courtier,  he 
swears.  . 

Touch.  If  any  man  doubt  that,  let  him  put  me 
to  my  purgation.  I  have  trod  a  measure  ;*  I  have 
flattered  a  lady;  I  have  been  politic  with  my 
friend,  smooth  with  mine  enemy  ;  I  have  undone 
three  lailors  ;  I  have  had  four  quarrels,  and  like  to 
have  foupht  one. 

Jaq.  And  how  was  thatta'en  up  ? 

Touch.  'Faith,  we  m.et,  and  found  the  quarrel 
was  upon  the  seventh  cause. 

Jaq.  How  seventh  cause  ?  Good  my  lord,  like 
this  (cllow. 

Duke  S.  I  like  him  %'cry  well. 

Touch.  God  'ild  yoUj  sir ;  I  desire  you  of  the 
like.  I  press  in  here,  sir,  amongst  the  rest  of  the 
country  copulatives,  to  swear,  and  to  forswear ;  ac- 
cording as  marriage  binds,  and  blood  breaks : — A 
poor  virgin,  sir,  an  ill-favoured  thing,  sir,  but  mine 
own  ;  a  poor  humour  of  mine,  sir,  to  take  that  that 
no  man  else  will :  Rich  honesty  dwells  like  a  miser, 
sir,  in  a  poor  house ;  as  your  pearl,  in  your  foul 
oyster. 

Duke  S.  By  my  faith,  he  is  very  sivift  and  sen- 
tentious. 

Touch.  According  to  the  fool's  bolt,  sir,  and 
such  dulcet  diseases. 

Jaq.  But,  for  the  seventh  cause;  how  did  you 
find  the  quarrel  on  the  seventh  cause  ? 

Touch.  Upon  a  lie  seven  times  removed ;— Bear 

(2)  A  stately  solemn  dance. 


Scene  IV. 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


225 


vour  bodjr  more  seeming,"  Audrey:— as  thus,  sir. 

did  dislike  the  cut  of  a  certain  courtier's  beard  ; 
he  sent  me  word,  if  I  said  his  beard  was  not  cut 
well,  he  was  in  the  mind  it  was :  This  is  called  the 
relart  courteous.  If  I  sent  him  word  again,  it  was 
not  well  cut,  he  would  send  me  word,  he  cut  it  to 
please  himself:  This  is  called  the  quip  viodest.  If 
again,  it  was  not  well  cut,  he  disabled  mv  judg- 
ment :  This  is  called  the  reply  churlish,  if  again, 
it  was  not  well  cut,  he  would  answer,  I  spake  not 
true:  This  is  called  the  re/woo/ voiianf.  Ifagaiii, 
It  was  not  well  cut,  he  would  say,  I  lie :  This  is 
called  the  countercheck  auarrelsome :  and  so  to  the 
lie  circumsta7itial,  and  tne  lie  direct. 

Jaq.  And  how  oft  did  you  say,  his  beard  was  not 
well  cut? 

Touch.  I  durst  go  no  further  than  the  lie  cireum- 
slanlial,  nor  he  durst  not  give  me  the  lie  direct ;  and 
80  we  measured  swords,  and  parted. 

Jaq.  Can  you  nominate  in  order  now  the  degrees 
of  the  lie  ? 

Touch.  0,  sir,  we  quarrel  in  print,  by  the  book ; 
as  you  have  books  for  good  manners  :  I  will  name 
you  the  degrees.  The  first,  the  retort  courteous  ; 
the  second,  the  quip  modest ;  the  third,  the  reply 
churlish ;  the  fourth,  the  reproof  valiant ;  the  fifth, 
the  countercheck  quarrelsome ;  the  sixth,  the  lie 
with  circumstance ;  the  seventh,  the  lie  direct.  All 
these  you  may  avoid,  but  the  lie  direct ;  and  you 
may  avoid  that  too,  with  an  if.  I  knew  when  seven 
justices  could  not  take  up  a  quarrel ;  but  when  the 
parties  were  met  themselves,  one  of  them  thought 
out  of  an  if,  as,  if  you  said  so,  then  I  said  so;  and 
they  shook  hands,  and  swore  brothers.  Your  if,  is 
the  only  peace-maker  ;  much  virtue  in  if. 

Jaq.  Is  not  this  a  rare  fellow,  my  lord  ?  he's  as 
good  at  any  thing,  and  yet  a  fool. 

Duke  S.  He  uses  his  folly  like  a  stalking-horse, 
"and  under  the  presentation  of  that,  he  shoots"his  wit 

Enter  Hymen,  leading  Rosalind  in  tcoman's- 
cUkhes  ;  and  Celia.    Still  music. 

Hym.  Then  is  there  mirth  in  heaven. 
When  earthly  things  made  even 

Jitone  together. 
Good  duke,  receive  thy  daughter, 
Hymen  from  heaven  brought  her. 
Yea,  brousht  her  hither; 
That  thou  mighVsljoin  her  hand  icith  his, 
Whose  heart  within  her  besom  is. 

Ros.  To  vBu  I  give  myself,  for  I  am  vours. 

[To  Duke  S. 

To  vou  I  give  myself,  for  I  am  yours.         [To  Orl. 

Jjuke  S.  If  there  be  truth  in  sight,  you  are  my 

daughter. 
Orl.  If  there  be  truth  in  sight,  you  arc  my  Rosa- 
lind. 
Phe.  If  sight  and  shape  be  true. 
Why  then, — my  love,  adieu  1 
Ros.  I'll  have  no  father,  if  you  be  not  he : — 

[To  Duke  S. 
I'll  have  no  husband,  if  vou  be  not  he : — 

[To  Orlando. 
Nor  ne'er  wed  woman,  if  you  be  not  she. 

[To  Phebe. 
Hynt.  Peace,  ho !  I  bar  confusion  : 
'Tis  I  must  make  conclusion 

Of  these  most  strange  events : 
Here's  eight  that  must  take  hands, 
To  join  in  H>Tnen's  bands, 
If  truth  holds  true  contents.* 

(1 )  Seemly.    (2)  Unless  truth  fails  of  rei  acity, 


You  and  you  no  cross  shall  part : 

[To  Orlando  and  Rosalind. 
You  and  you  are  heart  in  heart : 

[To  Oliver  and  Celia. 
You  [To Phebe.]  to  his  love  must  accord, 
Or  have  a  woman  to  your  lord : — 
You  and  you  are  sure  together, 

[To  Touchstone  and  Audrej. 
As  the  w  inter  to  foul  weather. 
Whiles  a  wedlock-hymn  we  sing, 
Feed  yourselves  with  questioning ; 
That  reason  wonder  mav  diminish. 
How  thus  we  met,  and  these  things  finish. 

SONG. 

Wedding  is  great  Juno^s  crmcn  ; 

0  blessed  bond  of  board  and  bed  ! 
'T»5  Mvmen  peoples  every  town  ; 

High  wedlock  then  be  honoured  : 
Honour,  high  honour  and  renown. 
To  Hymen,  god  of  every  town ! 

Duke  S.  O  my  dear  niece,  welcome  thou  art  to  me , 
Even  daughter,  welcome  in  no  less  degree. 

Phe.  I  ivill  not  eat  my  word,  now  thou  art  mine ; 
Thy  faith  my  fancy  to  thee  doth  combine.' 

[To  Silvius. 

Enter  Jaques  de  Bois. 

Jaq.  de  B.  Let  me  have  audience  for  a  word  or 
two; 
I  am  the  second  son  of  old  sir  Rowland, 
That  bring  these  tidings  to  this  fair  assembly : — 
Duke  Frederick,  hearing  how  that  everyday 
Men  of  great  worth  resorted  to  this  forest, 
Address'd  a  mighty  power  which  were  on  foot, 
In  his  own  conduct,  purposely  to  take 
His  brother  here,  and  put  him  to  the  sword : 
And  to  the  skirts  of  this  wild  wood  he  came  ; 
Where,  meeting  with  an  old  religious  man, 
AHer  some  question  with  him,  was  converted 
Both  from  his  enterprize,  and  from  the  world  : 
His  crown  bequeathing  to  his  banish'd  brother, 
And  all  their  lands  restor'd  to  them  again 
That  were  with  him  exil'd :  Tliis  to  be  true, 
I  do  engage  my  life. 

Duke  S.  Welcome,  young  man; 

Thou  ofi'er'st  fairly  to  thy  brothers'  wedding : 
To  one,  his  lands  withheld ;  and  to  the  other, 
A  land  itself  as  large,  a  potent  dukedom. 
First,  in  this  forest,  let  us  do  those  ends 
That  here  were  well  begun,  and  well  begot ; 
And  after,  every  of  this  happy  number. 
That  have  endur'd  shrewd  days  and  nights  with  us, 
Shall  share  the  good  of  our  returned  fortune. 
According  to  the  measure  of  their  states. 
Meantime,  forget  this  new-fall'n  dignity. 
And  fall  into  our  rustic  revelry ; — 
Play,  music  ; — and  you  brides  and  bridegrooms  all. 
With  measure  heap'd  in  joy,  to  the  measures  fall. 

Jaq.  Sir,  by  your  patience  ;  If  I  heard  you  rightly, 
The  duke  hath  put  on  a  religious  life. 
And  thrown  into  neglect  the  pompous  court  ?    • 

Jaq.  de  B.  He  hath. 

Jaq.  To  him  will  I:  out  of  these  convertitea 
There  is  much  matter  to  be  heard  and  leam'd.— 
You  to  your  former  honour  I  bequeath  ; 

[To  Duke  S. 
Your  patience,  and  your  virtue,  well  deserves  it : — 
You  [To  Orlando.]  to  a  love,  that  your  true  faith 
doth  merit : — 

S)  Bind. 
2F 


398 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


jnct  r. 


You  [To  Oliver.]  to  your  land,  andloTC,  and  great 

allies : — 
You  [To  Silrius.]  to  a  long  and  welUdeserred 

bed: — 
And  you  [To  Touchstone.]  to  wrangling ;  for  thy 

loving  voyage 
Is  but  for  two  months  victuall'd : — So  to  your  plea- 
sures ; 
I  am  for  other  than  for  dancing  measures. 
Duke  S.  Stay,  Jaques,  stay. 
Jaq.  To  see  no  pastime,  1 : — what  you  would 
liave  I'll  stay  to  know  at  your  abandon'd  cave. 

[Exit. 
Duke  S.  Proceed,  proceed :  we  will  begin  these 
rites, 
And  we  do  trust  they'll  end  in  true  delights. 

[*3  dance. 

EPILOGUE. 

Ros.  It  is  not  the  fashion  to  see  tne  lady  the  epi- 
logue :  but  it  is  no  more  unhandsome,  than  to  see 
the  lord  the  prologue.  If  it  be  true,  that  good  wine 
needs  no  bush,  'tis  true,  that  a  good  play  needs  no 
epilogue:  Yet  to  good  wine  they  do  use  good 
bushes ;  and  good  plays  prove  the  better  by  the 
help  of  good  epilogues.  What  a  case  am  I  in  then, 
that  am  neither  a  good  epilogue,  nor  cannot  insi- 
nuate with  you  in  the  behalf  of  a  good  play  ?  I  am 
Dot  furnished'  like  a  beggar,  therefore  to  beg  will 

(1)  Dressed.       (2)  That  I  liked. 


not  become  me ;  my  way  {$,  to  conjure  you  ;  and 
I'll  begin  with  the  women.  I  charge  you,  0  women, 
for  the  love  you  bear  to  men,  to  like  as  much  of 
this  play  as  please  them :  and  so  I  charge  you,  O 
men,  for  the  love  you  bear  to  women,  (as  1  perceive 
by  your  simpering^,  none  of  you  hate  them,)  that 
between  you  and  the  women,  the  play  may  please. 
If  I  were  a  woman,  I  %vould  kiss  as  many  of  you 
as  had  beards  that  pleased  me,  complexions  that 
liked  me,*  and  breaths  that  I  defied  not ;  and,  I  am 
sure,  as  many  as  have  good  beards,  or  good  faces, 
or  sweet  breaths,  will,  for  my  kind  offer,  when  I 
make  curt'sy,  bid  me  farewell.  [Exeunt. 


Of  this  play  the  fable  is  wild  and  pleasing.  I 
know  not  how  the  ladies  will  approve  the  facility 
with  which  both  Rosalind  and  Celia  give  away 
their  hearts.  To  CeUa  much  may  be  forgiven,  for 
the  heroism  of  her  friendship.  The  character  of 
Jaques  is  natural  and  ^vell  preserved.  The  comic 
dialogue  is  very  sprightly,  with  less  mixture  of  low 
bufibonery  than  in  some  other  plays ;  and  the  graver 
part  is  elegant  and  harmonious.  By  hastenmg  to 
the  end  of  this  work,  Shakspeare  suppressed  the 
dialogue  between  the  usurper  and  the  hermit,  and 
lost  an  opportunity  of  exhioiting  a  moral  lesson,  in 
which  he  might  have  found  matter  worthy  of  his 
highest  powers. 

JOHNSON. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 

Act  II.— Scene  3. 


TAMING  THE  SHREW 
Act  IV. — Scene  1. 


(    227    ) 


AIiL.'S  WELIi  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


King  of  France. 
Duke  of  Flmence. 
Bertram,  Count  of  Rousillon. 
Lafeu,  an  old  Lord. 
ParoUes,  a  follower  of  Bertram. 
Several  young  French  Lords,  that  serve  tclth  Ber- 
tram in  the  Florentine  war. 
Stew3.rd   } 
Clown   '  J  ^^J^""'*  '°  ^^^  Countess  of  Rousillon. 

A  Page. 


Countess  of  RousiUon^  mother  to  Beftrant. 
Helena,  a  gentlewoman  protected  by  the  Countess 
Sn  old  Widow  of  Florence. 
Diana,  daughter  to  the  widow. 

Mariana'  ("^'o''*""'"*  and  friends  to  the  widoic. 

Loi'ds,  attending  on  the  Kins;;  Officers,  Soldiers 
^c.  French  and  Florentine. 

Scene,  partly  in  France,  and  partly  in  Tuscany. 


ACT  I.  ] 

SCEXE  /.—Rousillon.  .5  Room  in  the  Coun- 
tess's PoZoce.  Enter  Bertram,  the  Countess  of 
Rousillon,  Jlelena,  and  Lafeu,  in  mourning. 

Countess. 


Ber.  I  heard  not  of  it  before. 

Laf.  I  would,  it  ivere  not  notorious. — Was  this 
gentlewoman  the  dauohter  of  Gerard  de  Narbon  1 

Count.  His  sole  child,  my  lord  ;  and  bequeathed 
to  my  overlooking-.  I  have  those  hopes  of  her 
g-ood,  that  her  education  promises  :  her  dispositions 

I  she  inherits,  which  make  fair  gifts  fairer  ;  for  where 

N  delivcrins  mv  son  from  me.  I  burv  a  second  an  unclean  mind  carries  virtuous  qualities,' there 

commendations  so  with  pity,  they  are  virtues  and 
traitors  too  ;  in  her  they  are  the  better  for  their 
simpleness  ;*  she  derives"  her  honesty,  and  achieves 
her  goodness. 

Laf.  Your  commendations,  madam,  get  from 
her  tears. 

Count.  'Tis  the  best  brine  a  maiden  can  season 
her  praise  in.  The  remembrance  of  her  father 
never  approaches  her  heart,  but  the  tyranny  of  her 
sorrows  takes  all  livelihood'  from  her  cheek.  No 
more  of  this,  Helena,  go  to,  no  more ;  lets  it  be 
rather  thought  you  afiect  a  sorrow,  than  to  have. 

Hel.  I  do  anect  a  sorrow,  indeed,  but  I  have  it 
too. 

Laf.  Moderate  lamentation  is  the  right  of  the 
dead,  excessive  grief  the  enemy  to  the  living. 

Count.  If  the  living  be  enemy  to  the  grief,  the 
excess  makes  it  soon  mortal. 

Ber.  Madam,  I  desire  your  holy  wishes. 

Laf.  How  understand  we  that  / 

Count.    Be  thou  blest,  Bertram !    and  succeed 
death  should  have  plav'for  lack  of  work.    'Would^  ^hy  father 

for  the  king's  sake,  "he  were  living !    I  think,  it  '"  manners,  as  in  shape !  thy  blood,  and  virtue, 


LN  delivering  my  son  from  me,  I  bury  a  second 
husband. 

Ber.  And  I,  in  going,  madam,  weep  o'er  my 
father's  death  anew :  but  I  must  attend  his  majes- 
ty's command,  to  whom  I  am  now  in  ward,'  ever- 
more in  subjection. 

Laf.  You  shall  find  of  the  king  a  husband,  ma- 
dam ;— you,  sir,  a  father:  He  that  so  generally  is 
at  all  times  good,  must  of  necessity  hold  his  virtue 
to  you  ;  whose  worthiness  would  stir  it  up  where 
it  wanted,  rather  than  lack  it  where  there  is  such 
abundance. 

Count.  What  hope  is  there  of  his  majesty's 
amendment  ? 

Laf.  He  hath  abandoned  his  physicians,  madam ; 
under  whose  practices  he  hath  persecuted  time 
with  hope  ;  and  finds  no  other  advantage  in  the 
process  but  only  the  losing  of  hope  by  time. 

Count.  This  young  gentlewoman  had  a  father 
(0,  that  had  !^  how  sad  a  passage  'tis  ! )  whose  skill 
was  almost  as  great  as  his  honesty ;  had  it  stretch- 
ed so  far,  would  have  made  nature  immortal,  and 


woujd  be  the  death  of  the  king's  disease, 

Laf.  How  called  you  the  man  you  speak  of, 
madam  ? 

Count.  He  was  famous,  sir,  in  his  profession,  and 
it  was  his  great  right  to  be  so  :  Gerard  de  Narbon. 

Laf.  He  was  excellent,  indeed,  madam ;  the  king 
very  lately  spoke  of  him,  admiringlv,  and  rnourn- 
ingly  :  he  was  skilful  enough  to  have  lived  still,  if 
knowledge  could  be  set  up  against  mortality. 

Ber.  What  is  it,  my  good  lord,  the  king  lan- 
guishes of? 

Laf.  A  fistula,  my  lord, 

(\)  Under  his  particular  care,  as  my  guardian. 

(2)  The  countess  recollects  her  own  loss  of  a 
husband,  and  observes  how  heavily  had  passes 
through  her  mind. 

(3)  Qualitiea  of  good  breeding  and  erudition, 


Contend  for  empire  in  thee  ;  and  thy  goodness 
Share  with  thy  birthright !  Love  all,  trust  a  few. 
Do  wrong  to  none  :  be  able  for  thine  enemy 
Rather  in  power,  than  use  ;  anJ  keep  thy  friend 
Under  thy  own  life's  key :  be  check'd  for  silence. 
But  never  tax'd  for  speech.  AVhat  heaven  more  will. 
That  thee  may  furnish,*  and  my  prayers  pluck 

down. 
Fall  on  thy  head  !  Farewell.— My  lord, 
'Tis  an  unseason'd  courtier ;  good  my  lord. 
Advise  him. 


Laf 


He  cannot  want  the  best 


(4)  t.  e.  Her  excellencies  are  the  better  because 
they  are  artless. 

^5^  All  appearance  of  life. 

^^'  '•..'•  "^^^^  ™3y  help  thee  with  more  and  bet 
ter  qualifications. 


228 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


Aci  1. 


That  shall  attend  his  love. 

Count.  Heaven  bless  him ! — Farewell,  Bertram. 
[Exit  Countess. 

Ber.  The  best  wishes,  that  can  be  forged  in  your 
thoughts,  [To  Helena.]  be  servants  to  you!'  Be 
comfortable  to  my  mother,  your  mistress,  and  make 
much  of  her. 

Laf.  Farewell,  pretty  lady :  You  must  hold  the 
credit  of  your  father.       [Exe.  Bertram  a7id  Lafeu. 

Hel.  O,  were  that  all ! — I  think  not  on  my  father ; 
And  these  great  tears  grace  his  remembrance  more 
Than  those  I  shed  for  him.    What  was  he  like  ? 
I  have  forgot  him :  my  imagination 
Carries  no  favour  in  it,  but  Bertram's. 
I  am  undone  ;  there  is  no  livinj:,  none, 
If  Bertram  be  away.     It  were  all  one, 
That  I  should  love  a  bright  particular  star, 
And  think  to  wed  it,  he  is  so  above  me : 
In  his  bright  radiance  and  collateral  light 
Must  I  be  comforted,  not  in  his  sphere. 
The  ambition  in  my  love  thus  plagues  itself: 
The  hind,  that  would  be  mated  by  the  lion, 
Must  die  for  Jove.    'T^vas  pretty,  though  a  plague. 
To  see  him  every  hour ;  to  sit  and  draw 
His  arched  brows,  his  hawking  eye,  his  curls, 
In  our  heart's  table  ;*  heart,  too  capable 
Of  every  line  and  trick'  of  his  sweet  favour  :* 
But  now  he's  gone,  and  my  idolatrous  fancy 
Must  sanctify iiis  relics.    Who  comes  here? 

Enter  ParoUes. 
One  that  goes  with  him :  I  love  him  for  his  sake  ; 
And  yet  I  know  him  a  notorious  liar. 
Think  him  a  great  way  fool,  solely  a  coward ; 
Yet  these  fix'd  evils  sit  so  fit  in  him. 
That  they  take  place,  when  virtue's  steely  bones 
Look  bleak  in  the  cold  wind ;  withal,  full  oft  we  see 
Cold  wisdom  waiting  on  superfluous  folly. 

Par.  Save  you,  fair  queeu. 

Hel.  And  you,  monarch. 

Par.  No. 

Hel.  And  no. 

Par.  Are  vou  meditating  on  virginity  ? 

Hel.  Ay.  Vou  have  some  stain  of  soldier  in  you  ; 
let  me  ask  you  a  question  :  Man  is  enemy  to  vir- 
ginity ;  how  may  we  barricado  it  against  iiim  ? 

Par.  Keep  him  out. 

Hel.  But  he  assails ;  and  our  virginity,  though 
valiant  in  the  defence,  yet  is  weak :  uniold  to  us 
some  warlike  resistance. 

Par.  There  is  none ;  man,  sitting  down  before 
vou,  will  undermine  you,  and  blow  you  up. 

Hel.  Bless  our  poor  virginity  from  undenniners, 
and  blowers  up  ! — Is  there  no  military  policy,  iiow 
virgins  might  blow  up  men  ? 

Par.  Virginity,  being  bloi^Ti  down,  man  will 
fjuicklier  be  blown  up :  marry,  in  blowing  him 
down  again,  with  the  breach  yourselves  made,  you 
lose  your  city.  It  is  not  politic  in  the  common- 
wealth of  nature,  to  preserve  virginity.  Loss  of 
virginity  is  rational  increase  ;  and  there  was  never 
virgin  got,  till  virginity  was  first  lost.  That,  you 
■were  made  of,  is  metal  to  make  virgins.  Virginity, 
by  being  once  lost,  may  be  ten  times  found:  by 
being  ever  kept,  it  is  ever  lost :  'tis  too  cold  a  com- 
panion ;  away  with  it. 

Hel.  I  will  stand  for't  a  little,  though  therefore 
I  die  a  virgin.  , 

(1)  i.  e.  May  you  be  mistress  of  your  wishes, 
ana  have  power  to  bring  them  to  effect. 

(2)  Helena  considers  her  heart  as  the  tablet  on 
Yvhich  his  resemblance  was  portrayed. 

(3)  Peculiarity  of  feature.    (4)  Countenance. 


Par.  There's  little  can  be  said  in't ;  'tis  against 
the  rule  of  nature.  To  speak  on  the  part  of  vir- 
ginity, is  to  accuse  your  mothers :  which  is  most 
infalliiile  disobedience.  He,  that  hangs  himself,  is 
a  virgin :  virginity  murders  itself;  and  should  be 
buried  in  highways,  out  of  all  sanctified  limit,  as 
a  desperate  offencJress  against  nature.  Virginity 
breeds  mites,  much  like  a  cheese  ;  consumes  itself 
to  the  very  paring,  and  so  dies  with  feeding  his  own 
stomach.  Besides,  viro^inity  is  peevish,  proud,  idle, 
made  of  self-love,  which  is  the  most  inhibited'  sin 
in  the  canon.  Keep  it  not ;  you  cannot  choose  but 
lose  by't ;  Out  with't :  within  ten  years  it  will  make 
itself  ten,  which  is  a  goodly  increase  ;  and  the  prin- 
cipal itself  not  much  the  worse:  Away  with't. 

Hel.  How  might  one  do,  sir,  to  lose  it  to  her  own 
liking  ? 

Par.  Let  me  see :  Marry,  ill,  to  like  him  that 
ne'er  it  likes.  'Tis  a  commodity  w  ill  lose  tlie  gloss 
with  lying ;  the  longer  kept,  the  less  worth :  off 
with't,  while  'tis  vendible :  ansiver  the  time  of  re- 
quest. Virginity,  like  an  old  courtier,  wears  her 
cap  out  of  fashion  ;  richly  suited,  but  unsuitable  : 
just  like  the  brooch  and  toothpick,  which  wear  not 
now :  Your  date^  is  better  in  your  pie  and  your 
porridge,  than  in  your  cheek :  And  vour  virginity, 
your  old  virginity,  is  like  one  of  our  Frencli  wither- 
ed pears ;  it  looks  ill,  it  eats  dryly  ;  marry,  'tis  a 
^vilhered  pear ;  it  was  formerly  better ;  marry,  yet, 
'tis  a  w  ithered  pear :  Will  you  any  thing  with  it  1 

Hel.  Not  my  virginity  yet. 
There  shall  your  master  have  a  thousand  loves, 
A  mother,  and  a  mistress,  and  a  friend, 
A  phoenix,  captain,  and  an  enemy, 
A  guide,  a  goddess,  and  a  sovereign, 
A  counsellor,  a  traitress,  and  a  dear ; 
His  humble  ambition,  proud  humilitj-, 
His  jarring  concord,  and  his  discord  dulcet, 
His  faith,  his  suect  disaster ;  ^vith  a  world 
Of  pretty,  fond,  adoptions  Christendoms, 
That  blinking  Cupid  gossips.     Now  shall  he — 
I  know  not  what  he  shall : — God  send  him  well ! — 
The  court's  a  learning-place; — and  he  is  one 

Par.  What  one,  i'faith  ? 

Hd.  That  I  wish  well.— 'Tis  pity— 

Par.  What's  pity? 

Hel.  That  wishing  well  had  not  a  body  in't, 
Wliich  might  be  felt :  that  we,  the  poorer  born, 
Wliosc  baser  stars  do  shut  us  up  in  wishes, 
Mijrht  with  effects  of  them  follow  our  friends, 
And  show  ^^  hat  we  alone  must  think ;'  which  never 
Returns  us  thanks. 

Enter  a  Page. 

Page.  Monsieur  Parolles,  my  lord  calls  for  you. 

[Exit  Page. 

Par.  Little  Helen,  farewell :  if  I  can  remember 
thee,  I  will  think  of  thee  at  court. 

Hel.  Monsieur  Parolles,  you  were  born  under  a 
charitable  star. 

Par.  Under  Mars,  I. 

Hel.  1  especially  think,  under  Mars. 

Par.  Why  under  Mars  ? 

Hel.  The  wars  have  so  kept  you  under,  that  you 
must  needs  be  born  under  Mars. 

Par.  When  he  was  predominant. 

Hel.  When  he  was  retrograde,  I  think,  rather. 

Par.  Why  think  you  so  ? 

(5)  Forbidden. 

(6)  A  quibble  on  date,  which  means  age,  and 
candied  fruit. 

(7)  i.  e.  And  show  by  realities  what  we  Mvr 
must  only  think. 


Seine  II,  III, 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


229 


Hel.  You  CO  so  mucl»  backward,  when  you  fight. 

Par.  That's  for  advantage. 

Hel.  So  is  running  away,  when  fear  proposes  the 
safety  :  But  the  composition,  that  your  valour  and 
fear  makes  in  you,  is  a  virtue  of  a  good  wing,  and 
I  like  the  wear  well. 

Par.  I  am  so  full  of  businesses,  I  cannot  answer 
thee  acutely:  I  will  return  perfect  courtier ;  in  the 
which,  my  instruction  shall  serve  to  naturalize  thee, 
so  thou  wilt  be  capable'  of  a  courtier's  counsel, 
and  understand  what  advice  shall  thrust  upon  thee ; 


Kin^.  I  would  I  had  that  corporal  soundness  now, 
As  when  thy  father,  and  myself,  in  friendship 
First  try'd  our  soldiership  !'  He  did  look  far 
Into  the  service  of  the  time,  and  Avas 
Discipled  of  the  bravest :  he  lasted  long ; 
But  on  us  both  did  haggish  a;jc  steal  on, 
And  wore  us  out  of  acC    It  much  repairs*  me 
To  talk  of  your  good  fatl^r :  In  his  youth 
He  had  the  wit,  which  I  f^n  well  observe 
To-daj-  in^ur  young  lords  ;  but  they  may  jest 
Till  their  own  scorn  return  to  them  unnoted. 
Ere  they  can  hide  their  levity  in  honour. 


else  thou  diest  in  thine  unthaiikfuiness.  and  thine  ^.>.  .,.^j  ^u..  ,u 

ignorance  makes  thee  away :  farewell.    When  thou  ■  So  like  a  courtier,  contempt  nor  bitterness 
hast   leisure,   say  thy  pravcrs  ;    ivhen  thou  hast  Were  in  his  pride  or  sharpness  ;  if  they  were, 
none,  remember  thy  friencTs :  get  thee  a  good  hus-  His  equal  had  awak'd  them  ;  and  his  honour, 


band,  and  use  him  as  he  uses  thee :  so  farewell 

[Exit. 
Hel.  Our  remedies  oft  in  ourselves  do  lie, 
Which  we  ascribe  to  heaven  :  the  fated  sky 
Gives  us  free  scope  ;  only,  doth  backward  pull 
Our  slow  designs,  when  we  ourselves  arc  dull. 
What  power  is  it,  which  mounts  my  love  so  high ; 
That  makes  me  see,  and  cannot  feed  mine  eye  ? 
The  mightiest  space  in  fortune  nature  brings 
To  join  like  likes,  and  kiss  like  native  things.^ 
Impossible  be  strange  attempts,  to  those 
That  weigh  their  pains  in  sense :  and  do  suppose, 
What  hath  been  cannot  be  :  Wiio  ever  strove 
To  show  her  merit,  that  did  miss  her  love? 
The  king's  disease — my  project  may  deceive  me, 
But  my  intents  are  fix'd,  and  will  not  leave  me. 

[Exit. 

SCE^E  II. — Paris.  »5  room  in  the  King'.ipalace. 
Flourish  of  comets.  Enter  the  King  of  France, 
with  letters;  Lords  and  others  attending. 

King.  The  Florentines  and  Senoys'  are  by  the 
ears; 
Have  fought  with  equal  fortune,  and  continue 
A  bra'vin^  war. 

I  Lord.  So  'tis  reported,  sir. 

King.  Nay,  'tis  most  credible  ;  we  here  receive  it 
A  certainty,  vouch'd  from  our  cousin  Austria, 
With  caution,  that  the  Florentine  will  move  us 
For  speedy  aid  ;  wherein  our  dearest  friend 
Prejudicates  the  business,  and  would  seem 
To  have  us  make  denial. 

1  Lord.  His  love  and  wisdom, 

Approv'd  so  to  your  majesty,  may  plead 
For  amplest  credence. 

King.  He  hath  arm'd  our  answer. 

And  Florence  is  denied  before  he  comes : 
Yet,  for  our  gentlemen,  that  mean  to  see 
The  Tuscan  service,  freely  have  they  leave 
To  stand  on  either  part. 

•2  Ix)rd.  It  may  well  scr^e 

A  nursery  to  our  gentry,  who  are  sick 
For  breathing  and  exploit. 

King.  What's  he  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Bertram,  Lafeu,  and  Parolles. 

1  Lord.  It  is  the  count  Rousillon,  my  good  lord, 
Yotmg  Bertram. 

A'in^-.         Youth,  thou  bear'st  thy  father's  face  ; 
Frank  nature,  rather  curious  than  in  haste, 
Hath  well  compos'd  thee.  Thy  father's  moral  parts 
May'st  thou  inherit  too!  Welcome  to  Paris. 

Ber.  My  thanks  and  duty  are  your  majesty's. 

(1)  t.  e.  Thou  wilt  comprehend  it. 

(2)  Things  formed  by  nature  for  each  other. 

(S)  The  citizens  of  the  small  republic  of  which 
Sienna  is  the  capital. 
(4)  To  repair,  here  signifies  to  renorate. 


Clock  to  itself,  knew  the  true  minute  when 

Exception  bid  him  speak,  and,  at  this  time. 

His  tongue  obey'd  his'  hand :  who  were  below  liim 

He  us'd  as  creatures  of  another  place  ; 

And  bow'd  his  eminent  top  to  their  low  ranks. 

Making  them  proud  of  his  htimilitv, 

In  their  poor  praise  he  humbled  :  Such  a  man 

Might  be  a  copy  to  these  vounger  times ; 

Wiiich,  foUow'd  well,  would  demonstrate  them  now 

But  goers  backward. 

Ber.  His  good  remembrance,  sir, 

Lies  richer  in  your  thoughts,  than  on  his  tomb  ; 
So  in  approof^  lives  not  his  epitaph. 
As  in  your  royal  speech. 

King.  'Would,  I  were  with  him !  He  would  al- 
ivays  say, 
(Methinks,  I  hear  him  now ;  his  plausive  words 
He  scatter'd  not  in  ears,  but  grafted  them, 
To  grow  there,  and  to  bear,) — Let  me  not  live,— 
Thus  his  good  melancholy  oft  began, 
On  the  catastrophe  and  heel  of  pastime. 
When  it  was  out, — let  me  not  live,  quoth  he, 
^f/ier  my  flame  lacks  oil,  to  be  the  smtff 
Of  ycnnger  spirits,  wlwse  apprehensive  senses 
Jill  but  new  things  disdain:  whose  hidgments  are 
Merc  fathers  of  their  garments  ;'  whose  constancies 

Expire  before  thdr  fashions  : This  he  wish'd : 

I,  after  him,  do  after  him  wish  too. 
Since  I  nor  wax,  nor  honey,  can  bring  home, 
I  quickly  were  dissolved  from  my  hive. 
To  give  some  labourers  room. 

2  Lord.  You  arc  lov'd,  sir ; 

They,  that  least  lend  it  you,  shall  lack  you  first. 

King.  I  fill  a  place,  I  know't. — How  long  is't, 
count, 
Since  the  physician  at  your  father's  died  ? 
He  was  much  fam'd. 

Ber.  Some  six  months  since,  my  lord. 

King.  If  he  were  living,  I  would  try  him  yet;— 
Lend  me  an  arm  : — the  rest  have  worn  me  out 
W"ith  several  applications : — nature  and  sickness 
Debate  it  at  their  leisure.    Welcome,  count ; 
Mv  son's  no  dearer. 

licr.  Thank  vour  majesty. 

[Exeunt.    JFlourish. 

SCEJ^E  ///.—Rousillon.  .,^  Room  in  the  Coun- 
tess's Palace.  Enter  Countess,  Steward,  and 
Clown. 

Count.  I  will  now  hear ;  what  say  you  of  this 
gentlewoman  ? 

Slew.  Madam,  the  care  I  have  had  to  even  your 
content,*  I  wish  might  be  fotmd  in  the  calendar 
of  my  past  endeavours ;  for  then  we  wound  our 

(5)  His  is  put  for  Us.        (6)  Approbation. 
(7)  Who  have  no  other  use  of  their  faculties  than 
to  invent  new  modes  of  dress. 
(S)  Tp  act  up  to  your  desires. 


330 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


»}d  /. 


modeslj,  and  make  foul  the  clearness  of  our  de- 
servings,  when  of  ourselves  we  publish  them. 
Count.  What  does  this  knave  here?    Get  you 

fone,  sirrah :  The  complaints,  I  have  heard  of  you, 
do  not  aH  believe ;  'tis  my  slowness,  that  I  do  not : 
for,  I  know,  you  lack  not'  folly  to  commit  them,  and 
have  ability  enough  to  make  such  knaveries  yours. 

Clo.  'Tis  not  unknown  to  you,  madam,  I  am  a 
poor  fellow.  k 

Count.  Well,  sir.     ' 

Clo.  No,  madam,  'tis  not  so  well,  that  I  am  poor ; 
though  many  of  the  rich  are  damned :  But,  if  I 
may  have  your  ladysliip's  good  will  to  go  to  the 
world,'  Isbel  the  woman  and  I  will  do  as  we  may. 

Count.  Wilt  thou  needs  be  a  beggar  ? 

Clo.  I  do  ben^  your  good  will  in  this  case. 

Couitf.  In  what  case? 

Clo.  In  Isbel's   case,  and  mine  own.     Service 

is  no  heritage ;  and,  I  think,  I  shall  never  have  the 

blessing  of  God,  till  I  have  issue  of  my  body;  for, 

thev  say,  bearns^  are  blessings. 

•  Count.  Tell  me  Ihe  reason  why  thou  wilt  marry. 

Clo.  My  poor  body,  madam,  requires  it :  I  am 
driven  on  by  the  flesh ;  and  iie  must  needs  go,  that 
the  devil  drives. 

Count.  Is  this  all  your  worship's  reason  ? 

Clo.  Faith,  madam,  I  have  other  holy  reasons, 
inch  as  they  are. 

Count.  May  the  world  know  them  ? 

Clo.  I  have  been,  madam,  a  wicked  creature,  as 
you  and  all  flesh  and  blood  are  ;  and,  indeed,  I  do 
marry,  that  I  may  repent. 

Cottnt.  Thy  marriage,  sooner  than  thy  wicked- 
ness. 

Clo.  I  am  out  of  friends,  madam  ;  and  I  hope  to 
have  friends  for  my  wife's  sake. 

Count.  Such  friends  are  thine  enemies,  knave. 

Clo.  You  are  shallow,  madam ;  e'en  great  friends; 
for  the  knxves  come  to  do  that  for  me,  which  I  am 
a-weary  of.  He,  that  ears^'  my  land,  spares  ,my 
team,  and  gives  me  leave  to  inn" the  crop:  If  I  be 
his  cuckold,  he's  my  drudge:  He,  that  comforts 
my  wife,  is  the  cherisher  of  my  flesh  and  blood ; 
he,  that  cherishes  my  flesh  and  blood,  loves  my 
flesh  and  blood  ;  he,  that  loves  my  flesh  and  blood, 
is  my  friend :  ergo,"  he  that  kisses  my  wife,  is  my 
friend.  If  men  could  be  contented  to  be  M'hat  they 
are,  there  were  no  fear  in  marriage ;  for  young 
Charbon  the  puritan,  and  old  Poysam  the  papist, 
howsoe'er  their  hearts  are  severed  in  religion,  their 
heads  arc  both  one,  they  may  joU  horns  together, 
like  any  deer  i'  the  herd. 

Count,  Wilt  thou  ever  be  a  foul-mouthed  and 
calumnious  knave  ? 

Clo.  A  prophet  I,  madam ;  and  I  speak  the 
truth  the  next  way :  ^ 

For  I  the  ballad  tcill  repeat,  x 
Which  men  full  true  shall  find; 

Your  marriage  comes  by  destiny, 
Your  cuckoo  sings  by  kind. 

Count.  Get  you  gone,  sir ;  I'll  talk  with  you 
more  anon. 

Stew.  May  it  please  you,  madam,  that  he  bid 
Helen  come  to  you  ;  of  her  I  am  to  speak. 

Count.  Sirrah,  tell  my  gentlewoman,  I  would 
epcak  with  her  ;  Helen  I  mean. 

Clo.  Was  this  fair  face  the  cause,  quoth  she, 

[Singing. 
Why  the  Grecians  sacked  Troy  ? 
Fond  aone,^  done  fond. 


!1)  Tobe  married. 
3)  Ploughs. 


(2)  Children. 
(4)  Therefore. 


Was  this  king  Priam^sjoy  ? 
With  that  she  sighed  as  she  stood, 
With  that  she  sighed  as  she  stood, 

Jind  gave  this  sentence  then; 
Among  nine  bad  if  one  be  good, 
Among  nine  bad  (fone  be  good, 
There''s  yet  one  good  in  ten. 

Count.  What,  one  good  in  ten  ?  you  corrupt  the 
song,  sirrah. 

Clo.  One  good  woman  in  ten,  madam ;  which 
is  a  purifying  o'  the  song :  'Would  God  would 
serve  the  world  so  all  the  year!  we'd  find  no  fault 
with  the  tythe-woman,  if  I  were  the  parson :  One 
in  ten,  quoth  a' !  an  we  might  have  a  good  woman 
born  but  every  blazing  star,  or  at  an  earthquake, 
'twould  mend  the  lottery  ■well ;  a  man  may  draw 
his  heart  out,  ere  he  pluck  one. 

Count.  You'll  be  gone,  sir  knave,  and  do  as  I 
command  you  ? 

Clo.  That  man  should  be  at  woman's  command, 
and  yet  no  hurt  done ! — Though  honesty  be  no  pu- 
ritan, j-et  it  will  do  no  hurt ;  it  will  wear  the  sur- 
plice of  humility  over  the  black  gown  of  a  big 
heart. — I  am  going,  forsooth :  the  business  is  for 
Helen  to  come  hither.  [Exit  Clown. 

Count.  Well,  now. 

Sttw.  I  know,  madam,  j'ou  love  your  gentle- 
woman entirely. 

Count.  Faith,  I  do :  her  father  bequeathed  her 
to  me  ;  and  she  herself,  without  other  advantage, 
may  lawfully  make  title  to  as  much  love  as  sne 
finds :  there  is  more  owing  her,  than  is  paid ;  and 
more  sliall  be  paid  her,  than  she'll  demand. 

Sleio.  Madam,  I  was  very  late  more  near  her 
than,  I  think,  she  wished  me:  alone  she  was,  and 
did  communicate  to  herself,  her  own  words  to  her 
own  ears ;  she  thought,  I  dare  vow  for  her,  they  ^ 
touched  not  any  stranger  sense.  Her  matter  was,  ^ 
she  loved  3"oiir  son :  Fortune,  she  said,  was  no  v" 
goddess,  that  had  put  such  difference  betwixt  their 
two  estates  ;  Love,  no  god,  that  would  not  extend 
his  might,  only  where  qualities  were  level ;  Diana, 
no  queen  of  virgins,  that  would  sufler  her  poor 
knight  to  be  surprised,  without  rescue,  in  the  first 
assault,  or  ransomc  afterward :  This  she  delivered 
in  the  most  bitter  touch  of  sorrow,  that  e'er  I  heard 
virgin  exclaim  in  :  which  I  held  my  duty,  speedily 
to  acquaint  you  withal ;  sithcnce,'  in  the  loss  that 
mav  happen,  it  concerns  you  something  to  know  it. 

Count.  You  have  discharged  this  honestly  ;  keep 
it  to  yourself:  many  likelihoods  informed  me  of 
this  before,  which  hung  so  tottering  in  the  balance 
that  I  could  neither  believe,  nor  misdoubt :  Pray 
you,  leave  me:  stall  this  in  your  bosom,  and  I 
thank  you  for  your  honest  care:  I  will  speak  with 
you  further  anon.  [Exil  Steward. 

Enter  Helena. 

Count.    Even  so  it  was  with  me,  ivhen  I  was 
young: 
If  we  are  nature's,  these  are  ours ;  this  thorn 
Doth  to  our  rose  of  youth  rightly  belong  ; 

Our  blood  to  us,  this  to  our  blood  ig  born  ; 
It  is  the  show  and  seal  of  nature's  truth, 
Where  love's  strong  passion  is  impress'd  in  youth . 
By  our  remembrances  of  days  foregone. 
Such  were  our  faults ; — or  then  we  thought  them 

none. 
Her  eye  is  sick  on't ;  I  observe  her  now. 
ltd.  What  is  your  pleasure,  madam? 
Count.  You  know,  Helen 


(5)  The  nearest  way. 
(7)  Since. 


(6)  Foolishly  done 


Scene  III. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


38t 


I  am  a  mother  to  yon. 

Htl.  Mine  honourable  mbtress. 

Count.  Nay,  a  mother ; 

Why  not  a  mother  ?  When  I  said,  a  mother, 
Methought  you  saw  a  serpent :  What's  in  mother, 
That  you  start  at  it  ?  I  say,  I  am  your  mother ; 
And  put  you  in  the  catalogue  of  those 
That  were  enwombed  mine  :  'Tis  often  seen. 
Adoption  strives  with  nature  ;  and  choice  breeds 
A  native  slip  to  us  from  foreign  seeds  : 
You  ne'er  oppress'd  me  with  a  mother's  groan, 
Yet  I  express  to  you  a  mother's  care : — 
God's  mercy,  maiden  !  does  it  curd  thy  blood. 
To  say,  I  am  thy  mother  ?  What's-  the  matter, 
That  this  distemper'd  messenger  of  wet. 
The  many-colour'd  Iris,  rounds  thine  eye  ? 
AYhv  ? that  vou  are  mv  daughter  ? 

Hd.  '  '  That  I  am  not. 

Count.  I  say,  I  am  your  mother. 

Hel.  Pardon,  madam ; 

The  count  Rousillon  cannot  be  my  brother : 
I  am  from  humble,  he  from  honour'd  name  ; 
No  note  upon  my  parents,  his  all  noble : 
My  master,  my  dear  lord,  he  is  ;  and  I 
His  servant  live,  and  will  his  vassal  die  : 
He  must  not  be  my  brother. 

Count.  Nor  I  your  mother  ? 

Htl.  Yon  are  my  mother,  madam ;  'Would  you 
were 
(So  that  my  lord,  your  son,  were  not  my  brother,) 
I  ndeed,  my  mother ! — or  were  you  both  our  mothers, 
I  care  no  more  for,"  than  I  do  for  heaven. 
So  I  were  not  his  sister :  Can't  no  other. 
But,  I  your  dautrhter,  he  must  be  my  brother? 

Count.  Yes,  Helen,  you  might  be  my  daughter- 
in-law  ; 
God  shield,  you  mean  it  not !  daughter,  and  mother. 
So  strive-  upon  your  pulse :  What,  pale  again  ? 
My  fear  hath  catch'd  vour  fondness  :  Now  I  see 
The  mystery  of  your  foneliness,  and  find 
Your  salt  tears'  head.'  Now  to  all  sense  'tis  gross, 
You  love  my  son  ;  invention  is  asham'd. 
Against  the  proclamation  of  thy  passion. 
To  say,  thou  dost  not :  therefore  tell  me  true  : 
But  tell  me  then,  'tis  so : — for,  look,  thy  cheeus 
Confess  it,  one  to  the  other  ;  and  thine  eyes 
See  it  so  grossly  shown  in  thy  behaviours, 
That  in  their  kind*  they  speak  it :  only  sin 
And  hellish  obstinacy  tie  thy  tongue. 
That  truth  should  be  suspected :  Speak,  is't  so  ? 
If  it  be  so,  you  have  wound  a  goodly  clue ; 
If  it  be  not,  forswear't :  howe'er,  I  charge  thee. 
As  heaven  shall  work  in  me  for  thine  avail, 
To  tell  me  truly. 

Hel.  '  Good  madam,  pardon  me ! 

Count.  Do  you  love  my  son  ? 

Hel.  Your  pardon,  noble  mistress ! 

Cotmt.  Lore  you  my  son  ? 

Hel.  Do  not  you  love  him,  madam  ? 

Count.    Go  not  about ;   my  love  hath  in't  a 
bond, 
\Vhereof  the  world  takes  note :  come,  come,  dis- 
close 
The  state  of  your  affection  ;  for  your  passions 
Have  to  the  full  appeach'd. 

Hel.  Then,  I  confess. 

Here  on  my  knee,  before  high  heaven  and  you. 
That  before  you,  and  next  unto  high  heaven, 

(1)  t.  e.  I  care  as  much  for :  I  wish  it  equally, 

?2)  Contend. 

fSi  The  source,  the  cause  of  your  grief. 

i4)  According  to  their  nature. 

(5)  i.  e.  Whose  respectable  conduct  in  age  proves 


I  love  your  son  : — 

My  friends  were  poorj  but  honest ;  so's  my  loTe  :     . 

Be  not  offended  ;  for  it  hurts  not  him. 

That  he  is  lov'd  of  me :  I  follow  him  not 

By  any  token  of  presumptuous  suit ;  ' 

N  or  would  I  have  him,  till  I  do  deserve  him ; 

Yet  never  know  how  that  desert  should  be. 

I  know  I  love  in  vain,  strive  against  hope ; 

Yet,  in  tliis  captious  and  intenable  sieve, 

I  still  pour  in  the  waters  of  my  love. 

And  lack  not  to  lose  still :  thus,  Indian-like, 

Religious  in  mine  error,  I  adore 

The  "sun,  that  looks  upon  his  worshipper, 

But  knows  of  him  no  more.    My  dearest  madaiOy  i 

Let  not  your  hate  encounter  with  my  love. 

For  loving  where  you  do  :  but,  if  yourself. 

Whose  aged  honour  cites  a  virtuous  youth,* 

Did  ever,  in  so  true  a  flame  of  liking. 

Wish  chastely,  and  love  dearlv,  that  your  Dian 

Was  both  herself  and  love  ;«  0  then,  give  pity 

To  her,  whose  state  is  such,  that  cannot  choose 

But  lend  and  give,  where  she  is  sure  to  lose ; 

That  seeks  not  to  find  that  her  search  implies. 

But,  riddle-like,  lives  sweetly  where  she  dies. 

Count.  Had  you  not  lately  an  intent,  speak  truly. 
To  go  to  Paris  ? 

Hel.  Madam,  I  had. 

Count.  Wherefore?  tell  true. 

Hel.  I  will  tell  truth ;  by  grace  itself,  I  swear. 
You  know,  my  father  left  me  some  prescriptions 
Of  rare  and  prov'd  effects,  such  as  his  reading, 
And  manifest  experience,  had  collected 
For  general  sovereignty  ;  and  that  he  will'd  me 
In  heedfullest  reservation  to  bestow  tliem, 
As  notes,  whose  faculties  inclusive  were. 
More  than  they  were  in  note :'  amongst  the  rest. 
There  is  a  remedy,  approv'd,  set  down, 
To  cure  the  desperate  languishes,  whereof 
The  king  is  render'd  lost." 

Count.  .        This  was  your  motive 

For  Paris,  was  it  ?  speair. 

Hel.  My  lord  your  son  made  me  to  think  of  this ; 
Else  Paris,  and  the  medicine,  and  the  king. 
Had,  from  the  conversation  of  my  thoughts, 
Haplv,  been  absent  then. 

Count.  But  think  you,  Helen, 

If  you  should  tender  your  supposed  aid. 
He  would  receive  it  ?  He  and  his  physicians 
Are  of  a  mind  ;  he,  that  they  cannot  help  him. 
They,  that  they  cannot  help :  How  shall  they  credit 
A  poor  unlearned  virgin,  when  the  schools, 
Embowell'd  of  their  doctrine,'  have  left  off 
The  danger  to  itself? 

Hel.  There's  something  hints. 

More  than  my  father's  skill,  which  was  the  greatest 
Of  his  profession,  that  his  good  receipt 
Shall,  for  my  legacy,  be  sanctified 
By  the  luckiest  stars  in  heaven :  and,  would  your 

honour 
But  give  me  leave  to  try  success,  I'd  venture 
The  well-lost  life  of  mine  on  his  grace'e  cure, 
By  such  a  day,  and  hour. 

Count.  Dost  thon  believe't  ? 

Hel.  Ay,  madam,  kno^vingly. 

Count.  Why,  Helen,  thou  shalt  have  my  leare, 
and  love. 
Means,  and  attendants,  and  mv  loving  greetings 
To  those  of  mine  in  court ;  I'll  stay  at  nome, 

that  you  were  no  less  virtuous  Trhen  young. 

(6)  t.  e.  Venus. 

(7)  ReceipU  in  which  greater  virtuea  were  en 
closed  than  appeared. 

^S)  Exhausted  of  their  skill. 


ALL'S  WEIJ.  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


AclU, 


And  pray  God's  blessing  into  thy  attempt : 
Be  gone  to-morrow ;  and  be  sure  of  this, 
What  I  can  help  thee  to,  thou  shall  not  miss. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT  II. 

SCEJ^E  I. — Paris.  ^  room  in  the  Kin^''s  palace. 
Flourish.  Enter  King,  with  young  Lords  taking 
leave  for  the  FloreT^ine  tear ;  Bertram,  Parolles, 
and  attendants. 

King.  Farewell,  young  lord,  these  warlike  prin- 
ciples. 

Do  not  throw  from  you : — and  you,  my  lord,  fare- 
well : — 

Share  the  advice  betwixt  you ;  if  both  gain  all, 

The  gift  doth  stretch  itself  as  'tis  receiv'd. 

And  IS  enough  for  both. 

1  Lord.  It  is  our  hope,  sir. 
After  well-enter'd  soldiers,  to  return 

And  find  your  grace  in  health. 

King.  No,  no,  it  cannot  be ;  and  yet  my  heart 
Will  not  confess  he  owes  the  malady 
That  doth  my  life  besiege.  Farewell,  young  lords; 
Whether  I  live  or  die,  be  you  the  sons 
Of  worthy  Frenchmen :  let  higher  Italy 
(Those  'bated,  that  inherit  but  the  fall 
Of  the  last  monarchy,')  see,  that  you  come 
Not  to  woo  honour,  iut  to  wed  it ;  when 
The  bravest  questant*  shrinks,  find  what  you  seek. 
That  fame  may  cry  you  loud :  I  say,  farewell. 

2  Lw-d.    Health,  at  your  bidding,   serve  your 

majesty ! 
King.  Those  girls  of  Italy,  take  hee,d  of  them ; 
They  say,  our  French  lack  language  to  deny, 
If  they  demand :  beware  of  being  captives, 
Before  you  serve.' 
Both.  Our  hearts  receive  your  warnings. 

King.  Farewell. — Come  hither  to  me. 

[The  King  retires  to  a  couch. 

1  Lord.  O  my  sweet  lord,  that  you  will  stay 

behind  us. 
Par.  'Tis  not  his  fault ;  the  spark 

2  Lord.  O,  'tis  brave  wars ! 
Par.  Most  admirable :  I  have  seen  those  wars. 
Ber.  I  am  commanded  here,  and  kept  a  coil*  with; 

Too  young,  and  the  next  year,  and  His  too  early. 

Par.  An  thy  mind  stand  to  it,  boy,  steal  away 
bravely. 

Ber.  I  shall  stay  here  the  forehorse  to  a  smock. 
Creaking  my  shoes  on  the  plain  masonry. 
Till  honour  be  bought  up,  and  no  sword  worn, 
But  one  to  dance  wiih ! '  By  heaven,  I'll  steal  away. 

1  Lord.  There's  honour  in  the  theft. 

Par.  Commit  it,  count. 

2  Lord.  I  am  your  accessary ;  and  so  farewell. 
Ber.  I  grow  to  you,  and  our  parting  is  a  tortured 

body. 

1  Lord.  Farewell,  captain. 

2  Lord.  Sweet  monsieur  Parolles ! 

Par.  Noble  heroes,  my  sword  and  yours  are  kin. 
Good  sparks  and  lustrous,  a  word,  good  metals:— 
You  shall  find  in  the  regiment  of  the  Spinii,  one 
captain  Spurio,  with  his  cicatricCj  an  emblem  of 
war,  here  on  his  sinister  cheek;  it  was  this  very 

(I)  t.  e.  Those  excepted  who  possess  modem 
Italy,  the  remains  of  tlie  Roman  empire. 

!2)  Seeker,  inquirer. 
SS  Be  not  captives  before  you  are  soldfcrs. 
4)  With  a  noise,  bustle. 
5)  In  Shakspeare's  time  it  was  usual  for  gentle- 
men te  dance  with  swords  on. 


sword  entrenched  it :  say  to  him,  I  live ;  and  ob- 
serve his  reports  for  me. 

2  Lord.  We  shall,  noble  captain. 

Par.  Mars  dote  on  you  for  his  novices !  [Exeunt 
Lords.]  What  will  you  do  ? 

Ber.  Stay ;  the  long [SeetJig-  him  rise. 

Par.  Use  a  rhore  spacious  ceremony  to  the  noble 
lords;  you  have  restrained  yourself  Avithin  the  list 
of  too  cold  an  adieu :  be  more  expressive  to  them ; 
for  they  wear  themselves  in  the  cap  of  time,°  there, 
do  muster  true  gait,'  eat,  speak,  and  move  under 
the  influence  of  the  most  received  star;  and  though 
the  devil  lead  the  measure,'  such  are  to  be  follow- 
ed :  after  tliem,  and  take  a  more  dilated  farewell. 

Ber.  And  I  will  do  so. 

Par.  Wortliy  fellows:  and  like  to  prove  most 
sine^T^  sword-men.      [£xe.  Bertram  and  Parolles. 

Enter  Lafeu. 

Laf.  Pardon,  my  lord,  [Kneeling.]  for  me  and 
for  my  tidmgs. 

King.  I'll  fee  thee  to  stand  up. 

Laf.  Then  here's  a  man 

Stands,  that  has  brought  his  pardon.  1  would,  you 
Had  kneel'd,  my  lord^  to  ask  me  mercy ;  and 
That,  at  my  bidding,  you  could  so  stand  up. 

King.  I  would  I  had ;  so  I  had  broke  thy  pate, 
And  ask'd  thee  mercy  for't. 

Laf.  Good  faith,  across  *' 

But,  my  good  lord,  'tis  thus ;  Will  you  be  cur'd 
Of  your  infirmity  ? 

King.  No. 

Laf.  O,  will  you  eat 

No  grapes,  my  royal  fox?  yes,  but  you  will. 
My  noble  grapes,  an  if  my  royal  fox 
Could  reach  tnem :  I  have  seen  a  medicine,'" 
That's  able  to  breathe  life  into  a  stone  ; 
Quicken  a  rock,  and  make  jou  dance  canary," 
With  sprightly  fire  and  motion ;  whose  simple  touch 
Is  powerful  to  araise  king  Pepin,  nay, 
To  give  great  Charlemain  a  pen  in  his  hand, 
And  write  to  her  a  love-line. 

King.  What  her  is  this  7 

Laf.   Why,  doctor  she :    My  lord,  there's  one 
arriv'd, 
If  you  will  see  her, — now,  by  my  faith  and  honour, 
If  seriously  I  may  convey  my  thoughts 
In  this  my  light  deliverance,  I  have  spoke 
W^ith  one,  that,  in  her  sex,  her  years,  profession,'* 
Wisdom,  and  constancy,  hath  amaz'd  me  more 
Than  I  dare  blame  my  weakness :  Will  you  see  her, 
(For  that  is  her  demand,)  and  know  her  business  / 
That  done,  laugh  well  at  me. 

King.  Now,  good  Lafeu, 

Bring  in  the  admiration  ;  that  we  with  thee 
May  spend  our  wonder  too,  or  take  ofl"  thine, 
By  wond'ring  how  thou  took'st  it, 

Laf.  Nay,  I'll  fit  you, 

And  not  be  all  day  neither.  [Exit  Lafeu. 

King.  Thus  he  his  special  nothing  ever  prologues 

Re-enter  Lafeu,  with  Helena. 
Laf.  Nay,  come  your  ways. 
King.  This  haste  hath  wings  indeed 

Laf.  Nay,  come  your  ways ; 
This  is  his  majesty,  say  your  mind  to  him  : 

(6)  They  are  the  foremost  in  the  fashion. 

{')  Have  the  true  military  step.    (8)  The  dance. 

(9)  Unskilfuljy ;  a  phrase  taken  from  the  exer- 
cise at  a  quintnine. 

noj  A  female  physician.    (II)  A  kind  of  dance. 

(12)  By  profession  is  meant  her  declaration  ol 
the  object  of  her  coming. 


Sunt  11. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL 


233 


A  traitor  you  do  look  like  ;  but  such  traitors 
His  majesty  seldom  fears :    I  am  Cressid's  uiicle,' 
That  dare  leave  two  together ;  fare  you  well.   [Ex. 

King.  Now,  fair  one,  does  your  busmess  follow  us  ? 

Hel.  Ay,  my  good  lord.  Gerard  de  Narbon  was 
My  father ;  in  what  he  did  profess,  well  found.- 

King.  I  knew  him. 

Hel.  The  rather  will  I  spare  my  praises  towards 
him; 
Knowing  him,  is  enough.    On  his  bed  of  death 
Many  receipts  he  gave  me  ;  chiefly  one, 
Which,  as  the  dearest  issue  of  his  practice. 
And  of  his  old  experience  the  only  darling, 
He  bade  me  store  up,  as  a  triple  eye,^ 
Safer  than  mine  own  two,  more  dear:  I  have  bo  : 
And,  hearing  your  high  majesty  is  touch'd 
With  that  malignant  cause  wherein  the  honour 
Of  my  dear  father's  gift  stands  chief  in  power, 
I  come  to  tender  it,  and  my  appliance, 
With  all  bound  humbleness. 

King.  We  thank  you,  maiden  ; 

But  may  not  be  so  credulous  of  cure, — 
When  our  most  learned  doctors  leave  us  ;  and 
The  congregated  college  have  concluded 
Thatlabounng  art  can  never  ransom  nature 
From  her  inaidable  estate, — I  say  we  must  not 
So  stain  our  judgment,  or  corrupt  our  hope, 
To  prostitute  our  past-cure  malady 
To  empirics :  or  to  dissever  so 
Our  great  self  and  our  credit,  to  esteem 
A  senseless  help,  when  help  past  sense  we  deem. 

Hel.  My  duty  then  shall  pav  me  for  my  pains : 
I  will  no  more  enforce  mine  olVice  on  you; 
Humbly  entreating  from  your  royal  thoughts 
A  modest  one,  to  bear  me  back  again. 

King.    I  cannot  give  thee  less,  to  be  call'd 
grateful ; 
Thou  thought'st  to  help  me ;  and  such  thanks  I  give. 
As  one  near  death  to  those  that  wish  him  live : 
But,  what  at  full  I  know,  thou  know'st  no  part^ 
I  knowing  all  my  peril,  thou  no  art. 

Hel.  What  I  can  do,  can  do  no  hurt  to  try, 
Since  you  set  up  your  rest  'gainst  remedy : 
He  that  of  greatest  works  is  finisher, 
Oft  does  them  by  the  weakest  minister : 
So  holy  writ  in  babes  hath  judgment  shown, 
When  judges  have  been  babes.*  Great  floods  have 

flown 
From  simple  sources;*  and  great  seas  have  dried, 
When  miracles  have  by  the  greatest  been  denied. "^ 
Oft  expectation  fails,  and  most  oft  there 
\yhere  most  it  promises  ;  and  oft  it  hits, 
Where  hope  is  coldest,  and  despair  most  sits. 

King.  I  musk  not  hear  thee ;  fare  tlice  well,  kind 
maid ; 
Thy  pains,  not  us'd,  must  by  thvseif  be  paid : 
Proffers,  not  took,  reap  thanks  for  their  reward. 

Hel.  Inspired  merit  so  bv  breath  is  barr'd : 
It  is  not  so  with  him  that  all  things  knows. 
As  'tis  with  us  that  square  our  guess  by  shows : 
But  most  it  is  presumption  in  us,  when 
The  help  of  heaven  we  count  the  act  of  men. 
Dear  sir,  to  my  endeavours  give  consent ; 
Of  heaven,  not  me,  make  anexperiment. 
I  am  not  an  impostor,  that  proclaim 
Myself  against  the  level  of  mine  aim ;' 

HH  am  like  Pandarus. 

(2)  Of  acknowledged  excellence.  (3)  A  third  eve. 

14)  An  allusion  to  Daniel  judgmg  the  two  Elders. 

(5)  t.  e.  When  Moses  smote  the  rock  in  Horcb. 

(6)  This  nmst  refer  to  the  children  of  Israel 
passmg  the  Red  Sea,  wlien  miracles  had  been  de- 
nied by  Pharaob. 


I  But  know  I  think,  and  think  I  know  most  sure, 
iMv  art  is  not  past  power,  nor  you  past  cure. 

King.  Art  thou  so  confident?  Within  what  space 
Hop'st  thou  my  cure  ? 

Hel.  The  greatest  grace  lending  grace, 

Ere  twice  the  horses  of  the  sun  shall  bring 
Their  fiery  torcher  his  diurnal  ring : 
Ere  twice  in  murk  and  occidental  damp 
Moist  Hesperus^  hath  qucnch'd  his  sleepy  lamp ; 
Or  four  and  twenty  times  the  pilot's  glass 
Hath  told  the  thievish  minutes  how  they  pass  ; 
What  is  infirm  from  your  sound  parts  shall  fly. 
Health  shall  live  free,  and  sickness  freely  die. 

King,  Upon  thy  certainty  and  confidence, 
What  dar'st  thou  venture  ? 

Hel.  Tax  of  impudence, — 

A  strumpet's  boldness,  a  divulged  shame, — 
Traduc'd  by  odious  ballads ;  my  maiden's  name 
Sear'd  other  v/ise ;  no  worse  of  worst  extended, 
^Vith  vilest  torture  let  my  life  be  ended. 

King.    Methinks,  in  thee  some  blessed  spirit 
doth  speak ; 
His  powerful  sound,  within  an  organ  weak : 
And  what  impossibility  would  slay 
In  common  sense,  sense  saves  another  way. 
Thy  life  is  dear :  for  all.  that  life  can  rate 
^yorth  nam6  of  life,  in  thee  hath  estimate  ;» 
Youth,  beauty,  wisdom,  courage,  virtue,  all 
That  happiness  and  prime'"  can  happy  call : 
Thou  this  to  hazard,  needs  must  intimate 
Skill  infinite^  or  monstrous  desperate. 
Sweet  practiser,  thy  physic  I  will  try  ; 
That  ministers  thine  o^vn  death,  if  I  die. 

Hel.  If  I  break  time,  or  flinch  in  property 
Of  what  I  spoke,  unpitied  let  me  die  ; 
And  well  deserv'd :  Not  helping,  death's  my  fee , 
But,  if  I  help,  what  do  you  promise  me? 

King.  Make  thy  demand. 

Hel.  But  will  you  make  it  even  7 

King.   Ay,   by  my  sceptre,  and  my  hopes  of 
heaven. 

He!.  Then  shalt  tliou  give  me,  with  thy  kingly 
hand, 
What  husband  in  thy  power  I  will  command : 
Exempted  be  from  mc  the  arrogance 
To  choose  from  forth  the  royal  blood  of  France  • 
Mj  low  and  humble  name  to  propagate 
With  any  branch  or  image  of  thy  state: 
But  such  a  one,  thy  vassal,  whom  I  know 
Is  free  for  me  to  ask,  thee  to  bestov/. 

A'tiig-.  Here  is  my  hand ;  the  premises  obscrv'd. 
Thy  will  by  my  performance  shall  be  serv'd  ; 
So  make  the  choice  of  thy  own  time ;  for  I, 
Thy  resolv'd  patient,  on  thee  still  rely. 
More  should  I  question  thee,  and  more  I  must ; 
Though,  mere  to  knov,-,  could  not  be  more  to  trust ; 
From  whence  thou  cam'sl,  how  tended  on, — But 

rest 
Unquestion'd  welcome,  and  undoubted  blest. — 
Give  me  some  help  here,  ho  ! — If  thou  proceed 
As  high  as  word,  my  deed  shall  match  tliy  deed. 

[Flourish.    Exeunt. 

SCE.^rE  n. — ^Rousillon.     »^  room  in  the  Coun- 
tess's Palace.    Enter  Countess  atid  Clowiu 

Count.  Come  on,  sir ;  I  shall  now  put  you  to  the 
height  of  your  breeding. 

(7)  i.  e.  Pretend  to  greater  things  than  befits  th« 
mediocrity  of  my  condition. 

(8)  The  evening  star. 

(9)  i.  e.  May  be  counted  among  the  gifts  enjoyed 
by  thee. 

(10)  The  spring  or  morning  of  life. 

2  G 


S34 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


dctir. 


Clo.  I  will  show  m3'self  highly  fed,  and  lowly 
taught:  I  know  my  business  is  but  to  the  court. 

Count.  To  the  court!  why,  what  place  make  you 
special,  when  you  put  off  that  with  such  contempt  ? 
But  to  the  court! 

Clo.  Truly,  madam,  if  God  have  lent  a  man  any 
manners,  he  may  easily  put  it  off  at  court :  he  that 
cannot  make  a  leg,  put  off's  cap,  kiss  his  hand,  and 
say  nothing,  has  neither  leg,  hands,  lip,  nor  cap ; 
and,  indeed,  such  a  fellow,  to  say  precisely,  were 
not  for  the  court ;  but,  for  me,  I  hare  an  answer 
will  serve  all  men. 

Count.  Marry,  that's  a  bountiful  answer,  that  fits 
all  Questions. 

clo.  It  is  like  a  barber's  chair,  that  fits  all  but- 
tocks ;  the  pin-buttock,  the  quatch-buttock,  the 
brawn-buttock,  or  any  buttock. 

Count.  Will  jour  answer  serve  to  fit  all  ques- 
tions? 

Clo.  As  fit  as  ten  groats  is  for  the  hand  of  an 
attorney,  as  your  French  crown  for  your  taffata 
punk,  as  Tib's  rush  for  Tom's  forcrfin^er,  as  a  pan- 
cake for  Shrove-Tuesday,  a  morris  for  May-day, 
as  the  nail  to  his  hole,  the  cuckold  to  his  horn,  as 
a  scolding  quean  to  a  wrangling  knave,  as  the 
nun's  lip  to  the  friar's  mouth ;  nay,  as  the  pudding 
to  his  skin. 

Count.  Have  you,  I  say,  an  answer  of  such  fit- 
ness for  all  questions  ? 

Clo.  From  below  your  duke,  to  beneath  your  con- 
stable, it  will  fit  any  question. 

Count.  It  must  be  an  answer  of  most  monstrous 
size,  that  must  fit  all  demands. 

Clo.  But  a  trifle  neither,  in  good  faith,  if  the 
learned  should  speak  truth  of  it :  here  it  is,  and  all 
that  belongs  to't :  Ask  me,  if  I  am  a  courtier ;  it 
shall  do  you  no  harm  to  learn. 

Count.  To  be  young  again,  if  we  could:  I  will 
be  a  fool  in  question,  hoping  to  be  the  wiser  by 
your  answer.    I  pray  you,  sir,  are  vou  a  courtier? 

Clo.  O  Lord,  sir, — There's  a  simple  putting  off; — 
more,  more,  a  hundred  of  them. 

Count.  Sir,  I  am  a  poor  friend  of  yours,  that 
loves  you. 

Clo.  O  Lord,  sir, — Thick,  thick,  spare  not  me. 

Count.  I  think,  sir,  you  can  eat  none  of  this 
homely  meat. 

Clo.  O  Lord,  sir, — Nay,  put  me  to't,  I  warrantyou. 

Count.  You  were  lately  ivhippcd,  sir,  as  I  think. 

Clo.  0  Lord,  sir, — Spare  not  mc. 

Cmmt.  Do  you  cry,  0  Lord,  sir,  at  your  whip- 
ping, and  spaie  not  me  ?  Indeed,  your  0  Lord,  sir, 
IS  very  sequent'  to  your  whipping ;  you  ivould 
answer  very  well  to  a  whipping,  if  you  were  but 
bound  to't. 

Clo.  I  ne'er  had  worse  luck  in  my  life,  in  my — 
0  Lord,  sir ;  I  see,  things  may  serve  long,  but  not 
serve  ever. 

Count.  I  play  the  noble  housewife  with  the  time, 
to  entertain  it  so  merrily  with  a  fool. 

Clo.  0  Lord,  sir, — Why,  there't  serves  well  again. 

Count.    An  end,  sir,' to  your  business:    Give 
Helen  this. 
And  urge  her  to  a  present  answer  back : 
Commend  me  to  my  kinsmen,  and  my  son ; 
This  is  not  much. 

Clo.  Not  much  commendation  to  them. 

Count.  Not  much  employment  for  you :  You  un- 
derstand mv'  ? 

Clo.  Most  fruitfully ,  I  am  there  before  my  legs. 


(H  Properly  follows. 

(S)  Fear  means  here  the  object  of  fear 


(4;  The  dauphin. 


(2)  Ordinary, 
t  of  fear. 

(5)  Wicked. 


Count.  Haste  you  again.         [Exeunt  severally. 

SCEJ^E  JJJ.— Paris.  A  room  in  the  King's  Pa- 
lace.   Enter  Bertram,  Lafeu,  and  ParoUes. 

Laf.  They  say,  miracles  are  past ;  and  we  have 
our  philosophical  persons,  to  make  modern''  and 
familiar  things,  supernatural  and  causeless.  Hence 
is  it,  that  we  make  trifles  of  terrors ;  ensconcing 
ourselves  into  seeming  knowledge,  when  we  should 
submit  ourselves  to  an  unknown  fear.' 

Par.  Why,  'tis  the  rarest  argument  of  wonder, 
that  hath  shot  out  in  our  latter  times. 

Ber.  And  so  'tis, 

Laf.  To  be  relinquished  of  the  artists, 

Par.  So  I  say;  both  of  Galen  and  Paracelsus. 

Laf.  Of  all  the  learned  and  authentic  fellows,— 

Par.  Right,  so  I  say. 

Laf.  That  gave  him  out  incurable, — 

Par.  Why,  there  'tis  ;  so  say  I  too. 

Laf.  Not  to  be  helped, — 

Par.  Right :  as  'twere,  a  man  assured  of  an — 

Laf.  Uncertain  life,  and  sure  death. 

Par.  .lust,  you  say  well ;  so  would  I  have  said. 

Laf.  I  may  truly  say,  it  is  a  novelty  to  the  world. 

Par.  It  is,  indeed :  if  you  will  have  it  in  show- 
ing, you  shall  read  it  in, What  do  you  call 

there  ? — 

Laf.  A  showing  of  a  heavenly  effect  in  an  earth- 
ly actor. 

Par.  That's  it  I  would  have  said :  the  very  same. 

Laf.  Why,  your  dolphin*  is  not  lustier :  'fore  me 
I  speak  in  respect 

Par.  Nay,  'tis  strange,  'tis  very  strange,  that  is 
the  brief  and  the  tedious  of  it ;  and  he  is  of  a  most 
facinorous'  spirit,  that  will  not  acknowledge  it  to 
be  the 

Laf.  Very  hand  of  heaven. 

Par.  Ay,  so  I  say. 

Laf.  In  a  most  iveak 

Par.  And  debile  minister,  great  power,  great 
transcendence :  whicii  should,  indeed,  give  us  a 
further  use  to  be  made,  than  alone  the  recovery  of 
the  king,  as  to  be 

Laf.  Generally  thankful. 

Enter  King,  Helena,  and  attendants. 

Par.  I  would  have  said  it ;  you  say  well :  Here 
comes  the  king. 

Laf.  Lustick,'' as  the  Dutchman  saj's :  I'll  like  a 
maid  the  better,  whilst  I  have  a  tooth  in  my  head . 
Why,  he's  able  to  lead  her  a  coranto. 

Par.  J^Iort  dxi  Vinaigre  !  Is  not  this  Helen  ? 

Laf.  'Fore  God,  I  think  so. 

King.  Go,  call  before  me  all  the  lords  in  court— 
[Exit  an  attendant. 
Sit,  my  preserver,  by  thy  patient's  side  ; 
And  with  this  healthful  hand,  whose  banish'd  sense 
Thou  hast  repeal'd,  a  second  time  receive 
The  confirmation  of  my  promis'd  gift. 
Which  but  attends  thy  naming. 

Enter  several  Lords. 
Fair  maid,  send  forth  thine  ej'e :  this  youthful  parcel 
Of  noble  bachelors  stand  at  my  bestowing, 
O'er  whom  both  sovereign  power  and  father's  voice' 
I  have  to  use  :  thy  frank  election  make  ; 
Thou  hast  power  to  choose,  and  they  none  to  forsake. 
Hel.  To  each  of  you  one  fair  and  virtuous  mis- 
tress 
Fall,  when  love  please !— marry,  to  each,  but  one  '• 

(6)  Lustigh  is  the  Dutch  word  for  lusty,  cheerful. 
h)  They  were  wards  as  well  as  subjects. 
(8)  Except  one  meaning  Bertram. 


Scene  ///. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


23S 


Laf.  I'd  give  bay  Curtal,'  and  his  furniture, 
My  mouth  no  more  were  broken  than  these  boys', 
And  writ  aa  little  beard. 

King.  Peruse  them  well : 

Not  one  of  those,  but  had  a  noble  father. 

He!.  Gentlemen, 
Heaven  hath,  through  me,  restor'd  the  king  to 
health. 

,ill.  We  understand  it,  and  thank  heaven  for  you. 

Hel.  I  am  a  simple  maid ;  and  therein  wealthiest, 

That,  I  protest,  I  simply  am  a  maid  : 

Please  it  your  majesty,  I  have  done  already : 
The  blushes  in  my  cheeks  thus  whisper  me. 
We   blush,  that   thou  shouUrst   choose ;    but,  be 

refus''d, 
Let  the  white  death  sit  on  thy  cheek  for  ever; 
IfVU  Jie'er  coine  there  again. 

Kin^,  Make  choice ;  and,  see. 

Who  shuns  thv  love,  shuns  all  his  love  in  me. 

Hel.  Now,  Dian,  from  thy  altar  do  I  fly  ; 
And  to  Imperial  Love,  that  god  most  high, 
Do  my  sighs  stream. — Sir,  will  you  hear  my  suit? 

1  Lord.  And  grant  it. 

Hel.  Thanks,  sir ;  all  the  rest  is  mute.'' 

Laf.  I  had  rather  be  in  this  choice,  than  throw 
ames-ace'  for  my  life. 

Hel.  The  honour,  sir,  that  flames  in  your  fair  eyes, 
Before  I  speak,  too  threateningly  replies  : 
Love  make  your  fortunes  twenty  times  above 
Her  that  so  wishes,  and  her  humble  love ! 

2  Lord.  No  better,  if  you  please. 

Hel.  My  wish  receive, 

Which  great  love  grant !  and  so  I  take  my  leave. 

Laf.  Do  all  they  deny  her?  An  they  v,ere  sons 
of  mine,  I'd  have  them  whipped  ;  or  I  would  send 
them  to  the  Turk,  to  make  eunuchs  of. 

Hel.  Be  not  afraid  [To  a  Lord.]  that  I  your  hand 
should  take  ; 
I'll  never  do  you  wrong  for  5"our  own  sake : 
Blessing  upon  your  vows  !  and  in  your  bed 
Find  fairer  fortune,  if  you  ever  wed  ! 

Laf.  These  boys  are  boys  of  ice,  they'll  none 
have  her:  sure,  they  are  bastards  to  the  English; 
the  French  ne'er  got  them. 

Hel.  You  are  too  J'oung,  too  byppy,  and  too  good, 
To  make  yourself  a  son  out  of  my  blood. 

4  Lord.  Fair  one,  I  think  not  so. 

Laf.  There's  one  grape  yet, — I  am  sure,  thy 
father  drank  wine. — But  if  thou  be'st  not  an  ass, 
I  am  a  youth  of  fourteen  ;  I  have  known  thee 
already. 

Hel'.  I  dai-e  not  say  I  take  you  ;  [To  Bertram.] 
but  I  give 
Me,  and  my  service,  ever  whilst  I  live. 
Into  your  iruiding  power. — This  b  the  man. 

King.  Why  then,  young  Bertram,  take  her,  she's 
thy  wife. 

Jier.  My  wife,  my  liege  ?    I  shall  beseech  your 
hi<rhness. 
In  such  a  business  give  me  leave  to  use 
The  help  of  mine  own  eves. 

King.  Know'st  thou  not,  Bertram, 

What  she  has  done  for  me  ? 

Ber.  Yes,  my  good  lord ; 

But  never  hope  to  know  why  I  should  marry  her. 

King.  Thou  know'st,  she  has  rais'd  nie  from 
my  sickly  bed. 

Ber.  But  follows  it,  my  lord,  to  bring  me  down, 
Must  answer  for  your  raising  ?  I  knew  her  well ; 
She  had  her  breeding  at  my  father's  charge : 

(1)  A  docked  horse. 

(2)  i.  e.  I  have  no  more  to  say  to  you, 

(3)  The  lowest  chance  of  the  dice. 


A  poor  physician's  daughter  my  wife !— Disdain 
Rather  corrupt  me  ever ! 

King.  'Tis  only  title*  thou  disdain'st  in  her,  the 
which 
I  can  build  up.    Strange  is  it,  that  our  bloods, 
Of  colour,  weight,  and  heat,  pour'd  all  together, 
Would  quite  confound  distmction,  yet  stand  off 
In  differences  so  mighty  :  if  she  be 
All  that  is  virtuous,  (save  what  thou  dislik'st, 
A  poor  physician's  daughter,)  thou  dislik'st 
Of  virtue  lor  the  name  :  but  do  n6t  so : 
From  lowest  place  ivhen  virtuous  things  proceed, 
The  place  is  dignified  by  the  doer's  deed  : 
Where  great  additions  swell,  ^  and  virtue  none, 
It  is  a  dropsied  honour :  good  alone 
Is  good,  without  a  name ;  vileness  is  so  :* 
The  property  by  what  it  is  should  go. 
Not  by  the  title.     She  is  young,  wise,  fair ; 
In  these  to  nature  she's  immediate  heir ; 
And  these  breed  honour :  that  b  honour's  scorn, 
Which  challenges  itself  as  honour's  born. 
And  is  not  like  the  sire  :  Honours  best  thrive, 
When  rather  from  our  acts  we  them  derive 
Than  our  fore-goers :  the  mere  word's  a  slave, 
Debauch'd  on  every  tomb  ;  on  every  grave, 
A  lying  trophy,  and  as  ofl  is  dumb. 
Where  dust,  and  damned  oblivion,  is  the  tomb 
Of  honour'd  hones  indeed.  What  should  be  said  ? 
If  thou  canst  like  this  creature  as  a  maid, 
I  can  create  the  rest :  virtue  and  she. 
Is  her  own  dower  ;  honour,  and  wealth,  from  me. 

Ber.  I  cannot  love  her,  nor  will  strive  to  do't. 

King.  Thou  wrongest  thyself,  if  thou  should'st 
strive  to  choose. 

Hel.  That  you  are  well  restor'd,  my  lord,  I  am 
glad ; 
Let  the  rest  jro. 

King.  Mv  honour's  at  the  stake ;  which  to  defeat, 
I  must  prod'.ice  my  power :  Here,  take  her  hand. 
Proud  scornful  boyj  unworthy  this  good  gift ; 
That  does  in  vile  misprision  shackle  up 
Mj-  love,  and  her  desert ;  that  canst  not  dream, 
^Ve,  poising  us  in  her  defective  scale. 
Shall  weigh  thee  to  the  beam  :  that  wilt  not  know, 
It  is  in  us  to  plant  thine  honour,  where 
We  please  to  have  it  grow  :  Check  thy  contempt : 
Obey  our  iviil,  which  travails  in  thy  good  : 
Believe  not  thy  disdain,  but  presently 
Do  thine  own  fortunes  that  obedient  right. 
Which  both  thy  duty  owes,  and  our  power  claims ; 
Or  I  will  throw  thee  from  my  care  for  ever. 
Into  the  staggers,  and  the  careless  lapse 
Of  youth  and  ignorance ;  both  my  revenge  and  hate. 
Loosing  upon  thee  in  the  name  of  justice. 
Without  all  terms  of  pity :  Speak  ;  thine  answer. 

Ber.  Pardon,  my  gracious  lord ;  for  I  submit 
My  fancy  to  your  eyes :  When  I  consider. 
What  great  creation,  and  what  dole  of  honour. 
Flics  where  you  bid  it,  I  find  that  she,  which  late 
Was  in  my  nobler  thoughts  most  base,  is  now 
The  praised  of  the  king  ;  ivho,  so  ennobled, 
Is,  as  'twere,  bom  so. 

A'ing.  Take  her  by  the  hand, 

And  tell  her,  she  is  thine :  to  whom  I  promise 
A  counterpoise  ;  if  not  to  thy  estate, 
A  balance  more  replete. 

Ber.  I  take  her  hand. 

King.  Good  fortune,  and  the  favour  of  the  king. 
Smile  upon  this  contract ;  whose  ceremony 
Shall  seem  expedient  on  the  now-born  brief, 

(4)  t.  e.  The  want  of  title.  (5)  Titles. 

(6)  Good  is  good  independent  of  any  worldly 
distinction,  and  so  is  vileness  vile. 


236 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


Jcf  //. 


And  be  perfonn'd  to-niirhl :  the  solemn  feast 
Shall  more  attend  upon  the  eoming  space, 
Expecting  absent  friends.    As  thou  lov'st  her, 
Thy  love's  to  me  religious  ;  else,  does  err. 

[Exeunt  Kinp,  Bertram,  Helena,  Lords,  and 
ttitenaants. 

iMf.  Do  you  hear,  monsieur  ?  a  word  with  you. 

Par.  Your  pleasure,  sir  ? 

Lrt/.  Your  lord  ana  master  did  well  to  make  his 
recantation. 

Par.  Recantation  ?— My  lord  ?  my  master  ? 

LaJ.  Ay  ;  Is  it  not  a  language,  I  speak  ? 

Par.  A  most  harsh  one ;  and  not  to  be  under- 
stood without  bloody  succeeding.    My  master  ? 

haf.  Are  you  companion  to  the  count  Rousillon  ? 

Par.  To  any  count ;  to  all  counts ;  to  what  is 
man. 

haf.  To  what  is  count's  man ;  count's  master  is 
of  another  style. 

Par.  You  are  too  old,  sir ;  let  it  satisfy  you,  you 
arc  too  old. 

Laf.  I  must  tell  thee,  sirrah,  I  write  man ;  to 
which  title  age  cannot  brin^  thee. 

Par.  What  I  dare  too  well  do,  I  dare  not  do. 

haf.  1  did  think  thee,  for  two  ordinaries,"  to  be 
a  pretty  wise  fellow ;  thou  didst  make  tolerable 
vent  of  thy  travel  ;  it  might  pass  :  yet  the  scarfs, 
and  the  bannerets,  about  thee,  did  manifoldly  dis- 
suade me  from  believing  thee  a  vessel  of  too  great 
a  burden.  I  have  now  found  thee ;  when  I  lose 
thee  again,  I  care  not :  yet  art  thou  good  for  no- 
thing but  taking  up ;  and  that  thou  art  scarce  worth. 

Par.  Hadst  thou  not  the  privilege  of  antiquity 
upon  thee, 

Laf.  Do  not  plunge  thyself  too  far  in  anger,  lest 
thou  hasten  thy  trial ;  which  if— Lord  have  mercy 
on  thee  for  a  hen  !  So,  my  good  v.indow  of  lattice, 
fare  thee  ivell ;  thy  casement  I  need  not  open,  for 
I  look  through  thee.     Give  me  thy  hand. 

Par.  My  lord,  you  give  me  most  egregious  in- 
di™itj. 

Laf.  Ay,  with  all  my  heart ;  and  thou  art  worthy 
of  it. 

Par.  I  have  not,  my  lord,  deserved  it. 

haf.  Yes,  good  faith,  every  dram  of  it ;  and  I 
will  not  bate  thee  a  scruple. 

Par.  Well,  1  shall  be  wiser. 

haf.  E'en  as  soon  as  thou  canst,  for  thou  hast  to 
pull  at  a  smack  o'  the  contrary.  If  ever  thou  be'st 
Dound  in  thy  scarf,  and  beaten,  thou  shalt  find  what 
it  is  to  be  proud  of  thy  bondage.  I  have  a  desire 
to  hold  my  acquaintance  with  thee,  or  rather  my 
knowledge  ;  that  I  may  say,  in  the  default,*  he  is  a 
man  I  know. 

Par.  My  lord,  you  do  me  most  insupportable 
Texation. 

Laf.  I  would  it  were  hell-pains  for  thy  sake,  and 
my  poor  doing  eternal :  for  doing  I  am  past ;  as  I 
will  by  thee,  in  what  motion  age  «'ill  give  me  leave. 

{Exit. 

Par.  Well,  thou  hast  a  son  shall  take  tliis  dis- 
grace off  me ;  scurvy,  old,  filthy,  scurvy  lord  ! — 
VVell,  I  must  be  patient ;  there  is  no  fettering  of 
authority.  I'll  beat  him,  by  my  life,  if  I  can  meet 
him  with  any  convenience,  an  he  were  double  and 
double  a  lord.  I'll  have  no  more  pity  of  his  age, 
than  I  would  have  of— I'll  beat  him,  an  if  I  could 
but  meet  him  again. 

Re-enter  Lafeu. 

Laf.  Sirrah,  your  lord  and  master's  married, 

(1)  ».  e.  While  I  sat  twice  with  thee  at  dinner 
(i)  At  a  need, 


Uierc's  news  for  you ;  you  have  a  new  mistress. 

Par.  I  most  unfeignedly  beseech  your  lordship 
to  make  some  reservation  of  your  wrongs :  He  is 
my  good  lord ;  whom  I  serve  above,  is  tnv  master. 

Laf  Who  ?  God  ? 

Par.  Ay,  sir. 

Laf.  The  devil  it  is,  that's  thy  master.  Why 
dost  thou  garter  up  thy  arms  o'  this  fashion  ?  dost 
make  hose  of  thy  sleeves  ?  do  other  servants  so  ? 
Thou  wert  best  set  thy  lower  part  where  thy  nose 
stands.  By  mine  honour,  if  I  were  but  two  hours 
younger,  I'd  beat  thee  :  mcthinks,  thou  art  a  gene- 
ral otfence,  and  every  man  should  beat  thee.  I 
think,  thou  wast  created  for  men  to  breath'  them- 
selves upsn  thee. 

Par,  This  is  hard  and  undeserved  measure,  my 
lord. 

/>a/".  Go  to,  sir;  you  were  beaten  in  Italy  for 
pickmg  a  kernel  out  of  a  pomegrante  ;  you  arc  a 
vagabond,  and  no  true  traveller :  you  are  more 
saucy  with  lords,  and  honourable  personages,  than 
the  heraldry  of  your  birth  and  virtue  gives  you 
commission.  You  are  not  worth  another  word,  else 
I'd  call  you  knave.    I  leave  you.  [ExU. 

Enter  Bertram. 

Par.  Good,  very  good  ;  it  is  so  then. — Good, 
very  good  ;  let  it  be  concealed  a  while. 

lier.  Undone,  and  forfeited  to  cares  for  ever ! 

Par,  What  is  the  matter,  sweet  heart  ? 

Ber,  Although  before  the  solemn  priest  I  have 
sworn. 
I  will  not  bed  ner. 

Par.  What  ?  ivhat,  sweet  heart  ? 

Ber.  O  my  ParoUes,  they  have  married  me  : — 
I'll  to  the  Tuscan  wars,  and  never  bed  her. 

Par.  France  is  a  dog-hole,  and  it  no  more  merits 
The  tread  of  a  man's  foot :  to  the  wars ! 

Ber.  There's  letters  from  my  mother ;  what  the 
import  is, 
I  know  not  yet. 

Par.  Ay,  that  would  be  known :  To  the  wars, 
mv  boy,  to  the  wars  ! 
He  wears  his  honour  in  a  box  unseen. 
That  hugs  his  kicksy-wicksy*  here  at  home ; 
Spending  his  manly  marrow  in  her  arms. 
Which  should  sustain  the  bound  and  high  curvet 
Of  Mars's  fiery  steed  :  To  other  regions ! 
France  is  a  stable  ;  wo  that  dwell  in't,  jades  ; 
Therefore,  to  the  war ! 

Ber.  It  shall  be  so ;  I'll  send  her  to  my  house, 
Acquaint  my  mother  with  my  hate  to  her. 
And  wherelbre  I  am  fled  ;  write  to  the  king 
That  which  I  durst  not  speak :  His  present  gift 
Shall  furnish  me  to  these  Italian  fields, 
W"here  no!)le  fellows  strike  :  War  is  no  strife 
To  the  dark  house,'  and  the  detested  wife. 

Par.  Will  this  capricio  hold  in  thee,  art  sure  ? 

Ber.  Go  with  me  to  my  chamber,  and  advise  mc. 
I'll  send  her  straight  away :  To-morrow 
I'll  to  the  wars,  she  to  her  single  sorrow. 

Par.  Whv,  these  balls  bound  :  there's  noise  b it. 
— 'Tis  hard  ; 
A  young  man,  married,  is  a  man  that's  marr'd  : 
Thot-eforc  away,  and  leave  her  bravely ;  go  : 
The  king  has  done  you  wrong ;  but,  hush  !  'tis  so. 

[Exeitnt. 
SCEJ\rE  IF.— The  same.    Another  room  in  the 
same.    Enter  Helena  and  Clown. 

Hel.  My  mother  greets  me  kindly :  Is  she  well  ? 

Clo.  She  is  not  well ;  but  yet  she  has  her  health ; 

(3)  Exercise.  (4)  A  cant  term  for  a  wife. 

(5)  The  house  made  gloomy  by  discontent. 


Scene  Y. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


23^ 


she's  very  merry  ;  but  yet  she  is  not  well :  but 
thanks  be  given,  she's  very  well,  and  wants  nothing 
i'  the  world  ;  but  yet  she  is  not  well. 

Hd.  If  she  be  very  well,  what  does  she  ail,  that 
she's  not  very  well  ? 

Clo.  Truly,  she's  very  well,  indeed,  but  for  two 
thins{s. 

Mel.  Wh^t  two  things  ? 

do.  One,  that  she's  not  in  heaven,  whither  God 
send  her  quickly !  the  other,  that  she's  in  earth, 
from  whence  God  send  her  quickly ! 
'Enter  Parolles. 

Par.  Bless  you,  my  fortunate  lady ! 

liel.  I  hope,  sir,  I  have  your  good  will  to  have 
mine  own  g-ood  fortunes. 

Par.  You  had  my  prayers  to  lead  them  on  :  and 
to  keep  them  on,  have  them  still. — O,  my  knave ! 
How  does  my  old  lady  ? 

Clo,  So  that  you  had  her  wrinkles,  and  I  her 
money,  I  would  she  did  as  you  say. 

Par,  Why,  I  say  nothing. 

Clo,  Marry,  you  are  the  wiser  man  ;  for  many 
a  man's  tonpfue  shakes  out  his  master's  undoing : 
To  say  nothing,  to  do  nothing,  to  know  nothing, 
and  to  have  nothing,  is  to  be  a  great  part  of  your 
title  ;  which  is  within  a  very  little  of  nothing-. 

Par.  Away,  thou  art  a  knave. 


Ber.  I  do  assure  you,  my  lord,  he  is  very  p-eat 
in  knowledge,  and  accordingly  valiant. 

La/.  1  have  then  sinned  against  his  experience, 
and  transgressed  against  his  valour ;  and  my  state 
that  way  is  dangerous,  since  I  cannot  yet  fmd  in 
my  heart  to  repent.  Here  he  comes  ;  1  pray  you, 
make  us  friends.    I  ivill  pursue  the  amity. 

Enter  Parolles. 

Par.  These  things  shall  be  done,  sir. 

\To  Bertram. 

'Laf.  Prav  you,  sir,  who's  his  tailor  ? 

Par.  Sir? 

Laf.  O.  I  know  him  well :  Ay,  sir ;  he,  sir,  is  a 
good  workman,  a  very  good  tailor. 

Ber.  I  s  she  gone  to  the  king  ?    [Jiside  to  Parolles. 

Par.  She  is. 

Ber.  Will  she  away  to-night  ? 

Par.  As  you'll  have  her. 

Ber,  I  have  writ  my  letters,  casketted  my  trea- 
sure, 
Given  order  l^or  our  horses  ;  and  to-night, 
When  I  should  take  possession  of  the  bride, — 
And,  ere  I  do  begin, 

Laf,  A  good  traveller  is  something  at  the  lat- 
ter end  of  a  dinner  ;  but  one  that  lies  three  thirds, 
and  uses  a  known  truth  to  pass  a  thousand  nothings 


Clo.  You  should  have  said,  sir,  before  a  k-nave  ^'^  "^""''^  ^^  "".*'?  ^'^'""'''  ^""^  ^^"''*'  beaten.— 
^.,  ^,t  o  i,„„„o.  tu..t  :„    »;„(■„.' .i.„..  „.i  „  tiod  save  you,  captain 


thou  art  a  knave;  that  is,  before  me  thou  art  a 
knave :  this  had  been  truth,  sir. 

Par.  Go  to,  thou  art  a  witty  fool,  I  have  found  thee. 

Clo.  Did  you  find  me  in  yourself,  sir  ?  or  were 
you  taught  to  find  me  ?  The  search,  sir,  was  profit- 
able ;  and  much  fool  may  you  find  in  you,  even  to 
the  world's  pleasure,  and  the  increase  of  laughter. 

Par,  A  good  knave,  i'faith,  and  well  fed. — 
Madam,  my  lord  will  go  away  to-night ; 
A  very  serious  business  calls  on  him. 
The  great  prerogative  and  rite  of  love, 
AVhich,  as  your  due,  time  claims,  he  does  acknow- 
ledge ; 
But  puts  itoft'by  a  compell'd  restraint ; 
Whose  want,  and  %vliose  delay,  is  strewed  with 

sweets. 
Which  thev  distil  now  in  the  curbed  time. 
To  make  the  coming  hour  o'erflow  with  joy. 
And  pleasure  drown  the  brim. 

Hil,  What's  his  will  else  ? 

Par,  That  you  will  take  your  instant  leave  o' 
the  king. 
And  make  this  haste  as  your  own  good  proceeding, 
Strengthen'd  %vith  that  apology  you  think 
May  make  it  probable  need.' 

fiel.  What  more  commands  he  ? 

Par.  That,  having  this  obtaiii'd,  you  presently 
Attend  his  further  pleasure. 

Hel.  In  every  thing  I  wait  upon  his  will. 

Par.  I  shall  report  it  so. 

Hel.  I  pray  you. — Come,  sirrah. 

[Exeunt. 

SCE^E  v.— .Another  room  in  the  same.    Enter 
Lafcu  and  Bertram. 

Laf.  But,  I  hope,  your  lordship  thinks  not  him  a 
soldier. 

Ber.  Yes,  my  lord,  and  of  verj'  valiant  approof. 

Laf.  You  have  it  from  his  ow'n  deliverance. 

Ber.  And  by  other  warranted  testimony. 

Laf.  Then  my  dial  goes  not  true ;  I  took  this 
lark  for  a  bunting.'' 

!n  A  specious  appearance  of  necessity. 
2)  The  buuting  nearly  resembles  the  sky-lark ; 


Ber.  Is  there  ejiy  unkindness  between  my  lord 
and  you,  monsieur  / 

Par.  I  know  not  ^ow  I  have  deserved  Vu  lUa 
into  my  lord's  displeasi:re. 

Laf.  You  have  made  shift  to  run  into't,  boots 
and  spurs,  and  ail,  like  him  that  leap'd  into  the 
custard ;  and  out  of  it  you'll  run  again,  rather 
tlian  sutler  question  for  your  residence. 

Ber.  It  may  be,  you  Have  mistaken  him,  my  lord. 

Laf.  And  shall  do  so  ever,  though  I  took  him  at 
his  prayers.  Fare  you  v,cll,  my  lord  ;  and  believe 
this  of  me.  There  can  be  no  kernel  in  this  Usht 
nut ;  the  soul  of  this  man  is  his  clothes :  trust  him 
not  in  matter  of  heavy  consequence  ;  I  have  kept 
of  them  tame,  and  know  their  natures.— Farewell, 
monsieur :  I  have  spoken  better  of  you,  than  you 
liave  or  will  deserve  at  my  hand  ;  but  we  must  do 
good  against  evil.  [Exit. 

Par.^  An  idle  Icrd,  I  swear. 

Ber.  I  think  so. 

Par.  Why,  do  you  not  know  him  ? 

Ber.  Yes,  I  do  know  him  well ;  and  common 
speech 
Gives  him  a  ivorthy  pass.    Here  comes  my  clog. 

Enter  Helena. 
Hel.  I  have,  sir,  as  I  was  commanded  from  you, 
Spcke  with  the  king,  and  have  procur'd  his  leave 
For  present  parting  ;  only,  he  desires 
Some  private  speech  with  you, 
,  Ber.  I  shall  obey  his  will. 

You  must  not  marvel,  Helen,  at  my  course. 
Which  holds  not  colour  with  the  time,  nor  does 
The  ministration  and  required  office 
On  my  particular:  prepar'd  I  was  not  ■ 
For  such  a  business  ;  therefore  am  I  found 
So  much  unsettled  :  This  drives  me  to  entreat  yon. 
That  presently  you  take  your  way  for  home  ; 
And  ratlier  muse,*  than  ask,  why  I  entreat  you : 
For  my  respects  are  better  than  "they  seem  ; 
And  my  appointments  have  in  them  a  need, 

but  has  little  or  no  song,  which  gives  estimation  to 
the  sky-lark. 
(3)  Wonder. 


ALL'S  WELL  TttAT  ENDS  WELL. 


Jet  m 


Greater  than  shows  itself,  at  the  first  view, 
To  you  that  know  them  not.    This  to  my  mother : 
[Giving  a  letter. 
Twill  be  two  days  ere  I  shall  see  you ;  so 
I  leave  you  to  your  wisdom. 

Hel.  Sir,  I  can  nothing  say, 

But  that  I  am  your  most  obedient  servant. 

Ber.  Come,  come,  no  more  of  that. 

Hel.  And  ever  shall 

With  true  observance  seek  to  eke  out  that, 
Wherein  toward  me  my  homely  stars  have  fail'd 
To  equal  my  great  fortune. 

Ber.  Let  that  go : 

My  haste  is  very  great :  Farewell ;  hie  home. 

Hel.  Pray,  sir,  your  pardon. 

Ber.  '       VVellj  what  would  you  say? 

Hel.  I  am  not  worthy  of  the  wealth  I  oivc  ;' 
Nor  dare  I  say,  'tis  mine  ;  and  yet  it  is  ; 
But,  like  a  timorous  thief,  most  fain  would  steal 
What  law  does  vouch  mine  own. 

Ber.  What  would  you  have  ? 

Hel.  Something ;  and  scarce  so  much : — nothing, 
indeed. — 
I  would  not  tell  you  what  I  would :  my  lord — 'faith, 

yes  ;— 
Strangers,  and  foes,  do  sunder,  and  not  kiss. 

Ber.  I  pray  you,  stay  not,  but  in  haste  to  horse. 

Hel.  I  shall  not  break  your  bidding,  good  my 
lord. 

Ber.  Where  are  my  other  men,  monsieur? — 
Farewell.  [Exit  Helena. 

Go  thou  toward  home  ;  where  I  will  never  come. 
Whilst  I  can  shake  my  sword,  or  hear  the  drum : — 
Away,  and  for  our  flight. 

Par.  Bravely,  coragio  !  [Exe. 


ACT  III. 

SCEJ^E  /.—Florence.  A  room  i)i  the  Duke's 
Palace.  Flourish.  Enter  the  Duke  of  Florence, 
(Utended;  two  French  Lords,  a»i<i  others. 

Duke.  So  that,  from  point  to  point,  now  have 
you  heard 
The  fundamental  reasons  of  this  war ; 
Whose  great  decision  hath  much  blood  let  forth, 
And  more  thirsts  after. 

1  Lcrd.  Holy  seems  the  quarrel 
Upon  your  grace's  part ;  black  and  fearful 

On  the  opposer. 
Duke.   Therefore  we  marvel  much,  our  cousin 
France 
Would,  in  so  just  a  business,  shut  his  bosom 
Against  our  borrowing  prayers, 

2  Lord.  Good  my  lord. 
The  reasons  of  our  state  I  cannot  yield,* 

But  like  a  common  and  an  outward  man,' 
That  the  great  figure  of  a  council  frames 
By  self-unable  motion  :  therefore  dare  not 
Say  what  I  think  of  it ;  since  I  have  found 
Myself  in  mv  uncertain  grounds  to  fail 
As  often  as  I  guess'd. 

Duke.  Be  it  his  pleasure. 

2  Lord.  But  I  am  sure,  the  younger  of  our  na- 
ture,* 
That  surfeit  on  their  ease,  will,  day  by  day, 
Come  here  for  physic. 

Duke.  Welcome  shall  they  be ; 

(1)  Possess. 

li)  i.  e.  I  cannot  inform  you  of  the  reasons. 

•S)  One  not  in  the  secret  of  affairs. 

a)  As  we  say  at  present,  our  young  fellows, 


And  all  the  honours,  that  can  fly  from  us, 
Shall  on  them  settle.  You  know  your  places  well ; 
When  bctler  fall,  for  your  avails  they  fell : 
To-morrow  to  the  field.  [Flourish.  ExeuTit. 

SCE^''E  IL — Rousillon.  ^  room  in  the  Countess's 
Palace.    Enter  Countess  and  Clown. 

Count.  It  hath  happened  all  as  I  would  have 
had  it,  save,  that  he  comes  not  along  with  her, 

Clo.  By  my  troth,  I  take  my  young  lord  to  be  a 
very  melancholy  man. 

Cou7it.  By  what  observance,  I  pray  you  ? 

Clo.  Why,  he  will  look  upon  his  boot,  and  sing ; 
mend  the  ruif,'  and  sing  ;  ask  questions,  and  sing ; 
pick  his  teeth,  and  sing :  I  know  a  man  tliat  had 
this  trick  of  melancholy,  sold  a  goodly  manor  for 
a  song. 

Count.  Let  me  see  what  he  %vrites,  and  when  he 
means  to  come.  [Opening  a  letter. 

Clo.  I  have  no  mind  to  Isbel,  since  I  was  at 
court:  our  old  ling,  and  our  Isbels  o'  the  country, 
are  nothing  like  your  old  ling  and  your  Isbels  o' 
the  court :  the  brains  of  my  cupid's  knocked  out ; 
and  I  begin  to  love,  as  an  old  iaan  loves  money, 
with  no  stomach. 

Count.  What  have  we  here  ? 

Clo.  E'en  that  you  have  there.  [Exit. 

Count.  [Reads.]  /  have  sent  ymi  a  daughteT'iii' 
law  :  she  hath  recovered  the  Jdng,  and  undone  me. 
I  have  wedded  her,  not  bedded  her;  and  sworn  to 
make  the  not  eternal.  You  shall  hear,  I  am  run 
aicay;  know  it,  before  the  report  come.  Jf  there 
be  breadth  enough  iii  the  world,  I  will  hold  a  long 
distance.    Mij  duly  to  you. 

Your  unfortunate  son, 

BERTRAM. 
This  is  not  well,  rash  and  unbridled  boy, 
To  fly  the  favours  of  so  good  a  king ; 
To  pluck  his  indignation  on  thy  head, 
By  the  misprizing  of  a  maid  too  virtuous 
For  the  contempt  of  empire. 

Re-enter  Clown, 

Clo.  0  madam,  yonder  is  heavy  news  witliin, 
between  two  soldiers  and  my  young  lady. 

Count.  What  is  the  matter  ? 

Clo.  Nay,  there  is  some  comfort  in  the  news, 
some  comfort ;  your  son  will  not  be  killed  so  soon 
as  I  thought  he  would. 

Count.  Why  should  he  be  kill'd  ? 

Clo.  So  say  I,  madam,  if  he  run  away,  as  I  hear 
he  does  :  the  danger  is  in  standine  to't ;  that's  the 
loss  of  men,  though  it  be  the  getting  of  children. 
Here  they  come,  will  tell  you  rriore  :  for  my  part,  I 
only  hear,  your  son  was  run  av.ay.  [Exit  Clown. 
Enter  Helena  and  two  Gentlemen. 

1  Gent.  Save  you,  good  madam. 

Hel.  Madam, any  lord  is  gone,  for  ever  gone. 

2  Gent.  Do  not  say  so. 

Count.  Think  upon  patience. — 'Pray  you,  gen- 
tlemen,— 
I  have  felt  so  many  quirks  of  joy,  and  grief. 
That  the  first  face  of  neither,  on  the  start. 
Can  woman^  me  unto't : — Where  is  my  son,  I  pray 
you  ? 
2  Gent.  Madam,  he's  gone  to  serve  the  duke  of 
Florence : 
We  met  him  thitherward^  from  thence  we  came, 
And,  after  some  despatch  in  hand  at  court, 

(5)  The  folding  at  the  top  of  the  boot. 

(6)  i.  e.  Affect  me  suddenly  and  deeply,  as  our 
si%  are  usually  affected. 


Stihe  III,  IV. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


239 


Thither  we  bend  agaili. 
Hd.  Look  on  this  letter,  madam ;  here's  my 
passport. 

[Reads.]  When  thou  canst  get  the  ring  upon  my 
finger,'  which  never  shall  come  off,  and  shmo  me 
a  child  begotten  of  thy  body,  that  I  am  father  to, 
then  call  me  husband :  but  t?i  such  a  then  /  write 
a  never. 

This  is  a  dreadful  sentence. 

Count.  Brought  you  this  letter,  gentlemen  ? 

1  Gent.  Ay,  madam ; 
And,  for  the  contents'  sake,  are  sorrr  for  our  pains. 

Count.  I  pr'ythee,  lady,  have  a  better  cheer ; 
If  thou  engrosses!  all  the  griefs  are  thine,^ 
Thou  robb'st  me  of  a  moiety  :  He  was  my  son  ; 
But  I  do  wash  his  name  out  of  my  blood. 
And  thou  ark  all  my  child. — Towards  Florence 
is  he? 

2  Gent.  Ay,  madam. 

Cou7it.  And  to  be  a  soldier  ? 

2  Gent.  Such  is  his  noble  purpose:  and,  believe't, 
The  duke  will  lay  upon  him  all  the  honour 
That  good  convenience  claims. 

Count.  Return  you  thither  ? 

1  Gent.  Ay,  madam,  with  the  swiftest  wing  of 
speed. 

Hel.  [Reads.  ]  Till  I  have  no  wife,  I  have  nothing 
in  France. 
'Tis  bitter. 

Count.       Find  you  that  there  ? 

Hel.  Ay,  madam. 

1  Gent.  'Tis  but  the  boldness  of  his  hand,  haply, 
which 
His  heart  was  not  consenting  to. 

Count.  Nothing  in  France,  until  he  have  no  wife ! 
There's  nothing  here  that  is  too  good  for  him, 
But  only  she ;  and  she  deserves  a  lord, 
That  twenty  such  rude  boys  might  tend  upon, 
And  call  her  hourly,  mistress.  Who  was  with  him  ? 

1  Gent.  A  servant  only,  and  a  gentleman 
Which  I  have  some  time  known. 

Count.  Parolles,  was't  not? 

1  Gent.  Ay,  my  good  lady,  he. 

Count.  A  very  tainted  fellow,  asid  full  of  wick- 
edness. 
My  son  corrupts  a  well-derived  nature 
With  his  inducement. 

1  Gent.  Indeed,  good  lady, 
The  fellow  has  a  deal  of  that,  too  much,. 
Which  holds  him  much  to  have. 

Count.  You  are  welcome,  gentlemen. 
1  will  entreat  you,  when  you  see  my  son, 
To  tell  him,  that  his  sword  can  never  win 
The  honour  that  he  loses :  more  I'll  entreat  you 
Written  to  bear  along. 

2  Gent.  We  serve  you,  madam, 
In  that  and  all  your  worthiest  affairs. 

Count.  Not  so,  but  as  we  change  our  courtesies.' 
Will  you  draw  near  ? 

S Exeunt  Countess  and  Gentlemen. 
Mve  no  wife,  I  have  nothing  in 
France. 
Nothing  in  France,  until  he  has  no  wife ! 
Thou  Shalt  have  none,  Rousillon,  none  in  France, 
Then  hast  thou  all  again.    Poor  lord !  is't  I 
That  chase  thee  from  thy  country,  and  expose 
Those  tender  limbs  of  thine  to  the  event 
Of  the  none-sparing  war  ?  and  is  it  I 

(1)  i.  e.  When  you  can  get  the  ring,  which  is  on 
nj  finger,  into  your  possession. 

(2^  If  thou  keepest  all  thy  sorrows  to  thyself. 

(3)  In  reply  to  the  gentlemen's  declaration,  that 
ptey  are  her  servants,  the  countess  answers — no 


That  drive  thee  from  the  sportive  cou'rt,  where  thou 

Wast  shot  at  with  fair  eyes,  to  be  the  mark 

Of  smoky  muskets  ?  O  you  leaden  messengers, 

That  ride  upon  the  violent  speed  of  fire, 

Fly  with  false  aim  ;  move  the  still- piercing  air. 

That  sings  with  piercing,  do  not  touch  my  lord ! 

Whoever  shoots  at  him,  I  set  him  there  ; 

Whoever  charges  on  his  forward  breast, 

I  am  the  caitiff,  that  do  hold  him  to  it ; 

And,  though  I  kill  him  not,  I  am  the  cause 

His  death  ivas  so  effected,:  better  'twere, 

I  met  the  ravin*  lion  when  he  roar'd 

With  sharp  constraint  of  hunger ;  better  'twere 

That  all  the  miseries  which  nature  owes. 

Were  mine  at  once :  no,  come  thou  home,  Rousillon, 

Whence  honour  but  of  danger  wins  a  scar. 

As  oft  it  loses  all ;  I  will  be  gone : 

My  being  here  it  is,  that  holds  thee  hence : 

Shall  I  stay  here  to  do't  ?  no,  no,  although 

The  air  of  Paradise  did  fan  the  house, 

And  angels  offic'd  all :  I  will  be  gone  ; 

That  pitiful  rumour  may  report  my  flight. 

To  consolate  thine  ear.    Come,  night ;  end,  day ! 

For,  with  the  dark,  poor  thief,  I'll  steal  away. 

iExit. 

SCEJ^E  7J/.— Florence.  Before  the  Duke's  Pa 
lace.  Flourish.  Enter  the  Duke  of  Florence, 
Bertram,  Lords,  Officers,  Soldiers,  and  others. 

Duke.  The  general  of  our  horse  thou  art ;  and  we. 
Great  in  our  hope,  lay  our  best  love  and  credence, 
Upon  thy  promising  fortune. 

Ber.  Sir,  it  is 

A  charge  too  heavy  for  my  strength  ;  but  yet 
We'll  strive  to  bear  it  for  your  worthy  sake, 
To  the  extreme  edge  of  hazard. 

Duke.  Then  go  thou  forth; 

And  fortune  play  upon  thy  prosperous  helm, 
As  thy  auspicious  mistress  ! 

Ber.  This  very  day. 

Great  Mars,  I  put  myself  into  thy  file : 
Make  me  but  like  my  thoughts ;  and  I  shall  prove 
A  lover  of  thy  drum,  hater  of  love.  [Exeunt. 

SCEiATE  IV. — Rousillon.  ^  room  in  the  Coun- 
tess's Palace.    Enter  Countess  atid  Steward. 

Count.  Alas !  and  would  you  take  the  letter  of 
her? 
Might  you  not  know,  she  would  do  as  she  has  done, 
By  sending  me  a  letter  ?    Read  it  again. 
Stew.   lam  Saint  Jaques'  pilgrim,  thither  gone; 

.Ambitious  love,  hath  so  in  me  offended. 
That  bare-foot  nlod  I  the  cold  ground  upon, 

With  sainted  vow  my  faults  to  have  amendid. 
Write,  wi'ile,  that,  from  the  bloody  course  of  war. 

My  dearest  master,  your  dear  son  may  hie  ; 
Bless  him  at  Iwme  in  peace,  whilst  I  from  far. 

His  name  with  zealous  fervour  sanctify: 
His  taken  labours  bid  him  me  forgive  ; 

I,  his  despiteful  Juno,^  sxnt  him  forth 
From  courtly  friends,  with  camping  foes  to  live, 

Where  death  and  danger  dog  the  heels  of  worth  : 
He  is  too  good  and  fair  for  death  and  me  ; 
Whom  I  myself  embrace,  to  set  him  free.  • 

Count.  Ah,  what  sharp  stings  are  in  her  mildest 
words ! — 
Rinaldo,  you  did  never  lack  advice*  so  much, 

otherwise  than  as  she  returns  the  same  offices  ol 
civility. 

4)  Ravenous. 

5)  Alludmg  to  the  story  of  Hercule», 
,6)  Discretion  or  thought. 


!240 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


»ict  III. 


As  letting  her  pass  so  ;  had  I  spoke  with  her, 
I  could  have  well  diverted  her  intents, 
Which  thus  she  hath  prevented. 

Steio.  Pardon  me,  madam : 

If  I  had  given  you  this  at  over-night, 
She  might  have  been  o'ertaken ;  and  yet  she  writes, 
Pursuit  would  be  in  vain. 

Count.  What  an?els  shall 

Bless  this  unworthy  husband?  he  caiinot  tlirive, 
Unless  her  prayers,  whom  Heaven  delights  to  hear. 
And  loves  to  grant^xeprieve  him  from  the  wrath 
Of  greatest  justice. — Write,  write,  Rinaldo, 
To  this  unworthy  husband  of  his  wife ; 
Let  every  ■word  weigh  heavy  of  her  worth, 
That  he  does  weigh'  too  lijht :  my  greatest  grief. 
Though  little  he  do  feel  it,  set  down  sharply. 
Despatch  the  most  convenient  messenger  :— 
When,  haply,  he  shall  hear  that  she  is  gone, 
He  will  return  ;  and  hope  I  may,  that  she. 
Hearing  so  much,  will  speed  her  foot  again. 
Led  hither  by  pure  love :  which  of  them  both, 
Is  dearest  to  me,  I  have  no  skill  in  sense 
To  make  distinction: — Provide  this  messenger:— 
My  heart  is  heavy,  and  mine  age  is  weak ; 
Grief  wpuld  have  tears,  and  sorrow  bids  me  speak. 

[Exeunt, 

SCEJ^E  v.— Without  the  xcaUs  of  Florence.  A 
tucket  afar  off.  Enter  an  old  Widow  of  Flo- 
rence, Diana,  Violenta,  Mariana,  and  other  cUi- 
zens. 

Wid.  NaT,  come:  for  if  they  do  approach  the 
citv,  we  shall  lose  all  the  sight. 

tha.  They  say,  the  French  count  has  done  most 
honourable  service. 

Wid.  It  is  reported,  thot  he  has  taken  their 
greatest  commander ;  and  that  with  his  own  hand 
Re  slew  the  duke's  brother.  We  have  lost  our  la- 
bour;  they  are  gone  a  contrary  way :  hark !  you 
may  Know  by  their  trumpets. 

Mar.  Come,  let's  return  ajrain,  and  suffice  our 
selves  with  the  report  of  it.  Well,  Diana,  take  heed 
of  this  French  earl :  the  honour  of  a  maid  is  her 
name  ;  and  no  legacy  is  so  rich  as  honesty. 

Wid.  I  have  told  my  neighbour,  how  you  have 
been  solicited  by  a  gentleman,  his  companion. 

Mar.  I  know  that  knave  ;  hang  him  !  one  Pa- 
rolles :  a  filthy  odlcer  ho  is  in  those  suggestions^ 
for  the  younjr  earl. — Beware  of  them,  Diana ;  their 
promises,  enticements,  oaths,  tokens,  and  all  these 
engines  of  lust,  are  not  the  things  they  go  under :' 
many  a  maid  hath  been  seduced  by  them;  and 
the  misery  is,  example,  that  so  tcrrihlc  shows  in 
the  wreck  of  maidenhood,  cannot  for  all  that  dis- 
suade succession,  but  that  Ihey  are  limed  with  the 
twigs  that  threaten  them.  I  nope,  I  need  not  to 
advise  you  further;  but  I  hope  your  o.vn  grace 
will  keep  you  where  you  are,  though  there  were 
no  further  danger  known,  but  the  modesty  which 
is  so  lost. 

Dia.  You  shall  not  need  to  fear  me. 

Enter  Helena,  in  the  dress  of  a  pil^-im. 

Wid.   I  hope  so. Look,  here  comes  a  pil- 
grim: I  know  she  will  lie  at  my  house:  thither 
they  send  one  another :  I'll  question  her. — 
God  save  you,  pilsrrim  !  WTiither  are  you  bound  ? 

Hel.  To  Saint  Jaques  le  grand. 
Where  do  the  palmers*  lodge,  I  do  beseech  you  ? 

nj  Weigh,  here  means  to  value  or  esteem. 
i2J  Temptations. 

(31  They  are  not  the  things  forwhich  their  names 
would  luaKe  them  pass. 


Wid.  At  the  Saint  Francis  here,  beside  the  port. 

Hel.  Is  this  the  way  ? 

Wid.  Ay,  marry,  is  it. — Hark  you ! 

[A  march  afar  off. 
They  come  tliis  way : — If  you  will  tarry,  holy  pil- 
grim. 
But  till  the  troops  come  by, 
I  will  conduct  you  where  you  shall  be  lodg'd ; 
The  rather,  for,  I  think,  I  know  your  hostess, 
As  ample  as  myself. 

Jiei.  Is  it  yourself? 

Wid.  If  you  shall  please  so,  pilgrim. 

Hel.  I  thank  you,  and  will  stay  upon  your  leisure. 

Wid.  You  came,  I  think,  Trom  France  ? 

Hel.  I  did  so. 

Wid.  Here  you  shall  see  a  countryman  of  yours. 
That  has  done  worthy  service. 

Hel.  His  name,  I  jiray  you  ? 

Dia.  The  count  Rousillon :  Know  you  such  a  one? 

Hel.  But  by  the  ear,  thiit  hears  most  nobly  of  him: 
His  face  I  know  not. 

Dia.  Whatsoe'er  he  is, 

He's  bravely  taken  here.    He  stole  from  France, 
As  'tis  reported,  for'  the  king  had  married  him 
Against  his  liking  :  Think  you  it  is  so  ? 

Hel.  Ay,  surely,  mere  the  truth  ;^  I   know  his 
lady. 

Dia.  There  is  a  gentleman  that  serves  the  count, 
Reports  but  coarsely  of  her. 

Hel.  What's  his  name? 

Dia.  Monsieur  Parolles. 

Hel.  O,  I  believe  with  him, 

In  argument  of  praise,  or  to  the  worth 
Of  the  great  count  himself,  she  is  too  mean 
To  have  her  name  repeated ;  all  her  deserving 
Is  a  reserved  honesty,  and  tliat 
I  have  not  heard  examin'd. 

Dia.         ^  Alas,  poor  lady ! 

'Tis  a  hard  bondage,  to  become  tlie  wife 
Of  a  detesting  lord. 

IVid.  A  right  good  creature :  wheresoe'er  she  is, 
Her  heart  weighs  sadly:  this  young  maid  might  do 

her 
A  shrewd  turn,  if  she  pleas'd. 

Hel.  How  do  you  mean  ? 

May  be,  the  amorous  count  solicits  her 
In  the  unlawful  purpose. 

Wid.  He  does,  indeed ; 

And  brokes'  with  all  that  can  in  such  a  suit  , 

Corrupt  the  tender  honour  of  a  maid : 
But  she  is  arm'd  for  him,  and  keeps  her  guard 
In  honestest  defence. 

Enter  icith  di-um  and  colcvrs,  a  party  of  the  Flo- 
rentine army,  Bertram,  and  Parolles. 

J^Tar.  The  gods  forbid  else  ! 

Wid.  So,  now  they  come : — 

That  is  Antonio,  the  duke's  eldest  son  ; 
That,  Escalus. 

Hel.  Which  is  the  Frenchman  ? 

Dia.  He ; 

That  with  the  plume :  'tis  a  most  gallant  fellow  ; 
I  would,  he  lov'd  his  ivife :  if  he  were  honester. 
He  were  much  goodlier : — Is't  not  a  handsome 
gentleman  ? 

Hel.  I  like  him  well. 

Dia.  'Tis  pity  he  is  not  honest :  Yond's  that  same 
knave, 
That  leads  him  to  these  places ;  were  I  his  lady, 

(4)  Pilgrims ;  so  called  from  a  staflF  or  bough  of 
palm  they  were  wont  to  carry. 

'5)  Because.      (6)  The  exact,  the  entire  truth, 
7)  Deals  with  panders. 


Seent  VJ. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


241 


rd  poison  that  vile  rascal. 

Hel.  Which  is  he? 

Dia.  That  Jackanapes  with  scarfs :  Why  is  he 
melancholy  ? 

Uel.  Perchance  he's  hurt  i'  the  battle. 

Par.  Lose  our  drum  !  well. 

Mar.  He's  shrewdly  vex'd  at  something :  Look, 
he  has  spied  us. 

Wid.  Marry,  hang  you ! 

Mar.  And  your  courtesy,  for  a  ring-carrier ! 

[Exeunt  Bertram,  ParoUes,  officers,  and 
soldiers.  > 

Wid.  The  troop  is  past :  Come,  pilgrim,  I  will 
brinff  you 
Where  you  shall  host :  of  enjoin'd  penitents 
There's  four  or  five,  to  great  Saint  Jaques  bound, 
Already  at  my  house. 

Hel.  I  humbly  thank  yoti  : 

Pleaie  it  this  matron,  and  this  gentle  maid, 
To  eat  with  us  to-night,  the  charge,  and  thanking, 
Shall  be  for  me  ;  and,  to  requite  you  further, 
I  will  bestow  some  precepts  on  this  virgin. 
Worthy  the  note. 

Both.  We'll  take  your  offer  kindly. 


SCEJ^E   r I.— Camp    before  Florence. 
Bertram,  and  the  two  French  Lords. 


[Exe. 
Enter 


:the  humour  of  his  design;  let  him  fetch  off  his 
drum  in  any  hand. 

Ber.  How  now,  monsieur?  this  drum  sticks 
sorely  in  your  disposition. 

2  Lord.  A  pox  on't,  let  it  go ;  'tis  but  a  drum. 

Par.  But  a  drum !  Is' t  but  a  drum  ?  A  drum  «o 
lost? — There  was  an  excellent  command  !  to 
charge  in  with  our  horse  upon  our  own  wings,  and 
to  rend  our  own  soldiers. 

2  Lord.  That  was  not  to  be  blamed  in  the  com- 
mand of  the  service  •  it  was  a  disaster  of  war  that 
Caesar  himself  could  not  have  prevented,  if  he  had 
been  there  to  command. 

Ber.  Well,  we  cannot  greatly  condemn  our  suc- 
cess :  some  dishonour  'we  had  in  the  loss  of  that 
drum ;  but  it  is  not  to  be  recovered. 

Par.  It  might  have  been  recovered. 

Ber.  It  might,  but  it  is  not  now. 

Par.  It  is  to  be  recovered :  but  that  the  merit  of 
service  is  seldom  attributed  to  the  true  and  exact 
performer,  I  would  have  that  drum  or  another,  or 
liicjacet.^ 

Ber.  Why,  if  you  have  a  stomach  to't,  monsieur 
if  you  think  your  mystery  in  stratagem  can  bring 
tliis  instrument  of  honour  a^ain  into  his  native 
quarter,  be  magnanimous  in  the  enterprize,  and  go 
on  ;  I  will  grace  the  attempt  for  a  worthy  exploit : 


1  Lord.  Nay,  good  my  lord,  put  him  to't;  let  I  if  you  speed  well  in  it,  the  duke  shall  both  speak 


him  have  his  way, 

2  Lord.  If  your  lordship  find  him  not  a  hUding,' 
hold  me  no  more  in  your  respect. 

1  Lord.  On  my  life,  my  lord,  a  bubble. 

Ber.  Do  you  think  I  am  so  far  deceived  in  him  ? 

1  Lard.  Believe  it,  my  lord,  in  mine  own  direct 
knowledge,  without  any  malice,  but  to  speak  of  him 
as  my  kinsman,  he's  a  most  notable  coward,  an  in- 
finite and  endless  liar,  an  hourly  promise-breaker, 
the  owner  of  no  one  good  quality  worthy  your  lord- 
ship's entertainment. 

2  Lord.  It  were  fit  you  knew  him  ;  lest,  reposing 
too  far  in  his  virtue,  which  he  hath  not,  he  might, 
at  some  great  and  trusty  business,  in  a  main  dan- 
ger, fail  you. 

Ber.  I  would  I  knew  in  what  particular  action 
to  try  him. 

2  Lord.  None  better  than  to  let  him  fetch  off  his 
drum,  which  you  hear  him  so  confidently  undertake 
to  do. 

1  Lord,  Ij  with  a  troop  of  Florentines,  will  sud- 
denly surpnse  him  ;  such  I  will  have,  whom,  I  am 
sure,  he  knows  not  from  the  enemy :  we  will  bind 
and  hood-wink  him  so,  that  he  shall  suppose  no 
other  but  that  he  is  carried  into  the  leaguer^  of  the 
adversaries,  when  we  bring  him  to  our  tents :  Be 
but  your  lordship  present  at  his  examination  ;  if  he 
do  not,  for  the  promise  of  his  life,  and  in  the  high- 
est compulsion  of  base  fear,  offer  to  betray  you, 
and  deliver  all  the  intelligence  in  his  power  against 
you,  and  that  with  the  divine  forfeit  of  his  soul  upon 
oath,  never  trust  my  judgment  in  any  thin?. 

2  Lord.  O,  for  the  love  of  laughter,  let  him  fetch 
his  drum  ;  he  says  he  has  a  stratagem  for't :  when 
your  lordship  sees  the  bottom  of  his  success  in't, 
and  to  what  metal  this  counterfeit  lump  of  ore  will 
be  melted,  if  you  give  him  not  John  Drum's  enter- 
tainment, your  inclining  cannot  be  removed.  Here 
he  comes. 

Enter  Parolles. 
1  Lord.  0,  for  the  love  of  laughter,  hinder  not 

fl )  A  paltry  fellow,  a  coward.      (2)  The  camp. 
S)  I  would  recover  the  lost  drum  or  another,  or 
die  ia  the  attempt 


of  it,  anil  extend  to  you  what  further  becomes  his 
greatness,  even  to  the  utmost  syllable  of  your  wor- 
thiness. 

Par.  By  the  hand  of  a  soldier,  I  will  undertake  it. 

Ber.  But  you  must  not  now  slumber  in  it. 

Par,  I'll  about  it  this  evening :  and  I  will  pr« 
sently  pen  down  my  dilemmas,*  encourage  myself 
ill  my  certainty^  put  myself  into  my  mortarprepara- 
tion,  and,  by  midnight,  look  to  hear  further  from  me. 

Ber.  May  I  be  bold  to  acquaint  his  grace,  you 
are  gone  about  it  ? 

Par.  I  know  not  what  the  success  will  be,  my 
lord  ;  but  the  attempt  I  vow. 

Ber.  I  know  thou  art  valiant ;  and,  to  the  possi  • 
bility  of  thy  soldiership,  will  subscribe  for  thee. 
Farewell. 

Par.  I  love  not  many  words.  [Exit, 

1  Lord.  No  more  than  a  fish  loves  water. — Is  not 
this  a  strange  fellow,  my  lord  ?  that  so  confidently 
seems  to  undertake  this  business,  which  he  knows 
is  not  to  be  done ;  damns  himself  to  do,  and  dares 
better  be  damned  than  to  do't. 

2  Lord.  You  do  not  know  him,  my  lord,  as  we 
do :  certain  it  is,  that  he  will  steal  himself  into  a 
man's  favour,  and,  for  a  week,  escape  a  great  deal 
of  discoveries ;  but  when  you  find  him  out,  you 
have  him  ever  after. 

Ber.  Why,  do  you  think  he  will  make  no  deed 
at  all  of  this,  that  so  seriously  he  does  address  him- 
self unto  ? 

1  Lord.  None  in  the  world ;  but  return  with  an 
invention,  and  clap  upon  you  two  or  three  proba 
ble  lies  :  but  we  have  almost  embossed  him,'  you 
shall  see  his  f\ill  to-night ;  for,  indeed,  he  is  not  for 
your  lordship's  respect. 

2  Lord.  We'll  make  you  some  sport  with  the  fox, 
ere  we  case  him.*  He  was  first  smoked  by  the  old 
lord  Lafeu :  when  his  disguise  and  he  is  parted, 
tell  me  what  a  sprat  you  shall  find  him ;  which  you 
shall  see  this  very  night, 

1  Lord.  I  must  go  look  my  twigs ;  he  shall  be 
caught. 

(4)  I  will  pen  down  my  plans,  and  the  probftble 
obstructions. 
'    (5)  Hunted  him  do?ni.    (6)  Strip  bim  naked* 


949 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL, 


Act  IV* 


Ber.  Your  brdther,  he  shall  go  along  with  me. 

1  Lord.  As't  please  your  lordship :  I'li  leave  you. 

[ExU. 
Ber.  Now  will  I  lead  you  to  the  house,  and  show 
you 
The  lass  I  spoke  of. 

2  Lord.  But,  you  say,  she's  honest. 
Ber.  That's  all  the  fault :  I  spoke  with  her  but 

once, 
And  found  her  wondrous  cold ;  but  I  sent  to  her, 
By  this  same  coxcomb  that  we  have  i'  the  wind. 
Tokens  and  letters  which  she  did  re-send ; 
And  this  is  all  I  have  done :  She's  a  fair  creature ; 
Will  you  go  see  her? 
2  Lord.  With  all  my  heart,  mv  lord. 

[Exeunt. 

SCEJfE  FJ/.— Florence.  ^  Room  in  the  Widow's 
house.    Enter  Helena  and  Widow. 

Hel.  If  you  misdoubt  me  that  I  am  not  she, 
I  know  not  how  I  shall  assure  you  further, 
But  I  shall  lose  the  grounds  I  work  upon. ' 

Wid.  Though  my  estate  be  fallen,  I  was  well 
bom. 
Nothing  acquainted  with  these  businesses ; 
And  would  not  put  my  reputation  now 
In  any  staining  act. 

Hel.  Nor,  would  I  wish  you. 

First,  give  me  trust,  the  count  he  is  my  husband ; 
And,  what  to  your  sworn  counsel  I  have  spoken, 
Is  so,  from  word  to  word  ;  and  then  you  cannot. 
By  the  good  aid  that  I  of  you  shall  borrow, 
Err  in  bestowing  it. 

Wid.  I  should  believe  you ; 

For  you  have  show'd  me  that,  which  well  approves 
You  are  great  in  fortune. 

Hel.  Take  this  purse  of  gold, 

And  let  me  buy  your  friendly  help  thus  far, 
Which  I  will  over-pay,  and  pay  again, 
When  1  have  found  it.    The  count  he  woos  your 

daughter. 
Lays  down  his  wanton  siege  before  her  beauty, 
Resolves  to  carry  her ;  let  her,  in  fine,  consent. 
As  we'll  direct  her  how  'tis  best  to  bear  it, 
Now  his  important^  blood  will  nought  deny 
That  she'll  aemand  :  A  ring  the  county'  wears, 
That  downward  hath  succeeded  in  his  house. 
From  son  to  son,  some  four  or  five  descents 
Since  the  first  father  wore  it :  this  ring  he  holds 
In  most  rich  choice ;  yet,  in  his  idle  fire, 
To  buy  his  will,  it  would  not  seem  too  dear, 
Howe'er  repented  after. 

Wid.  Now  I  see 

The  bottom  of  your  purpose. 

Hel.  You  see  it  lawful  then :  It  is  no  more. 
But  that  your  daughter,  ere  she  seems  as  won. 
Desires  this  ring ;  appoints  him  an  encounter ; 
In  fine,  deUvers  me  to  fill  the  time, 
Herself  most  chastely  absent :  after  this, 
To  marry  her,  I'll  add  three  thousand  crowns 
To  what  is  past  already. 

Wid.  I  have  yielded : 

Instruct  my  daughter  how  she  shall  pers^ver, 
That  time  and  place,  with  this  deceit  so  lawful. 
May  prove  coherent.    Every  night  he  comes 
With  musics  of  all  sorts,  and  songs  compos'd 
To  her  unworthiness :  It  nothing  steads  us, 
To  chide  him  from  our  eaves  ;*  for  he  persists, 
A>  if  his  life  lay  on't. 
Hel.  Why  then,  to-night 

(I)  i.  e.  By  discovering  herself  to  the  count, 
f  2i  Importunate.  (3)  t.  e.  Count. 

(4)  From  under  our  windows. 


Let  us  assay  our  plot ;  which,  if  it  speed. 

Is  wicked  meaning  in  a  lawful  deed, 

And  lawful  meaning  in  a  lawful  act ; 

Where  both  not  sin,  and  yet  a  sinful  fact  ; 

But  let's  about  it.  [Exe^ml, 


ACT  IV. 

SCEJ^E  L— Without  the  Florentine  camp.  En- 
ter Jirst  Lord,  with  five  or  six  Soldiers  in  am- 
bush. 

1  Lord.  He  can  come  no  other  way  but  by  this 
hedge's  corner :  When  you  sally  upon  him,  speak 
what  terrible  language  you  will ;  though  you  under- 
stand it  not  yourselves,  no  matter :  for  we  must  not 
seem  to  understand  him ;  unless  some  one  among 
us,  whom  we  must  produce  for  an  interpreter. 
1  Sold.  Good  captain,  let  me  be  the  interpreter. 
1  Lord.  Art  not  acquainted  with  him  ?  knows  he 
not  thy  voice  ? 
1  Sold.  No,  sir,  I  warrant  you. 
1  Lord.  But  what  linsy-woolsy  hast  thou  to  speak 
to  us  ajrain  ? 

1  Sold.  Even  such  as  you  speak  to  me. 
1  Lord.  He  must  think  us  some  band  of  stran- 
gers i'  the  adversary's  entertainment.'  Now  he  hath 
a  smack  of  all  neighbouring  languages  ;  therefore 
we  must  every  one  be  a  man  of  his  own  fancy,  not 
to  know  what  we  speak  one'  to  another ;  so  we 
seem  to  know,  is  to  know  straight  our  purpose : 
chough's^  language,  gabble  enough,  and  good 
enough.  As  for  you,  interpreter,  you  must  seem 
very  politic.  But  couch,  ho!  here  he  comes  ;  to 
beguile  two  hours  in  a  sleep,  and  then  to  return 
ana  swear  the  lies  he  forges. 

Enter  ParoUes. 

Par.  Ten  o'clock:  within  these  three  hours 'twill 
be  time  enough  to  go  home.  AVhat  shall  I  say  I 
have  done  ?  It  must  be  a  very  plausive  invention 
that  carries  it :  They  begin  to  smoke  me  ;  and  dis- 
graces have  of  late  "knocked  too  often  at  my  door. 
I  find  my  tongue  is  too  fool-hardy  ;  but  my  heart 
hath  the  fear  of  Mars  before  it,  and  of  ins  crea- 
tures, not  daring  the  reports  of  my  tongue. 

1  Lord.  This  is  the  first  truth  that  e'er  thine  o%vn 
tongue  was  guilty  of.  [.iside. 

Par.  What  the  devil  should  move  me  to  under- 
take the  recovery  of  this  drum  ;  bein^  not  ignorant 
of  the  impossibility,  and  knowing  I  had  no  such 
purpose  ?  I  must  give  myself  some  hurts,  and  say, 
I  got  them  in  exploit :  Yet  slight  ones  will  not  carry 
it:  They%villsay,  Came  you  bff  with  so  little?  and 
great  ones  I  dare  not  give.  Wherefore  ?  what's 
the  instance?'  Tongue,  I  must  put  you  into  a  but- 
ter-woman's mouth,  and  buy  another  of  Bajazet's 
mule,  if  you  prattle  me  into  these  perils. 

1  Lord.  Is  it  possible  he  should  know  what  he  is, 
and  be  that  he  is  ?  [.^side. 

Par.  I  would  the  cutting  of  my  garments  would 
serve  the  turn ;  or  the  breaking  of  my  Spanish 
sword. 

1  Lord.  We  cannot  afford  you  so.  [.3side. 

Par.  Or  the  baring  of  my  beard ;  and  to  say,  it 
was  in  stratagem. 

1  Lord.  'Twould  not  do.  [Jside. 

Par.  Or  to  droiyn  my  clothes,  and  say  I  was 
stripped. 

1  Lord.  Hardly  serve.  [Aside, 

15)  i.  e.  Foreign  troops  in  the  enemy's  pay. 
(6)  A  bird  like  a  jack-daw,      (7)  The  proof, 


Siine  IL 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


M» 


Par.  Though  I  swore  I  leaped  from  the  window 
of  the  citadel 

1  Lord.  How  deep  ?  [^side. 

Par.  Thirty  fathom. 

1  Lord.  Three  great  oaths  would  scarce  make 
tiiat  be  believed.  [^side. 

Par.  I  would  I  had  any  drum  of  the  enemy's ; 
I  would  swear  I  recovered  it. 

1  Lord.  You  shall  hear  one  anon.  [^side. 

Par.  A  drum  now  of  the  enemy's  ! 

[Marum  within. 

1  Lord.  Throca  movousiis,  cargo,  cargo,  cargo. 

All.  Cargo,  cargo,  rillianda  par  carbo,  cargo. 

Par.  0  !  ransorne,  ransome  : — Do  not  hide  mine 
eyes.  [They  seize  him  and  blindfold  him. 

1  Sold.  Boskos  thromuldo  boskos. 

Par.  I  know  you  are  the  Muskos'  regiment, 
And  I  shall  lose  my  life  for  want  of  lantruaore  : 
If  there  be  here  German,  or  Dane,  low  Dutch, 
Italian,  or  French,  let  him  speak  to  me, 
I  will  discover  that  which  shall  undo 
The  Florentine. 

1  Sold.  Boskos  vaiivado : 

I  understand  thee,  and  can  speak  thy  tongue : 

Kerelybonto : Sir, 

Betake  thee  to  thy  faith,  for  seventeen  poniards 
Are  at  thy  bosom. 

Par.  Oh ! 

1  Sold.  0,  pray,  pray,  pray. 

Manka  revania  dulche. 

1  Lord.  Oscorbidtdckos  volivorca. 

1  Sold.  The  eeneral  is  content  to  spare  thee  yet ; 
And,  hood-wink'd  as  thou  ari,  will  lead  thee  on 
To  gather  from  thee  :  haply,  thou  may'st  inform 
Something  to  save  thy  life. 

Par.  O,  let  roe  live, 

And  all  the  secrets  of  our  camp  I'll  show. 
Their  force,  their  purposes :  nay,  I'll  speak  that 
Which  vou  will  wonder  at. 

1  SolU.  But  wilt  thou  faithfully  ? 

Par.  If  I  do  not,  damn  me. 

1  Sold.  Acordo  linla. — 

Come  on,  thou  art  granted  space. 

[Exit,  with  Parolles  guarded. 

1  Lord.  Go,  tell  the  count  Rousillon,  and  my 

brother, 
We  have  causht  the  woodcock,  and  will  keep  him 

muffled, 
Till  we  do  hear  from  them. 

2  Sold.  Captain,  I  will. 

1  Lord.  He  will  betray  us  all  unto  ourselves ; — 
Inform  'em  that 

2  Sold.  So  I  will,  sir. 

1  Lord.  Till  then,  I'll  keep  him  dark,  and  safely 
lock'd.  [Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E  IL — Florence.    .5  room  in  the  Widow's 
hmtse.    Enter  Bertram  and  Diana. 

Ber.  They  told  me,  that  your  nqme  was  Fon- 
tibell. 

Dia.  No,  my  good  lord,  Diana. 

Ber.  Titled  goddess; 

And  worth  it,  with  addition  !  But,  fair  soul, 
In  your  fine  frame  hath  love  no  quality  ? 
If  the  quick  fire  of  youth  li^ht  not  your  mind. 
You  are  no  maiden,  but  a  monument : 
When  you  are  dead,  you  should  be  such  a  one 
As  you  are  now,  for  you  are  cold  and  stem  ; 
And  now  you  should  be  as  your  mother  was. 
When  your  sweet  self  was  got. 

Dia.  She  then  was  honest. 


Ber.  So  should  jou  be. 

Dia.  No. 

My  mother  did  but  duty ;  such,  my  lord, 
As- vou  owe  to  your  wile. 

Ber.  No  more  of  that ! 

I  pr'ythee,  do  not  strive  against  my  vows : ' 
I  was  compell'd  to  her :  but  I  love  thee 
By  love's  own  sweet  constraint,  and  will  for  ever 
Do  thee  all  rights  of  service. 

Dia.  Ay,  so  you  serve  us, 

Till  we  serve  you :  but  when  you  have  our  roses, 
Y'ou  barely  leave  our  thorns  to  prick  ourselves. 
And  mock  us  with  our  bareness. 

Ber.  How  have  I  sworn  ? 

Dia.  'Tis  not  the  many  oaths  that  make  the 
truth ; 
But  the  plain  single  vow,  that  is  vow'd  true. 
AVliat  is  not  holy,  tliat  we  swear  not  by. 
But  take  the  Highest  to  witness  :*  Then,  pray  you, 

tell  me. 
If  I  should  swear  by  Jove's  great  attributes, 
I  lov'd  you  dearly,  would  you  believe  my  oaths. 
When  I  did  love  you  ill  ?  this  has  no  holding. 
To  swear  by  him  whom  I  protest  to  love, 
That  I  will  work  against  him :  Therefore,  your  oaths 
Are  words,  and  poor  conditions  ;  but  unseai'd  ; 
At  least,  in  my  opinion. 

Ber.  Change  it,  change  it ; 

Be  not  so  holy-cruel :  love  is  holy  ; 
And  my  integrity  ne'er  knew  the  crafts. 
That  you  do  charge  men  with :  Stand  no  more  off. 
But  give  thyself  unto  my  sick  desires, 
WTio  then  recover :  Say,  thou  art  mine,  and  erer 
My  love,  as  it  begins,  shall  so  pers^ver. 

Dia.  I  see  that  men  make  hopes  in  such  affairs, 
That  we'll  forsake  ourselves.     Give  me  that  ring. 

Ber.  I'll  lend  it  thee,  my  dear,  but  have  no  power 
To  give  it  from  me. 

Dia.  Will  you  not,  my  lord  7 

Ber.  It  is  an  honour  'longing  to  our  house. 
Bequeathed  down  from  many  ancestors ; 
Which  were  the  greatest  obloquy  i'  the  world 
In  me  to  lose. 

Dia.  Mine  honour's  such  a  ring : 

My  chastity's  the  jewel  of  our  house. 
Bequeathed  down  from  many  ancestors  ; 
Which  were  the  greatest  obloquy  i'  the  world 
In  me  to  lose  :  Thus  your  own  proper  wisdom 
Brings  in  the  champion  honour  on  my  part. 
Against  your  vjun  assault. 

Ber.  Here,  take  my  ring : 

My  house,  mine  honour,  yea,  my  life  be  thine. 
And  I'll  be  bid  by  thee. 

Dia.  When  midnight  comes,  knock  at  my  cham- 
ber window ; 
I'll  order  take,  my  mother  shall  not  hear. 
Now  will  I  charge  you  in  the  band  of  truth, 
When  you  have  conquer'd  my  yet  maiden  bed, 
Ri-main  there  but  an  hour,  nor  speak  to  me  : 
My  reasons  are  most  strong ;  and  you  shall  know 

them, 
When  back  again  this  ring  shall  be  deliver'd  : 
And  on  your  finger,  in  the  night,  I'll  put 
Another  ring  ;  that,  what  in  time  proceeds. 
May  token  to  the  future  our  past  deeds. 
Adieu,  till  then ;  then,  fail  not ;  you  have  won 
A  wife  of  me,  though  there  my  hope  be  done. 

Ber.  A  heaven  on  earth  I  have  won,  by  wooing 
thee.  [Exit. 

Dia.  For  which  live  long  to  thank  both  heaven 
and  me ! 


(1)  i.  e.  Against  his  determined  resolution  never      (2)  The  sense  is — we  never  swear  by  what  is  not 
(o  cohabit  with  Helena.  holy,  but  take  to  witness  the  Highest,  the  Divinity. 


I 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


You  may  so  in  the  end. 

My  mother  told  me  just  how  he  would  woo, 
As  if  she  sat  in  his  heart ;  she  says,  all  men 
Have  the  like  oaths :  he  had  sworn  to  marry  nie, 
When  his  wife's  dead  ;  therefore  I'll  lie  with  him, 
'When  I   am  buried      ~'        " 

braid,* 
Marry  that  will,  I'll  live  and  die  a  maid  : 
Only,' in  this  disguise,  I  think't  no  sin 
To  cozen  him,  that  would  unjustly  win.        [Exil. 

SCEJ^E  III.— The  Florentine  camp.    Enter  the 
two  French  Lords,  and  two  or  three  Soldiers. 

1  Lord.  You  have  not  given  him  his  mother's 

letter  ? 


.ict  If 


of  her  last  breath,  and  now  she  sings  in  hearen. 
2  Lord.  How  is  this  justified  ? 
1  Lord.  The  stronger  part  of  it  by  her  own  let- 
ters ;  which  makes  her  story  true,  even  to  the  point 
of  her  death  :  her  death  itself,  which  could  not  be 
Since  Frenchmen  are  sol  her  office  to  say,  is  come,  was  faithfully  confirmed 
by  the  rector  of  the  place. 
'  2  Lord.  Hath  the  count  all  this  intellipence  ? 

1  Lord.  Ay,  and  the  particular  confirmations, 
point  from  point,  to  the  full  arming  of  the  verity. 

2  Lord.  I  am  heartily  sorry,  that  he'll  be  glad 
of  this. 

1  Lm-d.  How  mifrhtily,  sometimes,  we  make  us 
comforts  of  our  losses  ! 

2  Lord.  And  how  mightly,  some  other  times,  we 
drown  our  gain  in  tears  !     The  great  dignity,  that 


2  Lord   I  have  delivered  it  P  ^our  smce :  there  ^-^^  .^  ^^^^.      ^j^^„  ^-^  j^^^^ 

is  somethmg  m't  that  stings  his  n=it"re ;  for  on  the       e„,„„„t,,,d  ,,ith  a  shame  as  ample 
reading  it,  he  changed  almost  into  another  man.  _      .    _  .  ....»'- 

1  Lord.  He  has  much  worthy  blame  laid  upon 
nim,  for  shaking  off  so  good  a  wife,  and  so  sweet 
a  lady.  ,    , 

2  Lord.  Especially  he  hath  incurred  the  ever- 
lasting displeasure  of  the  king,  who  had  even 
tuned  his  bounty  to  sing  happiness  to  him.  I  will 
tell  you  a  thing,  but  you  shall  let  it  dwell  darkly 

with  you.  .      .       .    ,     J       J 

1  Lord.  When  you  have  spoken  it,  'tis  dead,  and 
I  am  the  grave  of  it. 

2  Lord.  He  hath  perverted  a  young  gentlewo- 
man here  in  Florence,  of  a  most  chaste  renown  ; 
and  tliis  night  he  fleshes  his  will  in  the  spoil  of  her 
honour:  he  hath  given  her  his  monumental  rin^, 
and  thinks  himself  made  in  the  unchaste  composi- 
tion. ,   „. 

1  Lord.  Now,  God  delay  our  rebellion ;  as  we 
are  ourselves,  what  things  are  we ! 

2  Lord.  Merely  our  own  traitors.  And  as  in  the 
common  course  of  all  treasons,  we  still  see  them 
reveal  themselves,  till  they  attain  to  their  abhorred 
ends ;  so  he,  that  in  this  action  contrives  against 
his  own  nobility,  in  his  proper  stream  o'erflows 
himself.*  , 

1  Lord.  Is  it  not  meant  damnable'  in  us,  to  be 
trumpeters  of  our  unlawful  intents  ?  We  shall  not 
then  have  his  company  to-night  ? 

2  Lord.  Not  till  after  midnight ;  for  he  is  dieted 
to  his  hour.  , ,    ,   „ 

.  L(rrd.  That  approaches  apace:  I  would  gladly 
nave  him  see  his  company  anatomized  ;  that  he 
might  take  a  measure  o'f  his  own  judgments 
wherein  so  curiously  he  had  set  this  counterfeit. 

2  Lord.  We  will  not  meddle  with  him  till  he 
come  ;  for  his  presence  must  be  the  whip  of  the 
other.  .  ,      ,  ri 

1  Ijord.  In  the  mean  time,  what  hear  you  of 
these  wars  ? 

2  Lord.  I  hear,  there  is  an  overture  of  peace. 

1  Lord.  Nay,  I  assure  you,  a  peace  concluded 

2  iJyrd.  What  will  count  Rousillon  do  then  ? 
•will  he  travel  higher,  or  return  again  into  France  ? 

1  Lord.  I  perceive,  by  this  demand,  you  are  not 
altogether  of  his  council. 

2  Lord.  Let  it  be  forbid,  sir !  so  should  I  be  a 
great  deal  of  his  act. 

1  Lord.  Sir,  his  wife,  some  two  months  since, 
fled  from  his  house :  her  pretence  is  a  pilgrimage  t,o 
Saint  Jaques  le  grand ;  which  holy  undertaking, 
with  most  austere  sanctimony,  she  accomplished  : 
and,  there  residing,  the  tenderness  of  her  nature 
became  as  a  prey  to  her  grief;  in  fine,  made  a  groan 

(1)  Crafty,  deceitful. 

(2)  i.  e.  Betrays  his  own  secrets  in  \m  own  talk. 
(S)  Here,  as  elsewhere,  used  adverbially. 


1  Lord.  The  web  of  our  life  is  of  a  mingled 
yarn,  good  and  ill  together  ;  our  virtues  would  be 
proud,  if  our  faults  whipped  them  not ;  and  our 
crimes  would  despair,  if  they  were  not  cherish'd 
by  our  virtues. — 

Enter  a  Servant. 

How  now  ?  Where's  your  master  ? 

Serv.  He  met  the  duke  in  the  street,  sir,  of 
whom  he  hath  taken  a  solemn  leave  ;  his  lordship 
will  next  morning  for  France.  The  duke  hath  of- 
fered him  letters  of  commendations  to  the  king. 

Lord.  They  shall   be  no  more  than  needful 
there,,  if  they  were  more  than  they  can  commend. 

Enter  Bertram. 

1  Lord.  They  cannot  be  too  sweet  for  the  king's 
tartness.  Here's  his  lordship  now.  How  now,  my 
lordj  is't  not  after  midnight  ? 

Ber.  I  have  to-night  despatched  sixteen  busi- 
nesses, a  month's  length  a  piece,  by  an  abstract  of 
success :  I  have  con;ie'd  with  the  duke,  done  my 
adieu  with  his  nearest ;  buried  a  wife,  mourned  for 
her  ;  writ  to  my  lady  mother,  I  am  returning  ;  en- 
tertained my  convoy  ;  and,  between  these  main 
parcels  of  despatch,  effected  manv  nicer  needs  ; 
tlie  last  was  the  greatest,  but  that  I  have  not 
ended  yet. 

2  Lord.  If  the  business  be  of  any  difficulty,  and 
this  morning  your  departure  hence,  it  requires 
haste  of  your  lordship. 

Ber.  I  mean,  the  business  is  not  ended,  as  fear- 
ing to  hear  of  it  hereafter :  But  shall  we  have  this 

dialogue  between  the  fool  and  the  soldier  ? 

Come,  bring  forth  this  counterfeit  module ;'  he  has 
deceived  me,  like  a  double-meaning  prophesier. 

2  Lord.  Bring  him  forth:  [Exeunt  Soldiers.]  he 
has  sat  in  the  stocks  all  night,  poor  gallant  knave. 

Ber.  No  matter ;  his  heels  have  deserv'd  it,  in 
usurping  his  spurs'  so  long.  How  does  he  carry 
himself? 

1  Lord.  I  have  told  your  lordship  already  :  the 
stocks  carry  him.  But,  to  answer  you  as  you 
would  be  understood ;  he  weeps,  like  a" wench  that 
had  shed  her  milk :  he  hath  confessed  himself  to 
Morgan,  whom  he  supposes  to  be  a  friar,  from  the 
time  of  his  remembrance,  to  tins  very  instant  dis- 
aster of  his  setting  i'  the  stocks :  And  what  think 
you  he  hath  confessed  ? 

Ber.  Nothing  of  me,  has  he  ? 

2  iMrd.  His  confession  is  taken,  and  it  shall  be 
read  to  his  face :  if  your  lordship  be  in't,  as,  I  be- 

(4>  For  companion.  (5)  Model,  pattern. 

(6)  An  allusion  to  the  degradation  of  a  knight 
by  hacking  off  his  spurs. 


Sttn*  III. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


I^S 


liere  jou  are,  you  must  hare  the  patience  to 
bear  it. 

Rt-enter  Soldiers,  with  Parolles. 

Ber.  A  plague  upon  him !  mufiBed !  he  can  say 
nothing  of  me  ;  hush !  hush ! 

1  Lw-d.  Hoodman  comes  ! — Porto  tarlarossa. 

1  Sold.  He  calls  for  the  tortures ;  What  will  you 
say  without  'em  ? 

Par.  I  will  confess  what  I  know  without  con- 
straint ;  if  ye  pinch  me  like  a  pasty,  I  can  say  no 
more. 

1  Sold.  Bosko  chimurcho. 

2  Lord.  Boblibindo  cliicw-nw.rco. 

1  Sold.  You  are  a  merciful  general: — Our  general 
bids  you  answer  to  what  I  shall  ask  you  out  of  a 
note. 

Par.  An  truly,  as  I  hope  to  live. 

1  Sold.  First  demand  of  him  how  viany  horse  the 
duke  is  strong.    What  say  you  to  that  ? 

Par.  Five  or  six  thousand  ;  but  very  weak  and 
unserviceable :  the  troops  are  all  scattered,  and 
the  commanders  very  poor  rogues,  upon  my  repu- 
tation and  credit,  and  as  I  hope  to  live. 

1  Sold.  Shall  I  set  down  your  answer  so? 

Par.  i)o  ;  I'll  take  the  sacrament  on't,  how  and 
which  way  you  will. 

Ber.  All's  one  to  him.  WTiat  a  past-saving  slave 
is  this! 

1  Lord.  You  are  deceived,  my  lord ;  this  is 
monsieur  Parolles,  the  gallant  militarist,  (that  was 
his  own  phrase,)  that  had  the  whole  theoric'  of 
war  in  the  knot  of  his  scarf,  and  the  practice  in  the 
chape*  of  his  dagger. 

2  Lord.  I  win  never  trust  a  man  again,  for  keep- 
ing his  sword  clean  ;  nor  believe  he  can  liave  every 
Jung  in  him,  bv  wearing  his  apparel  neatly. 

1  Sold.  Well,  that's  set  down. 

Par.  Five  or  six  thousand  horse,  I  said, — I  will 
say  true, — or  thereabouts,  set  down, — for  I'll  speak 
truth. 

I  Lord.  He's  very  near  the  truth  in  this. 

Ber.  But  I  con  him  no  thanks  for't,  in  the  na- 
ture he  delivers  it. 

Par.  Poor  rogues,  I  pray  you,  say. 

1   Sold.  Well,  that's  set  down. 

Par.  I  humbly  thank  you,  sir :  a  truth's  a  truth, 
the  rogues  are  marvellous  poor. 

I  Sold.  Demand  of  him,  of  tchat  strength  they 
are  afoot.    What  say  you  to  that. 

Par.  By  my  troth,  sir,  if  I  ivere  to  live  this  pre- 
sent hour,  I  will  tell  true.  Let  me  see :  Spurio  a 
hundred  and  fifty,  Sebastian  so  many,  Corambus 
so  many,  Jaques  so  many ;  Guiltian,  Cosmo,  Lodo- 
■wick,  and  Gratii,  two  hundred  fifty  each :  mine 
own  company,  Chitopher,  Yaumond,  Bentii,  two 
hundred  and  fifty  each :  so  that  the  muster-file, 
rotten  and  sound,  upon  my  life,  amounts  not  to  fif- 
teen thousand  poll ;  half  of  which  dare  not  shake 
the  snow  from  oflT  their  cassocks,'  lest  they  shake 
themselves  to  pieces. 

Ber.  What  shall  be  done  to  him. 

1  L/)rd.  Nothing,  but  let  him  have  thanks.  De- 
mand of  him  mv  conditions,*  and  what  credit  I 
have  with  the  dulie. 

1  Sold.  Well,  that's  set  down.  You  shall  de- 
mand of  him,  whether  one  captain  Dumain  be  V 
the  camp,  a  Frenchman ;  what  his  reputation  is 
with  the  dtike,  what  his  valour,  Iwnestu,  and  ex- 
perlness  in  wars;  or  whether  he  thinks,  it  were 

(H  Theory.     (2)  The  point  of  the  scabbard. 
(S)  Cassock  then  signified  a  horseman's  loose  coat. 


Ui  Disposition  an^  character. 


not  possible,  with  weU-weiehing  sums  of  gold^  to 
corrupt  him  to  a  revolt.  What  say  you  to  this? 
what  do  you  know  of  it  ? 

Par.  I  beseech  youj  let  me  answer  to  the  parti- 
cular of  the  intergatones : '  Demand  them  singly., 

1  Sold.  Do  you  know  this  captain  Dumain? 

Par.  I  know  him :  he  was  a  botcher's  'prentice 
in  Paris,  from  whence  he  was  whipped  for  getting 
the  sherift''s  fool  with  child ;  a  dumb  innocent,* 
that  could  not  say  him,  nay. 

[Dumain  lifts  up,  his  hand  in  anger. 

Ber.  Nay,  by  your  leave,  hold  your  hands  ; 
though  I  know,  his  brains  are  forfeit  to  the  next 
title  that  falls. 

1  Sold.  Well,  is  this  captain  in  the  duke  of  Flo- 
rence's camp  ? 

Par.  Upon  my  knowledge,  he  is,  and  lousy. 

1  Lord.  Nay,  look  not  so  upon  me ;  we  shall 
hear  of  your  lordship  anon. 

I  Sold.  What  is  his  reputation  with  the  duke? 

Par.  The  duke  knows  him  for  no  other  but  a 
poor  officer  of  mine  ;  and  writ  to  me  this  other  day, 
to  turn  him  out  o'  the  band :  I  think,  I  have  his  let- 
ter in  my  pocket. 

1  Sold.  Marry,  we'll  search. 

Par.  In  gooa  sadness,  I  do  not  know ;  either  it 
is  there,  or  it  is  upon  a  file,  with  the  duke's  other 
letters,  in  mv  tent 

1  Sold.  Here  'tis ;  here's  a  paper  ?  Shall  I  read 
it  to  you  ? 

Par,  I  do  not  know,  if  it  be  it,  or  no. 

Ber.  Our  interpreter  does  it  well. 

1  Lord.  Excellently. 

1  Sold.    Dian.     The  count^s  a  fool,  aiid  full  of 
gold,— 

Par.  That  is  not  the  duke's  letter,  sir ;  that  is  an 
advertisement  to  a  proper  maid  in  Florence,  one 
Diana,  to  take  heed  of  the  allurement  of  one  count 
Rousillon,  a  foolish  idle  boy,  but,  for  all  that,  very 
ruttish :  1  pray  you,  sir,  put  it  up  again. 

1  Sold.  JVay,  I'll  read  it  first,  by  your  favour. 

Par.  My  meaning  in't,  I  protest,  was  very 
honest  in  the  behalf  of  the  maid  :  for  I  knew  the 
young  count  to  be  a  dangerous  and  lascivious  boy : 
who  is  a  whale  to  virgmity,  and  devours  up  alj 
the  fry  it  finds. 

Ber.  Damnable,  both  sides  rogue ! 

1  Sold.    When  he  swears  oaths,  bid  him  drop 

sold,  and  take  it ; 
Sfler  he  scores,  he  never  pays  the  score : 
Half  won,  is  match  well  made ;  match,  and  weU 
make  it;'' 
He  ne^er  pays  after-debts,  take  it  before ; 
^nd  say,  a  soldier,  Dian,  told  thee  this, 
Men  are  to  mell  with,  beys  are  net  to  k-iss : 
For  count  of  this,  the  cohiU's  a  fool,  I  know  it. 
Who  pays  before,  but  7iot  when  he  does  owe  it. 
Thine,  as  he  vow^d  to  thee  in  thine  ear, 

P.\ROLLES. 
Ber.  He  shall  be  whipped  through  the  army,  wii« 
this  rhyme  in  his  forehead. 

2  Lord.  This  is  your  devoted  friend,  sir,  the 
manifold  linguist,  and  the  armipotent  soldier. 

Ber.  I  could  endure  any  thing  before  but  a  cat, 
^nd  now  he's  a  cat  to  me. 

1  Sold.  I  perceive,  sir,  by  the  general's  looks, 
we  shall  be  fain  to  hang  you. 

Par.  My  life,  sir,  in  any  case :  not  that  I  am 
afraid  to  die  ;  but  that,  my  offences  being  many,  I 
would  repent  out  the  remainder  of  nature :  let  me 

(3)  For  interrogatories.        (6)  A  natural  fool. 
(7)  t.  e.  A  match  well  made  is  half  won  ;  makfl 
your  match  therefore,  but  make  it  well. 


* 
V 

246 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


^ct  tV. 


live,  sir,  in  a  dungeon,  i'  the  stocks,  or  any  where, 
80  I  may  live. 

1  Sold.  We'll  see  what  may  be  done,  so  you  con- 
fess freely ;  therefore,  once  more  to  this  captain 
Dumain :  You  have  answered  to  his  reputation  with 
the  duke,  and  to  his  valour :  What  is  his  honesty  ? 

Par.  He  will  steal,  sir,  an  egg  out  of  a  cloister :' 
for  rapes  and  ravishments  he  parallels  Nessus.^  He 
professes  not  keeping  of  oaths  ;  in  breaking  them, 
he  is  stronger  than  Hercules,  He  will  lie,  sir,  with 
such  volubility,  that  you  would  think  truth  were  a 
fool :  drunkenness  is  his  best  virtue  ;  for  he  will  be 
swine-drunk  ;  and  in  his  sleep  he  docs  little  harm, 
save  to  his  bed-clothes  about  him  ;  but  they  know 
his  conditions,  and  lay  him  in  straw.  I  have  but 
little  more  to  say,  sir,  of  his  honesty  :  he  has  every 
thing  that  an  honest  man  should  not  have;  what 
an  honest  man  should  have,  he  has  nothing. 


of  all  your  friends.  [  Unmuffiin^  him. 

So,  look  about  you ;  Know  you  any  here  1 

Ber.  Good  morrow,  noble  captain. 

2  J^jord.  God  bless  you,  captain  Parolles. 

1  Lord.  God  save  you,  noble  captain. 

2  Lord.  Captain,  what  greeting  will  you  to  my 
lord  Lafeu  ?  I  am  for  France. 

1  Lord.  Good  captain,  will  you  give  me  a  copy 
of  the  sonnet  you  writ  to  Diana  in  behalf  of  the  count 
Rousillon?  an  I  were  not  a  very  coward,  I'd  compel 
it  of  you:  but  fare  you  well.    [JEare.  Ber.  Lords,  <^c. 

1  Sold.  You  are  undone,  captain :  all  but  your 
scarf,  that  has  a  knot  on't  yet. 

Par.  Who  cannot  be  crushed  witli  a  plot? 

1  Sold.  If  j'ou  could  find  out  a  countrj'  where 
but  women  were  that  had  received  so  much  shame, 
you  might  begin  an  impudent  nation.  Fare  you 
well,  sir ;  I  am  for  France  too  j  Ave  shall  speak  of 
you  there.  [Exit. 

Par.  let  am  I  thankful ;  if  ray  heart  were  great, 
'Twould  burst  at  this  :  Captain  I'll  be  no  more  ; 


1  Lord.  I  begin  to  love  him  for  this. 

Ber.  For  this  description  of  thine  honesty  ?  A 
pox  upon  him  for  me,  he  is  more  and  more  a  cat.       _  ^ 

1  Sold.  What  say  you  to  his  expertness  in  war  ?' But  I  will  eat  and  drink,  and  sleep  as  soft 

Pur.  Faith,  sir,  he  has  led  the  drum  before  the! As  captain  shall :  simply  the  thin<^  I  am 
English  tragedians, — to  belie  him,  I  viiil  not, — and  |  Shall  make  me  live.  Who  knows  himself  a  braggart, 
more  of  his  soldiership  I  know  not ;  except,  m  that, Let  him  fear  this  ;  for  it  will  come  to  pass;, 
country,  he  had  the  honour  to  be  the  officer  at  a. That  every  braggart  shall  be  found  an  ass. 
place  there  call'd  Mile-end,  to   instruct  for  the  j  Rust,  sword  !  cool,  blushes  !  and,  Parolles,  live 
doubling  of  files :  I  would  do  the  man  what  honour  Safest  in  shame  !  behig  fool'd,  by  foolery  thrive  ! 
I  can,  but  of  this  I  am  not  certain.  iThere's  place,  and  means,  for  ever)'  man  alive. 

1  Lord.  He  hath  out-villainedvillany  so  far  that  I  I'll  after  them.  [Exit, 

the  rarity  redeems  him. 

Ber.  A  pox  on  him  !  he's  a  cat  still. 

1  Sold.  His  qualities  being  at  this  poor  price,  I 
need  not  ask  you,  if  gold  will  corrupt  him  to  revolt. 

Par.  Sir,  for  a  quart  d'ecu'  he  will  sell  the  fee- 
simple  of  his  salvation,  the  inheritance  of  it ;  and 
irut  the  entail  from  all  remainders,  and  a  perpetual 
succession  for  it  perpetually. 

1  Sold.  What's  his  brother,  the  other  captain 
Dumain  ? 

2  Lord.  WHiy  does  he  ask  him  of  me? 
1  Sold.  What's  he? 
Par.  E'en  a  crow  of  the  same  nest ;  not  altogether 

80  great  as  the  first  in  goodness,  but  greater  a  great 
dcju  in  evil.  He  excels  his  brother  for  a  cov.ard, 
yet  his  brother  is  reputed  one  of  the  best  that  is :  In 
a  retreat  he  outruns  any  lackc}' ;  marry,  in  conung 
on  he  has  the  cramp. 

1  Sold.  If  your  life  be  saved,  will  you  undertake 
to  betray  the  Florentine  ? 

Par.  Ay,  and  the  captain  of  his  horse,  count 
Rousillon. 

1  Sold.  I'll  whisper  with  the  general,  and  know 
his  pleasure. 

Par.  I'll  no  more  drumming ;  a  plague  of  all 
drums !  Only  to  seem  to  deserve  well,  and  to  be- 
guile the  supposition*  of  that  lascivious  young  boy 
the  count,  have  I  run  into  this  danger :  Yet,  who 
would  have  suspected  an  ambush  where  I  was 
taken  ?  [.^side. 

1  Sold.  There  is  no  remedy,  sir,  but  you  must 
die  :  the  general  says,  j'ou,  that  have  so  traitorously 
discovered  the  secrets  of  your  army,  and  made  such 
pestiferous  reports  of  men  very  nobly  held,  can 
serve  the  world  for  no  honest  use  •  therefore  you 
must  die.    Come,  headsman,  off  with  his  head. 

Par.  0  Lord,  sir ;  let  me  live,  or  let  me  see  my 
death ! 

1  Sold.  That  shall  you,  and  take  your  leave 


(1)  i.  e.  He  will  steal  anything  however  trifling, 
from  any  place  however  holy. 

i2)  The  Centaur  killed  by  Hercules. 
3)  The  fourth  part  of  the  smaller  French  crown. 


SCE^E  IV. — Florence.  A  room  in  the  Widow's 
house.    Enter  Helena,  Widow,  and  Diana. 

Hel.    That  you  may  well  perceive  I  have  not 
wrong'd  you. 
One  of  the  greatest  in  the  Christian  world 
Shall  be  my  surety ;  'fore  whose  throne,  'tis  needful. 
Ere  I  can  perfect  mine  intents,  to  kneel : 
Time  was,  I  did  him  a  desired  officCj 
Dear  almost  as  his  life  ;  which  gratitude 
Through  flinty  Tartar's  bosom  would  peep  forth, 
And  answer,  thnnks  :  I  duly  am  inform'd. 
His  grace  is  at  Marseilles ;  to  which  place 
We  have  convenient  convo3%    You  must  know, 
I  am  supposed  dead :  the  army  brealdng, 
My  husband  hies  him  home  ;  where,  heaven  aiding'- 
And  by  the  leave  of  my  good  lord  the  king, 
We'll  be,  before  our  welcome. 

Wid.  Gentle  madam, 

You  never  had  a  servant,  to  whoso  trust 
Your  business  was  more  ivelcome. 

Hel.  .  Nor  you,  mistress 

Ever  a  friend,  whose  thoughts  more  tnily  labour 
To  recompense  your  love  ;  doubt  not,  birt  Heavet 
Hath  brought  me  up  (o  be  your  daughter's  dower 
As  it  hath  fate-d  her  to  be  my  motive' 
And  helper  to  a  husband.     But,  O  strange  men ! 
That  can  such  sweet  use  make  of  what  ihcy  hate. 
When  sauc}"  trusting  of  the  cozen'd  thoughts 
Defiles  the  pitchy  night !  so  lust  doth  play 
With  what  it  loaths,  for  that  which  is  away : 

But  more  of  this  hereal'ter: You,  Diana, 

Under  my  poor  instructions  yet  must  suffer 
Something  in  my  behalf. 

Did.  Let  death  and  honesty 

Go  with  your  impositions,'  I  am  yours 
Upon  your  will  to  suffer. 

Hel.  Yet,  I  pray  you, 

But  with  the  word,  the  time  will  bring  on  summe- 
When  briars  shall  have  leaves  as  well  as  thorns, 

(4)  To  deceive  the  opinion. 

(5)  For  mover.  (6)  Lascivious. 

(7)  i.  e.  An  honest  deatji.        (8)  Commands. 


Scene  I. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


247 


And  be  as  sweet  as  sharp.    We  must  away ; 
Our  waeon  is  prepar'd,  and  time  reTires  us : 
wfU's  well  that  ends  weU :  still  the  fine's'  the  crown ; 
Whate'er  the  course,  the  end  is  the  renown.  [Exe. 

SCE.YE  r.— Rousillon.  .3  room  in  f  Ac  Countess's 

Palace.    Enter  Countess,  Lafeu,  and  Clown 

Laf,  No,  no,  no,  yoiu*  son  was  misled  with  a 
snipt-taffeta  feUow  there  ;  whose  rillanous  saffron^ 
would  have  made  all  the  unbaked  and  doughy 
youth  of  a  nation  in  his  colour :  your  daughter-in- 
law  had  been  alive  at  this  hour ;  and  your  son 
here  at  home,  more  advanced  by  the  king,  than  by 
that  red-tailed  humble-bee  I  speak  of. 

Count.  I  would,  I  had  not  known  him !  it  was 
the  death  of  the  most  virtuous  gentlewoman,  that 
ever  nature  had  praise  for  creating:  if  she  had  par- 
taken of  my  flesh,  and  cost  me  tlie  dearest  groans 
of  a  mother,  I  could  not  have  owed  her  a  more 
rooted  love. 

Laf.  'Twas  a  good  lady,  'twas  a  good  lady :  we 
may  pick  a  thousand  salads,  ere  we  light  ou  such 
another  herb. 

Clo.  Indeed,  sir,  she  was  the  sweet-marjoram  of 
the  salad,  or,  rather  the  herb  of  grace. ^ 

Laf.  They  are  not  salad-herbs,  you  knave,  they 
are  nose-herbs. 

Clo.  I  am  no  great  Nebuchadnezzar,  sir,  I  have 
not  much  skill  in  grass. 

Laf.  Whether  dost  thou  profess  thyself;  a  knave, 
or  a  fool  ? 

Clo.  A  fool,  sir,  at  a  woman's  service,  and  a 
knave  at  a  man's. 

Laf.  Your  distinction  ? 

Clo.  I  would  cozen  the  man  of  his  wife,  and  do 
his  service. 

Laf.  So  you  were  a  knave  at  his  service,  in- 
deed. 

Clo.  And  I  would  give  his  wife  my  bauble,  sir, 
to  do  her  service. 

Laf.  I  will  subscribe  for  thee ;  thou  art  both 
knave  and  fool. 

Clo.  At  your  service. 

Laf.  No',  noj  no. 

Clo.  A'Miy,  sir,  if  I  cannot  serve  you,  I  can  serve 
as  ^reat  a  prince  as  you  j»re. 

Laf.  Who's  that?' a  Frenchman? 

Cu).  Faith,  sir,  he  has  an  English  name :  but  his 
phisnoriiy  is  more  hotter  in  France,  than  there. 

Laf.  VV'hat  prince  is  that  ? 

Clo.  The  black  prince,  sir,  alias,  the  prince  of 
darkness;  alias,  the  devil. 

Laf.  Hold  thee,  there's  mv  purse:  I  give  thee 
not  this  to  suggest*  thee  from  thy  master  thou  talkest 
of;  serve  nfin  still. 

Clo,  I  am  a  woodland  fellow,  sir,  that  always 
loved  a  great  fire  ;  and  the  master  I  speak  of,  ever 
keeps  a  good  fire.  But,  sure,  he  is  the  prince  of 
the  world,  let  his  nobility  remain  in  his  court.  J 
am  for  the  house  with  the  narrow  gate,  which  1 
take  to  be  too  little  for  pomp  to  enter  :  some,  that 
humble  themselves,  may ;  but  the  many  will  be  too 
chill  and  tender ;  and  they'll  be  for  the  flower)-  way, 
that  leads  to  the  broad  gate,  and  the  great  fire. 

Laf.  Go  thy  ways,  I  be»rin  to  be  a- wean.'  of  thee ; 
and  I  tell  thee  so  before,  because  I  would  not  fall 
out  with  thee.  Go  thy  ways ;  let  my  horses  be 
well  looked  to,  without  any  tricks. 

Clo.  If  I  put  any  tricks  upon  'em,  sir,  they  shall 

m  End. 

(2)  There  was  a  fashion  of  using  yellow  starch 
for  bands  and  ruWcs.  to  which  Lafeu  alludes. 

(3)  t.  e.  Rue.  (4)  Seduce. 


[be  jade's  tricks ;  which  arc  their  own  right  by  the 
law  of  nature.  [Exit. 

Laf.  A  shrewd  knave,  and  an  unhappy.' 

Count,  So  he  is.  My  lord,  that's  gone,  made 
himself  much  sport  out  of  him  :  by  his  authority  he 
remains  here,  which  he  thinks  is  a  patent  for  his 
sauciness  ;  ai.J  indeed,  he  has  no  pace,  but  runs 
where  he  will. 

Laf.  I  like  !•  rn  r  ell :  'tis  not  amiss :  and  I  was 
about  to  tell  jou,  ?ince  I  heard  of  the  good  lady's 
death,  and  that  my  lord  your  son  was  upon  his  re- 
turn home,  I  moved  theking  my  master,  to  speak 
in  the  behalf  of  my  daughter  ;  which,  in  the  mino- 
rity of  them  both,  his  majesty,  out  of  a  self-gra- 
cious remembrance,  did  first  propose :  his  high- 
ness hath  promised  me  to  do  it :  and,  to  stop  up 
the  displeasure  he  bath  conceived  against  your  son, 
there  is  no  fitter  matter.  How  does  your'ladyship 
like  it? 

Count.  With  very  much  content,  my  lord,  and  I 
wish  it  happily  effected. 

Laf,  His  highness  comes  post  from  Marseilles, 
of  as  able  body  as  when  he  numbered  thirty ;  he 
will  be  here  to-morrow,  or  I  am  deceived  by  him 
that  in  such  intelligence  hath  seldom  failed. 

Count.  It  rejoices  me,  that  I  hope  I  shall  see  him 
ere  I  die.  I  have  letters,  that  my  son  will  be  here 
to-night :  I  shall  beseech  your  lordship,  to  remaiii 
with  me  till  they  meet  together. 

Laf.  Madam,  I  was  thinking,  with  what  man- 
ners I  might  safely  be  admitted. 

Count.  You  need  but  plead  your  honourable 
privilege. 

Laf.  Lady,  of  that  I  have  made  a  bold  charter ; 
but,  I  thank  my  God,  it  holds  yet. 
Re-enter  Clown. 

Clo.  0  madam,  yonder's  mv  lord  your  son  with 
a  patch  of  velvet  on's  face :  whether  there  be  a  scar 
under  it,  or  no,  the  velvet  knows ;  but  'tis  a  goodly 
patch  of  velvet :  his  left  cheek  is  a  cheek  of  two 
pile  and  a  half,  but  his  right  cheek  is  worn  bare. 

Laf.  A  scar  nobly  got.  or  a  noble  scar,  is  a  good 
Jivery  of  honour ;  so,  belike,  is  that. 

Clo.  But  it  is  your  carbonadoed^  face. 

Laf.  Let  us  go  see  your  son,  I  pray  you  ;  I  long 
to  talk  with  the  young  noble  soldier. 

Clo.  'Faith,  there's  a  dozen  of  'em,  vrith  delicate 
fine  hats,  and  most  courteous  feathers,  which  bow 
the  head,  and  nod  at  every  man.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  V. 

SCE.VE  /.—Marseilles.  .«  street.  Enter  Helena, 
Widow,  and  Diana,  with  two  attendants. 

Hel.  But  this  exceeding  posting,  day  and  night. 
Must  wear  your  spirits  low  :  we  cannot  help  it ; 
But,  since  you  have  made  the  days  and  nights  aa 

one, 
To  wear  your  g^tle  limbs  in  my  afiairs, 
Be  bold,  you  do  so  grow  in  my  requital, 
As  nothing  can  unroot  you.     In  happy  time  ; 

Enter  a  gentle  Astringer.' 
This  man  may  help  me  to  his  majesty's  ear, 
If  he  would  spend  his  power. — God  save  you,  sir. 

Gent.  And  you. 

Hel.  Sir.  1  have  seen  you  in  the  court  of  France.. 

Gent.  I  nave  been  sometimes  there. 

(5)  Mischievously  unhappv,  waggish. 

(6)  Scotched  like  a  piece  of  meaf  for  the  gridiron. 

(7)  A  gentleman  Falconer.     , 


m 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


.9cl  r. 


Hel.  I  do  presume,  sir,  that  you  are  not  fallen 
From  the  report  that  goes  upon  your  goodness ; 
And  therefore,  goaded  with  most  sharp  occasions, 
Which  lay  nice  manners  by,  I  put  you  to 
The  use  of  your  own  virtues,  for  the  which 
I  shall  contmue  thankful. 

Gent.  What's  your  will  ? 

Hel,  That  it  will  jjlease  you 
To  give  this  poor  petition  to  the  king ; 
Ana  aid  me  with  that  store  of  power  you  have, 
To  come  into  his  presence. 

Gent.  The  king's  not  here. 

Hel.  Not  here,  sir  ? 

Gent.  Not,  indeed ; 

He  hence  remov'd  last  night,  and  with  more  haste 
Than  is  his  use. 

Wid.  Lord,  how  we  lose  Our  pains ! 

Hel.  MPs  well  that  ends  well;  yet ; 
Though  time  seem  so  adverse,  and  means  unfit. — 
I  do  beseech  you,  whither  is  he  gone  ? 

Ge?it.  Marry,  as  I  take  it,  to  Rousillon ; 
Whither  I  am  going. 

Hel.  I  do  beseech  you,  sir, 

Since  you  are  like  to  see  the  king  before  me, 
Commend  the  paper  to  his  gracious  hand  ; 
Which,  I  presume,  shall  render  you  no  blame. 
But  rather  make  you  thank  your  pains  for  it : 
I  will  come  after  you,  with  what  good  speed 
Our  means  will  make  us  means. 

Gent.  This  I'll  do  for  you. 

Hel.    And  you  shall  find  yourself  to  be  well 
thank'd, 
Whate'er  falls  more. — We  must  to  horse  atrain ; — 
Go,  go,  provide.  [Exeunt. 

SCKN'E  //.—Rousillon.     The  inner  court  of  the 

Countess's  Palace.   Enter  Clown  a7id  Parolles. 

Par.  Good  monsieur  Lavatch,  give  my  lord  Lafeu 
this  letter :  I  have  ere  now,  sir,  been  better  known 
to  you,  when  I  liave  held  familiarity  with  fresher 
clothes ;  but  I  am  now,  sir,  muddied  in  fortune's 
moat,  and  smell  somewhat  strong  of  her  strong 
displeasure. 

Clo.  Truly,  fortune's  displeasure  Is  but  sluttish, 
if  it  smell  so  strong  as  thou  speakest  of:  I  will 
henceforth  eat  no  fish  of  fortune's  buttering. — 
Prlythee,  allow  the  wind. 

Par.  Nay,  you  need  not  stop  your  nose,  sir ;  I 
spake  but  by  a  metaphor. 

Clo.  Indeed,  sir,  if  your  metaphor  stink,  I  will 
stop  my  nose ;  or  agamst  any  man's  metaphor. — 
Prlythee,  get  thee  further. 

Par.  Pray  you,  sir,  deliver  me  this  paper. 

Clo.  Foh,  pr'ythee,  stand  away  ;  A  paper  from 
fortune's  close-stool  to  give  to  a  nobleman !  Look, 
here  he  comes  himself. 

Enter  Lafeu. 
Here  is  a  pur  of  fortune's,  sir,  or  of  fortune's  cat, 
(but  not  a  musk-cat,)  that  has  fallen  into  the  un- 
clean fishpond  of  her  displeasurCj  and,  as  he  says, 
is  muddied  withal :  Prav  you,  sir,  use  the  carp  as 
you  may  ;  for  he  looks  like  a  poor,  decayed,  inpre- 
niaus,  foolish,  rascally  knave.  I  do  pity  his  dis- 
tress in  my  smiles  of  comfort,  and  leave  him  to 
your  lordship.  [Exit  Clown. 

Par.  My  lord,  I  am  a  man  whom  fortune  hath 
cruelly  scratched. 

Laj.  And  what  would  you  have  me  to  do  ?  'tb 

(1^  You  need  not  ask ; — here  it  is. 

(2)  Reckoning  or  estimate. 

iSJ  Completely,  in  its  full  extent. 

(4)  So  in  As  you  like  It : — to  have  *  seen  much 


too  late  to  pare  her  nails  now.  Wherein  hare  you 
played  the  knave  with  fortune,  that  she  should 
scratch  you,  who  of  herself  is  a  good  lady,  and 
would  not  have  knaves  thrive  long  under  her  ? 
There's  a  quart  d'ccte  for  you:  Let  the  justices 
make  you  and  fortune  friends ;  I  am  for  other  busi- 
ness. 

Par.  I  beseech  your  honour,  to  hear  me  one  sin- 
gle word. 

Laf.  You  beg  a  single  penny  more :  come,  you 
shall  ha't ;  save  your  word.' 

Par.  My  name,  my  good  lord,  is  Parolles. 

Laf.  You  beg  more  than  one  word,  then. — Cox' 
my  passion !  give  me  your  hand : — How  does  your 
drum  ? 

Par.  0  my  good  lord,  you  were  the  first  that 
found  me. 

Laf.  Was  I,  in  sooth  ?  and  I  was  the  first  that 
lost  thee. 

Par.  It  lies  in  you,  my  lord,  to  bring  me  in 
some  grace,  Tor  you  did  bring  me  out. 

Laf.  Out  upon  thee,  knave !  dost  thou  put  upon 
me  at  once  both  the  office  of  God  and  the  devil  ? 
one  brings  thee  in  grace,  and  the  other  brings  thee 
out.  J^Triimpets  sound.]  The  king's  coming,  I  know 
by  his  trumpets. — Sirrah,  inquire  further  afler  me  ; 
I  had  talk  of  you  last  night:  though  you  are  a  fool 
and  a  knave,  you  shall  eat ;  go  to,  follow. 

Par.  I  praise  God  for  you.  [Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E  HL—The  same.  A  room  in  the  Coun 
tess's  Palace.  Flourish.  Enter  King,  Coun  • 
tess,  Lafeu,  Lords,  Gentlemen,  guards,  ^c. 

King.  We  lost  a  jewel  of  her ;  and  our  esteem* 
Was  made  much  poorer  by  it :  but  your  son, 
As  mad  in  folly,  lack'd  the  sense  to  know 
Her  estimation  home.' 

Count.  'Tis  past,  my  liege  • 

And  I  beseech  your  majesty  to  make  it 
Natural  rebellion,  done  i'the  blaze  of  youth  ; 
When  oil  and  fire,  too  strong  for  reason's  force, 
O'erbears  it,  and  burns  on. 

King.  My  honour'd  lady, 

1  have  forgiven  and  forgotten  all ; 
Though  my  revenges  were  high  bent  upon  him, 
And  A?atch'd  the  time  to  shoot. 

Laf.  This  I  must  say, — 

But  first  I  beg  my  pardon, — The  young  lord 
Did  to  his  majesty,  his  mother,  and  his  lady, 
Offence  of  mighty  note  ;  but  to  himself 
The  greatest  wrong  of  all :  he  lost  a  wife. 
Whose  beauty  did  astonish  the  survey 
0 f  richest  eyes  ;*  whose  words  all  ears  took  captive , 
Whose  dear  perfection,  hearts  that  scorn'd  to  serve, 
Humbly  call'd  mistress. 

King.  Praising  what  is  lost, 

Makes  the  remembrance  dear. Well,  call  him 

hither ; 

We  are  reconcil'd,  and  the  first  view  shall  kill 
All  repetition : ' — Let  him  not  ask  our  pardon  ; 
The  nature  of  his  preat  offence  is  dead, 
And  deeper  than  oblivion  do  we  bury 
The  incensing  relics  of  it :  let  him  approach, 
A  stranger,  no  offender ;  and  inform  nim, 
So  'tis  our  will  he  should. 

Gent.  I  shall,  my  liege. 

[Exit  Gentleman. 

King.  What  says  he  to  your  daughter?  have 
you  spoke  ? 

and  to  have  nothing,  is  to  have  rich  eyes  and  poor 
hands.' 

(5)  i.  e.  The  first  interview  shall  put  an  end  to 
all  recollection  of  the  past. 


MttntllL 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


-nm 


Laf.  All  that  he  is  bath  reTerence  to  yourhigh- 

ness. 
King.  Then  shall  we  have  a  match.    I  have 

letters  sent  me, 
That  set  him  high  in  fame. 

Enter  Bertram. 

LaJ.  He  looks  well  on't. 

^ing-.  I  am  not  a  day  of  season,' 
For  thou  may'st  see  a  sunshine  and  a  hail 
In  me  at  once :  But  to  the  brightest  beams 
Distracted  clouds  give  way  ;  so  stand  thou  forth, 
The  time  is  fair  again. 

Ber.  My  high-repented  blames,* 

Dear  sovereign,  pardon  to  me. 

King.  All  is  whole ; 

Not  one  word  more  of  the  consumed  time, 
Let's  take  the  instant  by  the  forward  top ; 
For  we  are  old,  and  on  our  quick'st  decrees 
The  inaudible  and  noiseless  foot  of  time 
Steals  ere  we  can  effect  them :  You  remember 
The  dausrhter  of  this  lord  ? 

Ber.  Admiringly,  my  liege :  at  first 
I  stuck  mv  choice  upon  her,  ere  my  heart 
Durst  mate  too  bold  a  herald  of  my  tongue : 
Where  the  impression  of  mine  eye  enfixing. 
Contempt  his  scornful  perspective  did  lend  me, 
Which  warp'd  the  line  of  every  other  favour ; 
Scorn'd  a  fair  colour,  or  express'd  it  stol'n  ; 
Extended  or  contracted  all  proportions, 
To  a  most  hideous  object:  Thence  it  came. 
That  she,  whom  all  men  prais'd,  and  whom  myself. 
Since  I  have  lost,  have  lov'd,  was  in  mine  eye 
The  dust  that  did  offend  it. 

King.  Well  excus'd : 

That  thou  didst  love  her,  strikes  some  scores  away 
From  the  great  compt :  But  love,  that  comes  too  late. 
Like  a  remorseful  pardon  slowly  carried. 
To  the  great  sender  turns  a  sour  offence. 
Crying,  That's  good  that's  gone  :  our  rash  faults, 
Malta  trivial  price  of  serious  things  we  have, 
Not  knowing  them,  until  we  know  their  grave : 
on.  our  displeasures,  to  ourselves  unjust. 
Destroy  our  friends,  and  after  weep  their  dust : 
Our  own  love  waking  cries  to  see  what's  done, 
While  shameful  hate  sleeps  out  the  atternoon. 
Be  this  sweet  Helen's  knell,  and  now  forget  her. 
Send  forth  your  amorous  token  for  fair  Maudlin : 
The  main  consents  are  had  ;  and  here  we'll  stay 
To  see  our  widower's  second  marriage-day. 

Count.  Which  better  than  the  first,   O  dear 
heaven,  bless ! 
Or,  ere  they  meet,  in  me,  O  nature,  cease ! 

Laf.  Come  on,  my  son,  in  whom  mj'  house's  name 
Must  be  digested,  give  a  favour  from  you. 
To  sparkle  in  the  spirits  of  my  daughter. 
That  she  may  quickly  come. — By  my  old  beard, 
And  every  hair  that's  on't,  Helen,  that's  dead. 
Was  a  sweet  creature  ;  such  a  ring  as  this. 
The  last  that  e'er  I  took  her  leave  at  court, 
I  saw  upon  her  finger. 

Ber.  Hers  it  was  noL 

King.  Now,  pray  you,  let  me  see  it ;  for  mine 
eye. 
While  I  was  speaking,  ofl  warf  fastened  to't. — 
This  ring  was  mine  ;  and,  when  I  gave  it  Helen, 
I  bade  her,  if  her  fortunes  ever  stood 
Necessitied  to  help,  that  by  this  token 
I  would  relieve  her :  Had  you  that  craft,  to  reave  her 

(1)  i.  e.  Of  uninterrupted  rain. 
(2^  Faults  repented  of  to  the  utmost. 
iS)  In  the  sense  of  unengaged. 
(4)  The  philosopher's  stone. 


Of  what  should  stead  her  most  7 

Ber.  My  gracious  sovereign, 

Howe'er  it  pleases  you  to  take  it  so, 
The  ring  was  never  hers. 

Count.  Son,  on  my  life, 

I  have  seen  her  wear  it ;  and  she  reckon'd  it 
At  her  life's  rate. 

Laf.  I  am  sure,  I  sa%v  her  wear  it. 

Ber.  You  are  deceiv'd,  my  lord,  she  never  saw  iU 
In  Florence  was  it  from  a  casement  thrown  me, 
Wrapp'd  in  a  paper,  which  contain'd  the  name 
Of  her  that  thre^v  it :  noble  she  was,  and  thought 
I  stood  ingag'd  :'  but  when  I  had  subscrib'd 
To  mine  own  fortune,  and  inform'd  her  fully, 
I  could  not  answer  in  that  course  of  honour 
As  she  had  made  the  overture,  she  ceas'd, 
In  heavy  satisfaction,  and  would  never 
Receive  the  ring  agam. 

King.  Plutus  himself. 

That  knows  the  tinct  and  multiplying  medicine,* 
Hath  not  in  nature's  mystery  more  science, 
Tlian  I  have  in  this  ring :  'twas  mine,  'twas  Helen's, 
Whoever  gave  it  you :  Then,  if  you  know 
That  you  are  well  acquainted  with  yourself,* 
Confess  'twas  hers,  and  by  what  rough  enforce^ 
ment  i 

You  got  it  from  her:  she  call'd  the  saints  to  surety, 
That  she  would  never  put  it  from  her  finger. 
Unless  she  gave  it  to  yourself  in  bed, 
(Where  yoii  have  never  come,)  or  sent  it  us 
Upon  her  great  disaster. 

Ber.  She  never  saw  it. 

King.  Thou  speak'st  it  falsely,  as  I  love  mine 
honour ; 
And  mak'st  conjectural  fears  to  come  into  me, 
AVhich  I  would  fain  shut  out :  If  it  should  prove 
That  thou  art  so  inhuman, — 'twill  not  prove  so  : — 
And  yet  I  know  not : — thou  didst  hate  her  deadly. 
And  she  is  dead  ;  which  nothing,  hut  to  close 
Her  eyes  myself,  could  win  mc  to  believe, 
More  than  to  see  this  ring. — Take  him  away. — 

[Guards  seize  Bertram. 
My  fore-past  proofs,  howe'er  the  matter  fall, 
Shall  tax  my  lears  of  little  vanity. 
Having  vainly  fear'd  too  little. — Away  with  him  ;— 
We'll  sift  this  matter  further. 

Ber.  If  you  shall  prove 

This  ring  was  ever  hers,  you  shall  as  easy 
Prove  that  I  husbanded  her  bed  in  Florence, 
Where  yet  she  never  was.         [Exit  Ber.  guarded. 

Enter  a  Gentleman. 

King.  I  am  ■WjApp'd  m  dismal  thinkings. 

Gent.  Gracious  sovereign, 

■Whether  I  have  been  to  blame,  or  no,  I  know  not; 
Here's  a  petition  from  a  Florentine, 
Who  hath,  for  four  or  five  removes,*  come  short 
To  tender  it  herself.     I  undertook  it, 
Vanquish'd  thereto  by  the  fair  grace  and  speech 
Of  the  poor  suppliant,  who  by  this,  I  know. 
Is  here  attending:  her  business  looks  in  her 
With  an  importing  visape  ;  and  she  told  me, 
In  a  sweet  verbal  nrieC,  it  did  concern  ' 

Your  highness  with  herself. 

King.  [Reads.]  Upon  his  many  protestations  to 
viarry  me,  when  his  wife  was  dead,  I  blitsh  to  say  it, 
he  won  me.  J^ow  is  the  count  Roiisillon  a  widow- 
er; his  votes  are  forfeited  to  me,  and  my  honour's 
paid  to  him.  He  stde  from  Florence,  taking  no 
leave,  and  I  follow  him  to  his  country  for  justice  : 

(5)  t.  e.  That  you  have  the  proper  consciousness 
of  your  own  actions. 

(6)  Post-stages. 

21 


250 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


*aeir. 


Crront  it  me,  0  king;  in  you  it  best  lies;  otherwise 
a  3 eduetr  flourishes,  and  a  poor  maid  is  undone. 

DIANA  CAPULET. 
Lqf.  I  will  buj  me  a  son-in-law  in  a  fair,  and 
toll  him : '  for  this,  I'll  none  of  him. 
King.  The  heavens  have  thought  well  on  thee, 
Lafeu, 
To  bring  forth  this  discovery. — Seek  thesesuitors : — 
Go,  speedily,  and  brin^  again  the  count. 

[Exeunt  Gentleman,  and  some  attendants. 
I  am  afeard,  the  life  of  Helen,  lady, 
Was  foully  snatch'd. 
Count.  Now,  justice  on  the  doers  ! 

Enter  Bertram,  guarded. 
King.  I  wonder,  sir,  since  wives  are  monsters  to 
you. 
And  that  you  fly  them  as  you  swear  them  lordship. 
Yet  you  desire  to  marry. — What  woman's  that  ? 

Re-enter  Gentleman,  with  Widow  and  Diana. 

Dia.  I  am,  my  lord,  a  wretched  Florentine, 
Derived  from  the  ancient  Capulet ; 
My  suit,  as  I  do  understand,  you  know. 
And  therefore  know  how  far  1  may  be  pitied. 

Wid.  I  am  her  mother,  sir,  whose  age  and  honour 
Both  suffer  under  this  complaint  we  bring, 
And  both  shall  cease,^  without  your  remedy. 

King.  Come  hither,  count.    Do  you  know  these 
women  ? 

Ber.  Mv  lord,  I  neither  can,  nor  will  deny 
But  that  llcnow  them :  Do  they  charge  me  further  ? 

Dia.  Why  do  you  look  so  stiansfe  upon  your  wife? 

Ber.  She's  none  of  mine,  my  lord. 

JMa.  If  you  shall  marry, 

You  give  away  this  hand,  and  that  is  mine ; 
You  gire  away  heaven's  vows,  and  those  are  mine  ; 
You  g'ive  away  myself,  which  is  known  mine ; 
For  I  by  vow  am  so  embodied  yours. 
That  she  which  marries  you,  must  marry  me, 
Either  both,  or  none. 

La/.  Your  reputation  [To  Bertram.]  comes  too 
ehort  for  my  daughter,  you  are  no  husband  for  her. 

Ber.  My  lord,  this  is  a  fond  and  desperate  crea- 
ture, 
Whom  sometime  I  have  laughed  with  ;  let  your 

highness 
Lay  a  more  noble  thought  upon  mine  honour. 
Than  for  to  think  that  I  would  sink  it  here. 

King.  Sir,  for  my  tlioughts,  you  have  them  ill  to 
friend. 
Till  your  deeds  gain  them:    Fairer  prove  your 

honour, 
Than  in  my  thought  it  lies  ! 

Dia.  Good  my  lord. 

Ask  him  upon  his  oath,  if  he  does  think 
He  had  not  my  virginity. 

King.  What  say'st  thou  to  her  ? 

Ber.  She's  impudent,  my  lord ; 

And  was  a  common  gamester  to  the  camp.' 

Dia.  He  does  me  wrong,  my  lord  ;  if  I  were  so. 
He  might  have  bought  me  at  a  common  price : 
Do  not  bnlievc  him :  O,  behold  this  ring. 
Whose  high  respect,  and  rich  validity,* 
Did  lack  a  parallel ;  j'et,  for  all  that, 
He  gave  it  to  a  commoner  o'  the  camp. 
If  I  DC  one. 

Coitnt.  He  blushes,  and  'tis  it : 

Of  six  preceding  ancestors,  that  gem 

{1)  Pay  toll  for  him.  (2)  Decease,  die. 

(3)  Gamester,  when  applied  to  a  female,  then 
jneant  a  common  woman. 

(4)  Value.       (5)  Noted.        (6)  Debauched. 


Conferr'd  by  testament  to  the  sequent  issue, 
Hath  it  been  ow'd  and  worn.    This  is  his  wife ; 
That  ring's  a  thousand  proofs. 

King.  Methought,  you  said- 

You  saw  one  here  in  court  could  witness  it. 

Dia.  I  did,  my  lord,  but  loath  am  to  produce 
So  badan  instrument;  his  name's  Parolles. 

Laf.  I  saw  the  man  to-day,  if  man  he  be. 

King.  Find  him,  and  bring  him  hither. 

Ber.  What  of  him  ? 

He's  quoted'  for  a  most  perfidious  slave, 
With  all  the  spots  o'  the  world  tax'd  and  debosh'd  ^ 
Whose  nature  sickens,  but  to  speak  a  truth : 
Am  I  or  that,  or  this,  lor  ivhat  he'll  utter. 
That  will  speak  any  thing  ? 

King.  '      She  hath  that  ring  of  yours 

Ber.  I  think,  she  has :  certain  it  is,  I  lik'd  her 
And  boarded  her  i'  the  wanton  way  of  youth : 
She  knew  her  distance,  and  did  angle  for  me. 
Madding  my  eagerness  with  her  restraint. 
As  all  impediments  in  fancy's'  course 
Are  motives  of  more  fancy ;  and,  in  fine. 
Her  insuit  coming  with  her  modern  grace* 
Subdued  me  to  her  rate :  she  got  the  ring. 
And  I  had  that,  which  any  inferior  might 
At  market-price  have  bought. 

Dia.  I  must  be  patient  j 

You,  that  turn'd  off  a  first  so  noble  wife, 
May  justly  diet  me.'    I  pray  you  yet, 
(Since  you  lack  virtue,  I  will  lose  a  husband,) 
Send  for  your  ring,  I  will  return  it  home. 
And  give  me  mine  again. 

Ber.  I  have  it  not. 

King,  What  ring  was  yours,  I  pray  you? 

Dia.  Sir,  much  like 

The  same  upon  your  finger. 

King.  Know  vou  this" ring?  this  ring  was  his  of 
late.     ■  ' 

Dia.  And  this  was  it  I  gave  him,  being  a-bed. 

King.  The  stor}'  then  goes  false,  you  threw  it  him 
Out  of  a  casement. 

Dia.  .        I  have  spoke  the  truth. 

Enter  Parolles. 

Ber.  My  lord,  I  do  confess  the  ring  was  hers. 

King.  1  ou  boggle  slirewdly,  every  feather  staria 

you. 

Is  this  the  man  you  speak  of? 

Dia.  Ay,  my  lord. 

King.  Tell  me,  sirrah,  but  tell  me  true,  I  charge 
you, 
Not  fearing  the  displeasure  of  your  master 
(Which,  on  your  just  proceeding,  I'll  keep  off,) 
I3y  him,  and  by  this  woman  here,  what  know  you  ? 

Par.  So  please  your  majesty,  my  master  "hath 
been  an  honourable  gentleman ;  tricks  he  hath  had 
in  him,  which  gentlemen  have. 

King.  Come,  come,  to  the  purpose :  Did  he  love 
this  woman  ? 

Par.  'Faith,  sir,  he  did  love  her ;  But  how? 

King.  How,  I  pray  you  ? 

Par.  He  did  love  ner,  sir,  as  a  gentleman  loTCS 
a  woman. 

King.  How  is  that  ? 

Par.  He  loved  her,  sir,  and  loved  her  not.* 

King.  As  thou  art  a  knave,  and  no  knave:— 
What  an  equivocal  companion'"  is  this? 

Par.  I  am  a  poor  man,  and  at  your  majesty'* 
command. 

(7)  Love's. 

(8)  Her  solicitation  concurring  with  her  appear- 
ance of  being  common. 

(9)  May  justly  make  me  fast.        (10)  Fellow. 


Scene  III. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


251 


Laf.  He's  a  good  drum,  my  lord,  but  a  naug-hty 
orator. 

Dia.  Do  you  know,  he  promised  me  marriage  ? 

Par.  'Faith,  I  know  more  than  I'll  speak. 

King.  But  wilt  thou  not  speak  all  thou  know'st? 

Par.  Yes,  so  please  vour  majesty ;  I  did  go  be- 
tween them,  as  I  said ;  but  more  than  that,  he  loved 
her. — for,  indeed,  he  was  mad  for  her,  and  talked  of 
Satan,  and  of  limbo,  and  of  furies,  and  I  know  not 
what :  yet  I  was  in  that  credit  with  them  at  that 
time,  that  I  knew  of  their  going  to  bed  :  and  of 
other  motions,  as  promising  her  marriage,  and 
things  that  would  derive  me  ill  Avill  to  speak  of, 
therefore  I  will  not  speak  what  I  know. 

King.  Thou  hast  spoken  all  already,  unless  thou 
canst  say  they  are  married :  But  thou  art  too  line' 
in  thy  evidence :  therefore  stand  aside. — 
This  ring,  you  say,  was  yours  ? 

Dia.  Ay,  my  good  lord. 

King.  \Vhere  did  you  buy  it  ?  or  who  gave  it  you  ? 

Dia.  It  was  not  given  me,  nor  I  did  not  buy  it. 

King.  Who  lent  it  you  ? 

Dia.  It  was  not  lent  me  neither. 

King.  Where  did  you  find  it  then  ? 

Dia.  I  found  it  not. 

King.  If  it  were  yours  by  none  of  all  these  ways. 
How  could  you  give  it  him  V 

Dia.  I  never  j^ave  it  him. 

Laf.  This  woman's  an  easy  glove,  my  lord ;  she 
goes  off  and  on  at  pleasure. 

King.  This  ring  was  mine,  I  gave  it  his  first  wife. 

Dia.  It  might  be  yours,  or  hers,  for  aught  I  know. 

King.  Take  her  away,  I  do  not  like  her  now :    • 
To  prison  with  her :  and  away  with  him. — 
Unless  thou  tell'st  me  where  thou  hadst  this  ring, 
Thou  diest  within  this  hour. 

Dia.  I'll  never  tell  you. 

King.  Take  her  away. 

Dia.  _  I'll  put  in  bail,  my  liege. 

King.  I  think  thpe  now  some  common  customer.^ 

Dia.  By  Jove,  if  ever  I  knew  man,  'twas  you. 

King.  Wherefore  hast  thou  accus'd  him  all  this 
while  ? 

Dia.  Because  he's  guilty,  and  he  is  not  guiltv ; 
He  knows,  I  am  no  maid,'  and  he'll  swear  to't': 
ril  swear,  I  am  a  maid,  and  he  knows  not. 
Great  king,  I  am  no  strumpet,  by  my  life  ; 
I  dm  either  maid,  or  else  this  old  man's  wife, 

[Pointing  to  Lafcu. 

King.  She  does  abuse  our  ears  ;  to  prison  with 
her. 

Dia.  Good  mother,  fetch  my  bail.— Stay,  royal 
^,     .      sir;  [Erjf  Widow. 

The  jeweller,  thatowes»  the  ring,  is  sent  for. 
And  he  shall  surety  me.     But  for  this  lord. 
Who  hath  abus'd  me,  as  he  knows  himself, 
Though  yet  he  never  harm'd  me,  here  I  quit  him  : 
He  knows  himself,  my  bed  he  hath  defil'd  ; 
And  at  that  time  he  got  his  wife  with  child  : 
Dead  though  she  be,  she  feels  her  young  one  kick ; 
So  there's  my  riddle.  One,  that's  dead.  Is  quick  : 
And  now  behold  the  meaning. 

Re-enter  Widow,  with  Helena. 

■^'"ff'  Is  there  no  cxorcisf 


Beguiles  the  truer  office  of  mine  ftyes  ? 
Is't  real,  that  I  see  ? 

Hel.  No,  my  good  lord ; 

'Tis  but  the  shadow  of  a  wife  you  see, 
The  name,  and  not  the  thing. 

Ber.  Both,  both  •  O,  pardon ! 

Hel.  O,  my  good  lord,  when  I  was  like  this  maid, 
I  found  you  wondrous  kind.    There  is  your  ring, 
And,  look  you,  here's  your  letter  ;  This  it  says. 
When  from  my  finger  you  can  get  this  ring. 
And  are  hi  me  with  child,  &c— This  is  done  : 
Will  you  be  mine,  now  you  are  doubly  won  ? 

Ber.  If  she,  my  liege,  can  make  me  know  this 
clearly, 
I'll  love  her  dearly,  ever,  ever  dearly. 

Hel.  If  it  appear  not  plain,  and  prove  untrue, 
Deadly  divorce  step  between  me  and  you ! — 
O,  my  dear  mother,  do  I  see  you  linng  ? 

Laf.  Mine  eyes  smell  onions,  I  shall  weep  anon : 
—Good  Tom  Drum,  [To  Parolles,]  lend  me  a 
handkerchief:  So,  I  thank  thee  ;  wait  on  me  home, 
I'll  make  sport  with  thee :  Let  thy  courtesies  alone, 
Ihcv  are  scurvy  ones. 

Kin^.  Let  us  from  point  to  point  this  stor)-  know. 
To  make  the  even  truth  in  pleasure  flow : — 
If  thou  be'st  yet  a  fresh  uncropped  flower, 

[To  Diana. 
Choose  thou  thy  husband,  and  I'll  pay  thy  dower ; 
For  I  can  guess,  that,  by  the  honest  aid. 

Thou  kept'st  a  wife  herself,  thyself  a  maid 

Of  that,  and  all  l]\z  progress,  more  and  less. 
Resolvedly  more  leisure  shall  express  : 
All  yet  seems  v.cH  ;  and  if  it  end  so  meet. 
The  bitter  past,  more  welcome  is  the  sweet. 

[Flourish, 
Jldvancing. 

The  Jcing''s  a  begf^ar,  noto  the  play  is  done: 
All  is  well-ended,  if  this  suit  be  won. 
That  you  express  content ;  which  we  will  pay. 
With  strife  to  please  you,  day  exceeding  day : 
Ours  be  your  patience  then,  and  yours  our  parts  ;• 
Four  gentle  hands  lend  us,  and  take  our  hearts. 

[Exetmt. 


(1)  Too  artful. 
(3)  Ofms. 


(2)  Common  woman. 
14)  Enchanter. 


This  play  has  manv  delightful  scenes,  though 
not  suiiiciently  probable ;  arid  some  happy  charac- 
ters, though  not  new,  nor  produced  by  anv  deep 
knowledge  of  human  nature.  Parolles  is  a  boaster 
and  a  coward,  such  as  has  alwavs  been  the  sport 
of  the  stage,  but  perhaps  never  raised  more  laugh- 
ter or  contempt  than  in  the  hands  of  Shakspeare. 

I  cannot  reconcile  my  heart  to  Bertram ;  a  man 
noble  without  ircnerosity,  and  young  without 
truth ;  who  marries  Helen  as  a  coward,  "and  leaves 
her  as  a  proliigate :  when  she  is  dead  by  his  un- 
kindness,  sneaks  home  to  a  second  marriage,  is  ac- 
cused by  a  woman  whom  he  has  wronged,  defends 
himself  by  falsehood,  and  is  dismissed  to  happiness. 

The  story  of  Bertram  and  Diana  had  been  told 
before  of  Mariana  and  Anpelo,  and,  to  confess  the 
truth,  scarcely  merited  to  be  heard  a  second  time. 
JOHNSON. 

(5)  t.  e.  Hear  us  without  interruption,  and  take 
our  parts,  that  is,  support  and  defend  us. 


(    252    ) 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


Jl  Lord.  ■\ 

Christopher  Sly,  o  drunken  tinker.     /  Persons  in 
Hostess,  Page,  Players,  Huntsmen,  V  the  Induc- 

and  other  Servants  attending  on  \  tion. 

the  Lord.  ^ 

Baptista,  a  rich  gentleman  of  Padua. 
Vincentio,  a7i  old  gentleman  of  Pisa. 
Lucentio,  son  to  Vincentio,  in  love  with  Bianca. 
Petruchio,  o  gentleman  of  Verona,   a   suitor  to 
Katharina. 

Gremio,      I  suUors  to  Bianco. 
Hortensio,  J 

Bi'onddloJ"''^'''"'^'''^""'^'^''- 

CurtU°'  \  s^"""'*  '0  Petruchio. 

Pedant,  an  old  fellow  set  up  topersoiuUe  Vincentio. 

^!^hir^s^"''  I'^-'f'"-  ^0  Baptista. 
Widow. 


Tmlor,  Haberdasher,  and  Servants,  attending  on 
Baptista  and  Petruchio. 


Scene,  sotnetimes  in  Padua,  and  sometimes  in  Pe- 
truchUPs  House  in  the  Country. 


CHARACTERS  IN  THE  INDUCTION. 

To  the  Original  Play  of  The  Taming  of  a  Shrew. 
entered  on  the  Stationers'  books  in  1594,  and 
printed  in  quarto  in  1607. 

Jl  Lord,  &'C. 

Sly.      ^ 

Ji  Tapster. 

Page,  Players,  Huntsmen,  SfC. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 

Alphonsus,  a  merchant  ofMhens. 

Jerobel,  Duke  of  Cestus. 

Aurelius,  his  son,  )   ^.^^^^  ^^  ^,^^  daughters  of  ^.. 

Polidor,'  S  ?'"'"«"^- 

Valeria,  servant  to  Jlxirelius. 

Sander,  servant  to  Ferando. 

Phylotus,  a  merchant  who  personates  the  Duke. 


la, ) 


daughters  to  Mphonsus. 


Kate, 

Emelia, 

Phylema 

Tailor,  Haberdasher,  and  Servants  to  Ferando  and 
Mplwnsus. 

Scene,  Athens  ;  and  sometimes  Ferando's  Country 
House. 


INDUCTION. 

SCEJ^E  L — Before  cin   Mehonse  on  a  Heath. 
Enter  Hostess  aiid  Sly. 

Sly. 

I'LL  pheese'  yon,  in  faith. 

Host.  A  pair  of  stocks,  you  ro^ue  ! 

Sly.  Y'are  a  bagpage  ;  the  Slies  are  no  roprues  : 
Look  in  the  chronicles,  we  came  in  ■with  Richard 
Conqueror.  Therefore,  paucas  pallabris  ;^  let  the 
world  slide :   Sessa ." 

Host.  You  will  not  pay  for  tlje  glasses  you  have 
burst?* 

Sly.  No,  not  a  denier :  Go  by,  says  Jeronimy ; — 
Go  to  thy  cold  bed,  and  warm  thee.' 

Host.  I  know  my  remedy,  I  must  go  fetch  the 
thirdborough.^  [Exit. 

Sly.  Third,  or  fourth,  or  fifth  borough,  I'll  an- 
swer him  by  law  :  I'll  not  budge  an  inch,  boy ;  let 
him  come,  and  kindly. 

[lies  down  on  the  ground,  and  falls  asleep. 

(\)  Beat  or  knock.  (2)  Few  words. 

(3)  Be  quiet.  (4)  Broke. 

(5)  This  line  and  the  scrap  of  Spanish  is  used  in 
burlesque  from  an  old  play  called  Hieronymo,  or 
the  Spanish  Tragedy. 


Wind  horns.    Enter  a  Lord  from  hunting,  with 
Huntsmen  and  Serva7its. 

Lord.  Huntsman,  I  charge  thee,  tender  well  my 

hounds ; 
Brach'  Merriman, — the  poor  cur  is  emboss'd,* 
And  couple  Clowder  with  the  deep-mouth'd  brach. 
Saw'st  thou  not,  boy,  how  Silver  made  it  good 
At  the  hedge  corner,  in  the  coldest  fault  ? 
I  would  not  lose  the  dog  for  twenty  pound. 

1  Hun.  Whyj  Belman  is  as  good  as  he,  my  lord ; 
He  cried  upon  it  at  the  merest  loss, 
And  tivice  to-day  pick'd  out  the  dullest  scent: 
Trust  me,  I  take  him  for  the  better  dog. 

Lord.  Thou  art  a  fool ;  if  Echo  were  as  fleet, 
I  would  esteem  him  worth  a  dozen  such. 
But  sup  them  well,  and  look  unto  them  all ; 
To-morrow  I  intend  to  hunt  again. 

1  Hun.  I  will,  my  lord. 

Lord.  What's  here  ?  one  dead,  or  drunk  ?  Sec, 
doth  he  breathe  ? 

2  Hun.  He  breathes,  my  lord :    Were  he  not 

warm'd  with  ale. 
This  were' a  bed  but  cold  to  sleep  so  soundly. 
Lord.  O  monstrous  beast !  how  like  a  swine  he 

lies ! 
Grim  death,  how  foul  and  loathsome  is  thine  image ! 

(6)  An  officer  whose  authority  equals  a  constable, 

(7)  Bitch.  (8)  Strained. 


Induction. 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


253 


Sirs,  I  will  practise  on  thi;?  drunken  man. 

^Vhat  think  you,  if  he  were  convey'd  to  bed, 
Wrapp'd  in  sweet  clothes,  rincrs  put  upon  his  lingers, 
A  most  delicious  banquet  by  his  bed, 
And  brave  attendants  near  him  when  he  wakes. 
Would  not  the  beggar  then  foreet  himself? 

1  Hun.   Believe  me,  lord,  1  think  he  cannot 

choose. 

2  Hun.  It  would  seem  strange  unto  him  when 

he  wak'd. 
Lord.  Even  as  a  flattering  dream,  or  worthless 

fancy. 
Then  take  him  up,  and  manage  well  the  jest : — 
Carry  him  gently  to  my  fairest  chamber. 
And  nang  it  round  with  all  my  wanton  pictures : 
Balm  his  foul  head  with  warm  distilled  waters, 
And  burn  sweet  wood  to  make  the  lodging  sweet : 
Procure  me  music  ready  when  lie  wakes. 
To  make  a  dulcet  and  a  heavenly  sound  j 
And  if  he  chance  to  speak,  be  ready  straight. 
And,  with  a  low  submissive  reverence. 
Say, — What  is  it  your  honour  will  command  ? 
Let  one  attend  him  with  a  silver  bason, 
Full  of  rose-water,  and  bestrew'd  with  flowers ; 
Another  bear  the  ewer,'  the  third  a  diaper,- 
And  say, — Will't  please  your  lordship  cool  your 

hands  ? 
Some  one  be  ready  with  a  costly  suit, 
And  ask  him  what  apparel  he  will  wear ; 
Another  tell  him  of  his  hounds  and  horse, 
And  that  his  lady  mourns  at  his  disease  : 
Persuade  him,  that  he  hath  been  lunatic  ; 
And,  when  he  says  he  is — ,  say,  that  he  dreams. 
For  he  is  nothing  but  a  mighty  lord. 
This  do,  and  do  it  kindly,'  gentle  sirs ; 
It  will  be  pastime  passing  excellent, 
If  it  be  husbanded  with  modesty.* 

1  Hun.  My  lord,  I  warrant  you,  we'll  play  our 

part^ 
As  he  shall  think,  by  our  true  diligence. 
He  is  no  less  than  what  we  say  he  is. 

Lord.  Take  him  up  gently,  and  to  bed  with  him ; 
And  each  one  to  his  office,  when  he  wakes. — 

[Some  bear  out  Sly.    ^  trtunpet  sounds. 
Sirrah,  go  see  what  trumpet  'tis  that  sounds : — 

[Exit  Servant. 
Belike,  some  noble  gentleman ;  that  means. 
Travelling  some  journey,  to  repose  him  here. — 

Re-enter  a  Servant. 
How  now  ?  who  is  it  ? 

Serv.  An  it  please  your  honour, 

Players  that  offer  service  to  your  lordship. 

Lord.  Bid  them  come  near : — 

Enter  Players. 

Now,  fellows,  you  are  welcome. 

1  Play.  We  thank  your  honour. 

Lord.  Do  you  intend  to  stay  with  me  to-night  ? 

2  Play.  So  please  your  lordship  to  accept  our 

duty. 
Lord.    With  all  my  heart.— This  fellow  I  re- 
member. 
Since  once  he  play'd  a  farmer's  eldest  son ; — 
»Twas  where  you  woo'd  the  gentlewoman  so  well 
I  have  forgot  your  name ;  but,  sure,  that  part 
Was  aptly  fitted,  and  naturally  perform'd. 

1  Play.  I  think,  'twas  Soto  that  your  honour 

means. 

Lord.  'Tis  very  true  ; — thou  didst  it  excellent. — 
Well,  you  are  come  to  me  in  happy  time  ; 
The  rather  for  I  have  some  sport  in  hand, 

(1)  Pitcher.       (2)  Napkin.       (3)  Naturally. 


Wherein  your  coming  can  assist  me  much. 
There  is  a  lord  will  hear  )'ou  play  to-night: 
But  I  am  doubtful  of  your  modesties ; 
Lest,  over-eying  of  hb  odd  behaviour 

iFor  yet  his  honour  never  heard  a  play,) 
"ou  break  into  some  merry  passion. 
And  so  oflend  him ;  for  I  tell  you,  sirs. 
If  you  should  smile,  he  grows  impatient, 
i  Play.  Fear  not,  my  lord  ;  we  can  contain  our 
selves. 
Were  he  the  veriest  antic  in  the  world. 

Lord.  Go,  sirrah,  take  them  to  the  buttery. 
And  give  them  friendly  welcome  every  one  : 
Let  them  want  nothing  that  my  house  affords. — 

[Exeunt  Servant  and  Players. 
Sirrah,  go  you  to  Bartholomew  my  page, 

[To  a  Servant. 
And  see  him  di  ess'd  in  all  suits  like  a  lady : 
That  done,  conduct  him  to  the  drunkard's  chamber, 
And  call  him — madam,  do  him  obeisance. 
Tell  him  from  me  (as  he  will  win  my  love,) 
He  bear  himself  with  honourable  action. 
Such  as  he  hath  observ'd  in  noble  ladies 
Unto  their  lords,  by  them  accomplished : 
Such  duty  to  the  drunkard  let  him  do. 
With  soft  low  tongue,  and  lowly  courtesy  , 
And  say, — \Vliat  is't  your  honour  will  command, 
Wherein  your  lady,  and  your  humble  wife. 
May  show  her  duty,  and  make  known  her  love  ? 
And    then — with   kind    embracements,    tempting 

kisses, 
And  with  declining  head  into  his  bosom, — 
Bid  him  shed  tears,  as  being  overjoy'd 
To  see  her  noble  lord  restor'd  to  health. 
Who,  for  twice  seven  years,  hath  esteemed  him 
No  better  than  a  poor  and  loathsome  beggar  : 
And  if  the  boy  have  not  a  woman's  gift. 
To  rain  a  shower  of  commanded  tears. 
An  onion  will  do  well  for  such  a  shift : 
Which  in  a  napkin  being  close  convey'd, 
Siiall  in  despite  enforce  a  watery  eye. 
See  this  despatch'd  with  all  the'haste  thou  canst ; 

Anon  I'll  give  thee  more  instructions. 

[Exit  Servant. 
I  know,  the  boy  will  well  usurp  the  grace. 
Voice,  gait,  and  action  of  a  gentlewoman  : 
I  long  to  hear  him  call  the  drunkard,  husband  ; 
And    how    my   men   will    stay  themselves  from 

lauchter. 
When  they  do  homage  to  this  simple  peasant. 
I'll  in  to  counsel  them :  haply,'  mv  presence 
May  well  abate  the  over-merry  spleen. 
Which  otherwise  would  grow  into  extremes. 

[Exeufit. 

SCEXE  //.—.?  Bedchamber  in  the  Lord's  house. 
Sly  is  discovered  in  a  rich  nightgoicn,  tcith  at- 
tendants ;  some  with  apparel,  others  with  basotif 
eicer,  and  other  appurtenances.  Enter  Lord, 
dressed  like  a  Servatit. 

Sly.  For  God's  sake,  a  pot  of  small  ale. 

1  Serr.  Will't  please  your  lordship  drink  a  cup 

of  sack? 

2  Serr.  Will't  please  your  honour  taste  of  theae 

conserves  ? 

3  Serr.  What  raiment  will  your  honour  wear  to- 

day? 

Sly.  I  am  Christ  ophero  Sly;  call  not  me — honour. 

nor  lordship :  I  never  drank  sack  in  my  life  ;  and 

if  you  give  me  any  conserves,  give  me  conserves 

of  beef :  Ne'er  ask  me  what  raiment  I'll  wear ;  tof 


(4)  Moderation. 


(5)  Perhaps, 


254 


Taming  of  tme  shrew. 


Seent  IL 


I  hare  no  more  doublets  than  backs,  no  more  stock- 
ings than  legs,  nor  no  more  shoes  than  feet ;  nay, 
sometimes,  more  feet  than  shoes,  or  such  shoes  as 
my  toes  look  through  the  overleather. 

Lord.   Heaven  cease  this  idle  humour  in  your 
honour ! 
O,  that  a  mighty  man,  of  such  descent, 
Of  such  possessions,  and  so  high  esteem, 
Should  be  infused  ^vith  so  foul  a  spirit ! 

Sly.  What,  would  vou  make  me  mad  ?  Am  not 
I  Christopher  Sly,  old  Sly's  son  of  Burton-heath; 
by  birth  a  pedler,  by  education  a  card-maker,  by 
ti-ansmutation  a  bear-herd,  and  now  by  present 
profession  a  tinker  ?  Ask  Marian  Hacket,  the  fat 
ale  wife  of  Wincot,  if  she  know  me  not :  if  she  say 
I  am  not  fourteen  pence  0!»  the  score  for  sheer  ale, 
score  me  up  for  the  lyingest  knave  in  Christendom. 
What,  I  am  not  bestraught : '  Here's 

1  Serv.  O,  this  it  is  that  makes  your  lady  mourn. 

2  Strv.  O,  this  it  Is  that  mates  your  servants 

droop. 
Lord,  Hence  comes  it  that  your  kindred  shun 

your  "house. 
As  beaten  hence  by  your  strange  lunacy.  ' 

O,  noble  lord,  bethink  thee  of  thv  birth ; 
Call  home  thy  ancient  thoughts  from  banishment, 
And  banish  hence  these  abject  lov.ly  dreams  : 
Look  how  thy  servants  do  attend  on  thee, 
Each  in  his  office  ready  at  thy  beck. 
Wilt  thou  have  music  ?  hark !  Apollo  plays, 

[Music, 
And  twenty  caged  ni'_'htingales  do  sing  : 
Or  wilt  thou  sleep  ?  we'll  have  thee  to  a  etouch, 
Softer  and  sweeter  than  the  lustful  bed 
On  purpose  trimm'd  up  for  Semiramis. 
Say,  thou  wilt  walk  :  we  will  bestrew  the  ground : 
Or'wilt  thou  ride  ?  thy  horses  shall  be  trapp'd, 
Their  harness  studded  all  with  gold  and  pearl. 
Dost  thou  love  hawking?  thou  hast  hawks  will  soar 
Above  the  morning  lark :  Or  wilt  thou  hunt  ? 
Thy  hounds  shall  make  the  welkin  answer  them, 
And  fetch  shrill  echoes  from  the  hollow  earth. 

1  Strv.  Say,  thou  wilt  course ;  thy  greyhounds 

are  as  swift 
As  breathed  stags,  ay,  fleeter  than  the  roe. 

2  Strt.  Dost  thou  love  pictures  ?  we  will  fetch 

thee  straight 
Adonis,  painted  by  a  running  brook  : 
And  Cytherea  all  in  sedges  hid  ; 
Which  seem  to  move  and  wanton  with  her  breath. 
Even  as  the  waving  sedges  play  with  wind. 

Lord.  We'll  show  thee  lo,  as  she  was  a  maid  ; 
And  how  she  was  beguiled  and  surpris'd. 
As  lively  painted  as  the  deed  was  done. 

S  5kn>.  Or  Daphne,  roaming  through  a  thorny 
wood ; 
Scratching  her  legs  that  one  shall  swear  she  bleeds  ; 
And  at  that  sight  shall  sad  Apollo  weep. 
So  workmanly  the  blood  and  tears  are  draivn. 

Lord.  Thou  art  a  lord,  and  nothing  but  a  lord  ; 
Thou  hast  a  lady  far  more  beautiful 
Than  any  woman  in  this  waning  age. 

1  Sen.  And,  till  the  tears  that  she  hath  shed  for 
thee. 
Like  envious  floods,  o'er-ran  her  lovely  face. 
She  was  the  fairest  creature  in  the  world  ; 
And  yet  she  is  inferior  to  none. 

Sly.  Am  I  a  lord  ?  and  have  I  such  a  lady  ? 
Or  do  I  dream  ?  or  have  I  dream'd  till  now  ? 
I  do  not  sleep :  I  see,  I  hear,  I  speak  ; 
1  smell  sweet  savours,  and  I  feel  soft  things : — 
Upon  my  life,  I  am  a  lord,  indeed ; 

(l)  Distracted.       (2)  FaiUi.      (3)  Court-leet. 


'And  not  a  tinker,  nor  Christophero  Sly. — 
Well,  bring  our  lady  hither  to  our  sight ; 
And  once  asrain,  a  pot  o'  the  smallest  ale. 

2  Serv.  Vv'ill't  please  your  mightiness  ta  wash 

your  hands  ? 
[Servants  present  an  etcer,  bason,  and  napkin. 
O,  how  %ve  joy  to  see  your  wit  restor'd  ! 
O,  that  once  more  you  knew  but  what  you  are ! 
These  fifteen  years  you  have  been  in  a  dream  ; 
Or,  when  you  wak'd,  so  wak"d  as  if  you  slept. 

Sly.  These  fifteen  years !  by  my  fay,*  a  goodly 
nap. 
But  did  I  never  speak  of  all  that  time  ? 

1  Sen.  O,  yes,  my  lord ;  but  very  idle  words  :— • 
For  though  you  lay  here  in  this  goodly  chamber. 
Yet  would  you  say,  ye  were  beaten  out  of  door; 
And  rail  upon  the  hostess  of  the  house  ; 
And  say,  you  would  present  her  at  the  leet,* 
Because  she  broughtstone  jugs  and  no  seal'd  quarts: 
Sometimes  you  would  call  out  for  Cicely  Hacket, 

Sly.  Ay,  the  ivoman's  maid  of  the  house. 

3  Serv.  Why,  sir,  you  know  no  house,  nor  no 

such  maid  ; 
Nor  no  such  men,  as  you  have  reckon'd  up, — 
As  Stephen  Sly,  and  old  John  Naps  of  Greece, 
And  Peter  Turf,  and  Henry  Pimpernell ; 
And  t^venly  more  such  names  and  men  as  these, 
Wlrich  never  were,  nor  no  man  ever  saw. 

Sly.  Now,  Lord  be  thanked  for  my  good  amends ! 

.^U.  Amen. 

Sly.  I  thank  thee  ;  thou  shalt  not  lose  by  it. 
linter  the  Page,  as  a  lady,  with  attendants. 

Page.  How  fares  my  noble  lord  ? 

Sly.  Marry,  I  fare  well ;  for  here  is  cheer  enough. 
Where  is  my  wife  ? 

Page.  Herc,noblelord;  Whatisthywillwithher? 

Sly,  Are  you  my  wife,  and  will  not  call  me— 
husband  ? 
My  men  should  call  me — lord ;  I  am  your  goodman. 

Page.  My  husband  and  my  lord,  my  lord  and 
husband  ; 
I  am  your  wife  in  all  obedience. 

Sly.  I  know  it  well : — What  must  I  call  her? 

Lord.  Madam. 

Sly.  Al'ce  madam,  or  Joan  madam  ? 

Lm-d,  Madam,  and  nothing  else ;  so  lords  call 
ladies. 

Sly.  Madam  wife,  they  say  that  I  have  dream'd, 
and  slept 
Above  some  fifteen  year  and  more. 

Page.  Ay,  and  the  time  seems  thirty  unto  me : 
Being  all  this  time  abandon'd  from  your  bed. 

Sly.  'Tis  much ; Servants,  leave  me  and  hei 

alone. 

Madam,  undress  you,  and  come  now  to  bed. 

Page.  Thrice  noble  lord,  let  me  entreat  of  you, 
To  pardon  me  yet  for  a  night  or  two  ; 
Or,  if  not  so,  until  the  sun  be  set : 
For  your  physicians  have  expressly  charg'd, 
In  peril  to  incur  your  former  malady, 
That  I  should  yet  absent  me  from  your  bed  : 
I  hope,  this  reason  stands  for  my  excuse. 

Sly.  Ay,  it  stands  so,  that  I  mav  hardly  tarry  so 
long.  But  I  would  be  loath  to  fall  into  mv  dreams 
again  ;  I  will  therefore  tarry,  in  despite  of  the  flesh 
and  the  blood. 

Enter  a  Servant. 

SeiT.    Your    honour's    players,  hearing    your 
amendment. 
Are  come  to  play  a  pleasant  comedy. 
For  so  your  doctors  hold  it  very  meet ; 
Seeing  too  much  sadness  hath  congeal'd  your  bloody 


Act  I. 


TAMING  DP  THE  SHREW. 


255 


And  melancholy  is  the  nurse  or  frenzy, 
Therefore,  they  thought  it  good  you  hear  a  play, 
And  frame  your  mind  to  mirth  and  merriment, 
Which  bars  a  thousand  harms,  and  lengthens  life. 

Sly.  Marry,  I  will ;  let  them  play  it :  Is  not  a 
commonty'  a  Christmas  gambol,  or  a  tumbling- 
trick? 

Page.  No,  my  good  lord ;  it  is  more  pleasing 
stuff. 

Sly.  What,  household  stuff? 

Page.  It  is  a  kind  of  history. 

Sly.  Well,  we'll  see't:  Come,  madam  wife,  sit 
by  my  side,  and  let  the  world  slip  •  we  shall  ne'er 
be  younger.  [They  sit  down. 


ACT  I. 


SCE^TE   /.—Padua.     A  Public  Place. 
Lucentio  and  Tranio. 


Enter 


Luc.  Tranio,  since— for  the  great  desire  I  had 
To  see  fair  Padua,  nursery  of  arts, — 
I  am  arriv'd  for  fruitful  Lombardy, 
The  pleasant  garden  of  great  Italy  ; 
And,  by  my  father's  love  and  leave,  am  arm'd 
With  his  good  will,  and  thy  good  companj', 
Most  trusty  servant,  well  approv'd  in  all ; 
Here  let  us  breathe,  and  happily  institute 
A  course  of  learning,  and  ingenious^  studies. 
Pisa,  renowned  for  grave  citizens, 
Gave  me  my  being,  and  my  father  first, 
A  merchant  of  great  traffic  through  the  world, 
Vincentio,  come  of  the  Bentivolii. 
Vincentio  his  son,  brought  up  in  Florence, 
It  shall  become,  to  serve  all  hopes  conceiv'd, 
To  deck  his  fortune  with  his  virtuous  deeds  : 
And  therefore,  Tranio,  for  the  time  I  stud}', 
Virtue,  and  that  part  of  philosophy 
Will  I  apply,  that  treats  of  happiness 
By  virtue  'specially  to  be  achiev'd. 
Tell  me  thy  mind  :  for  I  have  Pisa  left. 
And  am  to  Padua  come ;  as  he  that  leaves 
A  shallow  plash,'  to  plunge  him  in  the  deep, 
And  with  satiety  seeks  to  quench  his  thirst. 

Tra.  Mi  peraonate,'  gentle  master  mine, 
I  am  in  all  affected  as  yourself; 
Glad  that  you  thus  continue  your  resolve, 
To  suck  the  sweets  of  sweet  philosophy. 
Only,  good  master,  while  we  do  admire 
This  virtue,  and  this  moral  discipline, 
Let's  be  no  stoics,  nor  no  stocks,  I  pray  : 
Or  so  devote  to  Aristotle's  checks,' 
As  Ovid  be  an  outcast  quite  abjur'd  • 
Talk  logic  with  acquaintance  that  you  have, 
And  practice  rhetoric  in  your  common  talk  : 
Music  and  poesy  use  to  quicken^  you  ; 
The  mathematics,  and  the  metaphysics, 
Fall  to  them,  as  you  find  your  stomach  serves  you : 
No  profit  grows,  where  is  no  pleasure  ta'cn ; — 
In  brief,  sir,  study  what  you  most  affect. 

Luc.  Gramercies,  Tranio,  well  dost  thou  advise. 
If,  Biondello,  thou  wcrt  come  ashore. 
We  could  at  once  put  us  in  readiness  ; 
And  take  a  lodging,  fit  to  entertain 
Such  friends,  as  time  in  Padua  shall  beget. 
But  stav  awhile  :  What  company  is  this  ? 

Tra.  faster,  some  show,  to  welcome  us  to  town. 


E)iter  Baptista,  Katharina,  Bianca,  Gremlo,  and 
Hortensio.    Lucentio  and  Tranio  stand  aside. 

Bap.  Gentlemen,  imp6rtune  me  no  further, 
For  now  I  firmly  am  resolv'd  you  know ; 
That  is, — not  to  bestow  my  youngest  daughter, 
Before  I  have  a  husband  tor  the  elder : 
If  either  of  you  both  love  Katharina, 
Because  I  know  you  well,  and  love  you  well. 
Leave  shall  you  have  to  court  her  at  your  pleasure, 

Gre.  To  cart  her  rather :  She's  too  rough  for  me  ; 
There,  there,  Hortensio,  will  you  any  wife  ? 

Kath.  I  pray  you,  sir,  [To  Bap.]  is  it  your  wih 
To  make  a  stale'  of  me  amongst  these  mates  ? 

Hor.  Mates,  maid !    how  mean  you  that  ?    no 
mates  for  you. 
Unless  you  were  of  gentler,  milder  mould. 

Kath.  Pfaith,  sir,  you  shall  never  need  t*  fear ; 
I  wis,'  it  is  not  halfway  to  her  heart :  ^ 

But,  if  it  were,  doubt  not  her  care  should  be 
To  comb  your  noddle  with  a  three-legg'd  stool, 
And  paint  your  face,  and  use  you  like  a  fool. 

Hor.  From  all  such  devils,  good  Lord,  deliver  us ! 

Gre.  And  me  too,  good  Lord  ! 

Tra.  Hush,  master !  here  is  some  good  pastime 
toward ; 
That  wench  is  stark  mad,  or  wonderful  froward. 

Luc.  But  in  the  other's  silence  I  do  see 
Maids'  mild  behaviour  and  sobriety. 
Peace,  Tranio. 

Tra.  Well  said,  master :  mum !  and  gaze  your 
fill. 

Bap.  Gentlemen,  that  I  may  soon  make  good 
What  have  I  said, — Bianca,  get  you  in : 
And  let  it  not  displease  thee,  good  Bianca  ; 
For  I  will  love  thee  ne'er  the  less,  my  girl. 

Kath.  A  pretty  peat !"  'tis  best 
Put  finger  in  the  eye, — an  she  knew  why. 

Bian.  Sister,  content  you  in  my  discontent- 
Sir,  to  your  pleasure  humbly  I  subscribe : 
My  books,  and  instruments,  shall  be  my  company ; 
On  them  to  look,  and  practise  by  myself. 

Luc.  Hark,  Tranio  !  thou  may'st  hear  Minerva 
speak.  [jiside. 

Hor.  Signior  Baptista,  will  you  be  so  strange  ? 
Sorry  am  I,  that  our  good  will  effects 
Bianca's  grief. 

Gre.  Why,  will  you  mew"  her  up, 

Signior  Baptista,  for  this  fiend  of  hell, 
And  make  her  bear  the  pehance  of  her  tongue  ? 

Bap.  Gentlemen,  content  ye  ;  I  am  resolv'd  : — 
iGo  in,  Bianca.  [Exit  Bianca. 

[And  for  I  know,  she  taketh  most  delight 
I  In  music,  instruments,  and  poetry, 
I  Schoolmasters  will  I  keep  within  niv  house, 
jFit  to  instruct  her  youth. — If  you,  Hortensio, 
Or  signior  Gremio,  you, — know  any  such, 
Prefe?"  them  hither  ;  for  to  cunning'^  men 
I  will  be  very  kind,  and  liberal 
To  mine  own  children  in  good  bringing-up ; 
And  so  farewell.    Katharina,  you  may  stay : 
For  I  have  more  to  commune  with  Bianca.    \Exit. 

Kath.  Whv,  and  I  trust,  I  may  go  too ;  May  I  not? 
What,  shall  I  be  appointed  hours ;  as  though,  belike, 
I  knew  not  what  to  take,  and  what  to  leave  ?  Ha  ! 

[Exit. 

Gre.  You  may  go  to  the  devil's  dam  ;  your  gifts" 
are  so  good,  here  is  none  will  hold  you.  Their  love 
is  not  so  great,  Hortensio,  but  we  may  blow  our 
nails  together,  and  fast  it  fairly  out ;  our  cake's 
dough  on  both  sides.    Farewell : — Yet,  for  the  love 


(I)  For  comedy. 

IS)  Small  piece  of  water. 

(5)  Harsh  rules. 


(2)  Ingsnuous. 

ii)  Pardon  me. 
6)  Animate. 


(7)  A  bait  or  decoy. 


no)  Shut.  (11)  Recommend, 

(12)  Knowing,  learned. 


(8)  Think.        (9)  Pet. 
mend. 
(13)  Endowments, 


2S0 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


Jet  T, 


I  bear  my  sweet  Bianca,  if  I  can  by  any  means 
light  on  a  fit  man,  to  teach  her  that  wherein  she 
delights,  I  will  wish  him  to  her  father. 
Hor.  So  will  I,  signior  Gremio :  But  a  word,  I 

Eray.  Though  the  nature  of  our  quarrel  yet  never 
rook'd  parle,  know  now,  upon  advice,'  it  touchetli 
us  both, — that  we  may  yet  again  have  access  to  our 
fair  mistress,  and  be  happy  rivals  in  Bianca's  love, 
— to  labour  and  effect  one  thing  'specially. 

Gre.  What's  that,  I  pray  ? 

Hor.  Marry,  sir,  to  get  a  husband  for  her  sister. 

Gre.  A  husband !  a  dkvil. 

Hor.  I  say,  a  husband. 

Gre.  I  say,  a  devil :  Think'st  thou,  Hortensio, 
though  her  father  be  very  rich,  any  man  is  so  very 
a  fool  to  be  married  to  hell? 

Hor.  Tush,  Gremio,  though  it  pass  your  patience, 
and  mine,  to  endure  her  loud  alarums,  why,  man, 
there  be  good  fellows  in  the  world,  an  a  man  could 
light  on  them,  would  take  her  with  all  faults,  and 
money  enough. 

Gre.  I  cannot  tell ;  but  I  had  as  lief  take  her 
dowry  with  this  condition, — to  be  whipped  at  the 
high-cross  every  morning. 

Hor.  'Faith,  as  you  say,  there's  small  choice  in 
rotten  apples.  But,  come ;  since  this  bar  in  law 
makes  us  friends,  it  shall  be  so  far  forth  friendly 
maintained, — till  by  helping  Baptista's  eldest 
daughter  to  a  husband,  we  set  his  youngest  free  for 
a  husband,  and  then  have  to't  afresh.— Sweet  Bi- 
anca ! — Happy  man  be  his  dole !-  He  that  runs  fast- 
est, gets  the  ring.     How  say  you,  signior  Gremio  ? 

Gre.  I  am  agreed  :  and  'would  I  had  given  him 
the  best  horse  in  Padua  to  besin  his  wooinjr,  that 
would  thoroughly  woo  her,  wed  her,  and  bed  her, 
and  rid  the  house  of  her.    Come  on. 

[Exeunt  Gremio  and  Hortensio. 

Tra.   [Mvancing.l   I  pray,  sir,  tell  me, — Is  it 
possible 
That  love  should  of  a  sudden  take  such  hold  ? 

Luc.  O  Tranio,  till  I  found  it  to  be  true, 
I  never  thought  it  possible,  or  likely  ; 
But  see !  while  idly  I  stood  looking  on, 
I  found  the  effect  of  love  in  idleness: 
And  now  in  plainness  do  confess  to  thee, — 
That  art  to  me  as  secret,  and  as  dear. 
As  Anna  to  the  queen  of  Carthage  was, — 
Tranio,  I  burn,  I  pine,  I  perish,  Tranio, 
If  I  achieve  not  this  young  modest  girl: 
Counsel  me,  Tranio,  for  I  know  thou  canst ; 
Assist  me,  Tranio,  for  I  know  thou  wilt. 

Tra.  Master,  it  is  no  time  to  chide  you  now ; 
Affection  is  not  rated'  from  the  heart : 
If  love  have  touch'dyou,  nought  remains  but  so, — 
Jiedime  et  captum  quam  queas  minima. 

Luc.  Gramercies,  lad ;  go  forward :  this  contents ; 
The  rest  will  comfort,  for  thy  counsel's  sound. 

Tra.  Master,  you  look'd  so  longly*  on  the  maid. 
Perhaps  you  mark'd  not  what's  the  pith  of  all. 

Luc,  0  yes,  I  saw  sweet  beauty  in  her  face, 
Such  as  the  daughter'  of  Agenor  bad. 
That  made  great  Jove  to  humble  him  to  her  hand, 
When  with  his  knees  he  kiss'd  the  Cretan  strand. 

Tra,  Saw  you  no  more  ?  mark'd  you  not,  how 
her  sister 
Began  to  scold ;  and  raise  up  such  a  storm,    • 
That  mortal  ears  might  hardly  endure  the  din  ? 

Luc,  Tranio,  I  saw  her  coral  lips  to  move, 
And  with  her  breath  she  did  perfume  the  air ; 
Sacred,  and  sweet,  was  all  I  saw  in  her. 

.1)  Consideration.        (2)  Gain  or  lot. 

2)  Driven  out  by  chiding.        (4)  Longinglyt 

>)  Europa,  '6)  'Tis  enough. 


Tra.  Nay,  then,  'tis  lime  to  stir  him  from  his 
trance. 
I  pray,  awake,  sir:  If  you  love  the  maid. 
Bend  thoughts  and  wits  to  achieve  her.    Thus  it 

stands : 
Her  elder  sister  is  so  curst  and  shrewd, 
That,  till  the  father  rid  his  hands  of  her. 
Master,  your  love  must  live  a  maid  at  home ; 
And  therefore  has  he  closely  mew'd  her  up. 
Because  she  shall  not  be  annoy'd  with  suitors. 

Luc.  Ah,  Tranio,  what  a  cruel  father's  he ! 
But  art  thou  not  advis'd,  he  took  some  care 
To  get  her  cunning  schoolmasters  to  instruct  her? 

Tra.  Ay  marry,  am  I,  sir  ;  and  now  'tis  plotted. 

Luc.  I  have  it,  Tranio. 

Tra.  Master,  for  my  hand. 

Both  our  inventions  meet  and  jump  in  one. 

Luc.  Tell  me  thine  first. 

Tra.  You  will  be  schoolmaster, 

And  undertake  the  teaching  of  the  maid : 
That's  your  device. 

Luc.  It  is :  May  it  be  done  ? 

Tra.  Not  possible ;  for  who  shall  bear  your  part, 
And  be  in  Padua  here  Vincentio's  son  ? 
Keep  house,  and  ply  his  book;  welcome  his  friends ; 
Visit  his  countrymen,  and  banquet  them  ? 

Luc.  Basta  f  content  thee  ;  for  I  have  it  full. 
We  have  not  yet  been  seen  in  any  house  ; 
Nor  can  we  be  distinguished  by  our  faces. 
For  man,  or  master :  then  it  follows  thus  ; — 
Thou  shalt  be  master,  Tranio,  in  my  stead. 
Keep  house,  and  port,"  and  servants,  as  I  should  • 
I  will  some  other  be  ;  some  Florentine, 
Some  Neapolitan,  or  mean  man  of  Pisa. 
'Tis  hatch'd,  and  shall  be  so  : — Tranio,  at  once 
Uncase  thee ;  take  my  colour'd  hat  and  cloak: 
When  Biondcllo  conies,  he  waits  on  thee  ; 
But  I  will  charm  him  first  to  keep  his  tongue.    - 

Tra.  So  had  you  need.     [TItey  exchange  hahts. 
In  brief  then,  sir,  sith"  it  your  pleasure  is, 
And  I  am  tied  to  be  obedient 
(For  so  your  Hither  charg'd  me  at  our  parting ; 
Be  serviceable  to  my  son,  quoth  he. 
Although,  I  think,  'twas  in  another  sense ;) 
I  am  content  to  be  Luccntio, 
Because  so  well  I  love  Lucentio. 

Luc.  Tranio,  be  so,  because  Lucentio  loves : 
And  let  mc  be  a  slave,  to  achieve  that  maid. 
Whose  sudden  sight  hath  thrall'd  my  wounded  eye. 

Enter  Biondello. 

Here  comes  the  rogue. — Sirrah,  where  have  you 
been? 

Bion.  Where  have  I  been  ?  Nay,  how  now,  where 
are  you  ? 
Master,  has  my  fellow  Tranio  stol'n  your  clothes  ? 
Or  you  stol'n  his  ?  or  both  ?  pray,  what's  the  news  ? 

Lite.  Sirrah,  come  hither  ;  'tis  no  time  to  jest. 
And  therefore  frame  your  manners  to  the  time. 
Your  fellow  Tranio  here,  to  save  my  life. 
Puts  my  apparel  and  my  countenance  on, 
And  I  (or  my  escape  have  put  on  his  ; 
For  in  a  quarrel,  since  I  came  ashore, 
I  kill'd  a  man,  and  fear  I  was  descried :' 
Wait  you  on  him,  I  charge  you,  as  becomes. 
While  I  make  way  from  hence  to  save  my  life : 
You  understand  me  ? 

Bion.  I,  sir  ?  ne'er  a  whit. 

Luc.  And  not  a  jot  of  Tranio  in  your  mouth ; 
Tranio  is  chang'd  into  Lucentio. 

-Bion.  The  better  for  him ;  'Would  I  were  so  too , 


(1)  Show,  appearance. 
(9)  Observed. 


(8)  Since. 


Scene  IL 


TAMING  OP  THE  SHllEW. 


2S7 


Tra.  So  would  I,  'faith,  boy,  to  have  the  next 

wish  after, — 

That  Lucentio  indeed  had  Baptista's  youngest 

daughter. 
But,  sirrah, — not  for  my  sake,  but  your  master's, 

I  advise 
You  use  your  manners  discreetly  in  all  kind  of 

companies  ; 
AVhen  I  am  alone,  whj',  then  I  am  Tranio  ; 
But  in  all  places  else,  your  master  Lucentio. 

Luc.  Tranio,  let's  go : — 
One  thing  more  rests,  that  thyself  execute ; — 
To  make  one  among  these  wooers :  If  thou  ask  me 

why,— 
Sufficeth,  my  reasons  are  both  good  and  weightj'. 

[Exennt. 
1  Serv.  My  lord,  you  nod :  you  do  not  mind  the 


Sly.  xes,  by  saint  Anne,  do  I.    Jl  good  matter, 
surely  ;  Comes  there  any  more  of  it  ? 
Page.  My  lord,  His  but  begun. 
Sly.  'Tw  a  very  excellent  piece  of  work,  madam 
lady  ;  '  Would' t  to  ere  done  '. 
SCEM'E   II.—  The   same.      Before   Hortensio's 
house.    Enter  Petruchio  and  Grumio. 
Pet.  Verona,  for  a  while  I  take  my  leave, 
To  see  my  friends  in  Padua ;  but  of  all, 
My  best  beloved  and  approved  friend, 
Hortensio ;  and,  I  trow,  this  is  his  house : 
Here,  sirrah  Grumio ;  knock,  I  sa)'. 

Gru.  Knock,  sir !  whom  should  I  knock  ?  is  there 
any  man  has  rebuked  vour  worship  ? 
Pet.  Villain,  I  say,  Knock  me  here  soundly. 
Gnt.  Knock  you  here,  sir  ?  why,  sir,  what  am  I, 
sir,  that  I  should  knock  you  here,  sir  ? 

Pet.  Villain,  I  say,  knock  me  at  this  gate. 
And  rap  me  well,  or  I'll  knock  your  knave's  pate. 
Gru.  My  master  is  grown  quarrelsome :  I  should 
knock  you  first, 
And  then  I  know  after  who  comes  by  the  worst. 

Pet.  Will  it  not,  be  ? 
'Faith,  sirrah,  and  you'll  not  knock,  I'll  wring  it ; 
I'll  try  how  you  can  sol,  fa,  and  sing  it. 

[He  icrings  Grumio  by  the  ears. 
Gru.  Help,  masters,  help  !  my  master  is  mad. 
Pet.  Now,  knock  when  I  bid  you :  sirrah !  villain ! 

Enter  Hortensio. 
Hor.  How  now  ?  what's  the  matter  ? — My  old 
friend  Grumio  !  and  my  good  friend  Petruchio ! — 
How  do  you  all  at  Verona  ? 

Pet.  Sigiiior  Hortensio,  come  you  to  part  the  fray? 
C'jn  tutto  U  core  bene  Irovalo,  may  I  say. 

Hor.  Jllla  nostra  casa  bene  venuto, 
Molto  konorato  signior  mio  Petruchio. 
Rise,  Grumio,  rise ;  we  will  compound  this  quarrel. 
Gru.  Nay,  'tis  no  matter,  what  he  'leges'  in  Latin 
— if  this  be  not  a  lawful  cause  for  me  to  leave  his 
service, — Look  you,  sir, — he  bid  me  knock  him,  and 
rap  him  soundly,  sir  :   Well,  was  it  fit  for  a  servant 
to  use  his  master  so  ;  being,  perhaps,  (for  aught  I 
pee,)  two  and  thirty, — a  pip  out? 
Whom,  'would  to  God,  1  had  well  knock'd  at  first, 
Then  had  not  Grumio  come  by  the  worst. 

Pet.  A  senseless  villain !— Good  Hortensio, 
I  bade  the  rascal  knock  upon  your  gate. 
And  could  not  get  him  for  my  heart  to  do  it. 

Gru.  Knock  at  the  gate  ? — O  heavens ! 
Spake  you  not  these  words  plain, — Sirrah,  knock 
me  here, 

(1)  Allegeg.  (2)  Few  words. 

(S)  See  the  atory,  No.  39,  of '  A  Tlunisand  JVo- 
mninse,' 


Rap  me  here,  knock  me   icell,  and  knock  mt 

soundly  ? 
And  come  you  now  with — knocking  at  the  gate  ? 

Pet.  Sirrah,  be  gone,  or  talk  not,  I  advise  you. 

Hor.  Petruchio,  patience ;  I  am  Grumio's  pledge: 
Why,  this  is  a  heavy  chance  'twixt  him  and  you ; 
Your  ancient,  trusty,  pleasant  servant  Grumio. 
And  tell  me  now,  sweet  friend, — what  happy  gala 
Blows  you  to  Padua  here,  from  old  Verona  ? 

Pet.  Such  wind  as  scatters  young  men  through 
the  world. 
To  seek  their  fortunes  further  than  at  home. 
Where  small  experience  grows.    But  in  a  few,* 
Signior  Hortensio,  thus  it  stands  with  me : — 
Antonio,  my  father,  is  deceas'd  ; 
And  I  have  thrust  myself  into  this  maze. 
Haply  to  wive,  and  thrive,  as  best  I  may : 
Crowns  in  my  purse  I  have,  and  goods  at  home, 
And  so  am  come  abroad  to  see  the  world. 

Hor.  Petruchio,  shall  I  then  come  roundly  to 
thee. 
And  wish  thee  to  a  shrewd  ill-favour'd  wffe  ? 
Thou'dst  thank  me  but  a  little  for  my  counsel : 
And  yet  I'll  promise  thee  she  shall  be  rich, 
And  very  rich : — but  thou'rt  too  much  my  friend, 
And  I'll  not  wish  thee  to  her. 

Pet.  Signior  Hortensio,  'twixt  such  friends  as  we. 
Few  words  suffice :  and,  therefore,  if  thou  know 
One  rich  enough  to  be  Petruchio's  wife, 
(As  wealth  is  burthen  of  my  wooing  dance,) 
Be  she  as  foid  as  was  Florenlius'  love,' 
As  old  as  Sybil,  and  as  curst  and  shrewd 
As  Socrates'  Xantippe,  or  a  worse. 
She  moves  me  not,  or  not  removes,  at  least, 
Aflection's  edge  in  me ;  were  she  as  rough 
As  are  the  swelling  Adriatic  seas : 
I  come  to  wive  it  wealthily  in  Padua ; 
If  wealthily,  then  happily  in  Padua. 

Gru.  Nay,  look  you,  sir,  he  tells  you  flatly  what 
his  mmd  is:  Why,  give  him  gold  enough,  and 
marry  him  to  a  puppet,  or  an  aglet-baby  ;*  or  an 
old  trot  with  ne'er  a  tooth  in  her  head,  though  she 
have  as  many  diseases  as  two  and  fifty  horses :  why, 
nothing  comes  amiss,  so  money  comes  withal. 

Hor.  Petruchio,  since  %ve  have  stepp'd  thus  far  in, 
I  will  continue  that  I  broach'd  in  iest. 
I  can,  Petruchio,  help  thee  to  a  wife 
With  wealth  enough,  and  young,  and  beauteous  ; 
Brought  up,  as  best  becomes  a  gentlewoman  : 
Her  only  fault  (and  that  is  faults  enough,) 
Is, — that  she  is  intolerably  curst. 
And  shrewd,  and  froward ;  so  beyond  all  measure, 
That,  were  my  state  far  worser  than  it  is, 
I  would  not  Wed  her  for  a  mine  of  gold. 

Pet.  Hortensio,  peace ;  thou  know'st  not  gold's 

effect: 

Tell  me  her  father's  name,  and  'tis  enough ; 
For  I  will  board  her,  though  she  chide  as  loud 
As  thunder,  when  the  clouds  in  autumn  crack. 

Hor.  Her  father  is  Baptista  Minola, 
An  affable  and  courteous  gentleman : 
Her  name  is  Katharina  Minola, 
Renown'd  in  Padua  for  her  scolding  tongue. 

Pet.  I  know  her  father,  though  fknow  not  her; 
And  he  knew  my  deceased  father  well : — 
I  will  not  sleep,  Hortensio,  till  I  see  her; 
And  therefore  let  me  be  thus  bold  with  you, 
To  give  you  over  at  this  first  encounter. 
Unless  you  will  accompany  me  thither. 

Gni.  I  prs^  you,  sir,  let  him  go  while  the  hu<- 
mour  lasts.  0'  my  word,  an  she  knew  him  as  well 
as  I  do,  she  woum  think  scolding  would  do  littit 

I    (4)  A  small  image  on  the  tag  of  laMt 
8K 


258 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


jfe//* 


good  upon  him :  She  may,  perhaps,  call  him  halfl  So  shall  I  no  whit  be  behind  in  duty 


a.  score  knaves,  or  so  :  why,  that's  nothing ;  an  he 
begin  once,  he'll  rail  in  his  rope-tricks.'  I'll  tell 
you  what,  sir — an  she  stand*  him  but  a  little,  he 
will  throw  a  figure  in  her  face,  and  so  disfigure  her 
with  it,  that  she  shall  have  no  more  eyes  to  see 
withal  than  a  cat :  you  know  him  not,  sir. 

Hot.  Tarry,  Petruchio,  I  must  go  with  thee ; 
For  in  Baptista's  keep'  my  treasure  is : 
He  hath  the  jewel  of  my  life  in  hold. 
His  youngest  daughter,  beautiful  Bianca  ; 
And  her  withholds  from  me,  and  other  more 
Suitors  to  her,  and  rivals  in  my  love : 
Supposing  it  a  thing  impossible 
(For  those  defects  f  have  before  rehears'd,) 
That  ever  Katharina  will  be  woo'd. 
Therefore  this  order*  hath  Baptista  ta'en ; — 
That  none  shall  have  access  unto  Bianca, 
Till  Katharine  the  curst  have  got  a  husband. 

Gni.  Katharine  the  curst ! 
A  title  for  a  maid,  of  all  titles  the  worst. 

Hor.  Now  shall  my  friend  Petruchio  do  me  grace ; 
And  offer  me,  disguis'd  in  sober  robes, 
To  old  Baptista  as  a  schoolmaster 
Well  seen'  in  music,  to  instruct  Bianca : 
That  so  I  may  by  this  device,  at  least. 
Have  leave  and  leisure  to  make  love  to  her. 
And,  unsuspected,  court  her  by  herself. 

Enter  Gremio ;  with  him  Lucentio  disguised,  with 
books  under  his  arm. 

Gru.  Here's  no  knavery !  See ;  to  begiule  the 
old  folks,  how  the  young  folks  lay  their  heads  to- 
gether !  Master,  master,  look  aoout  you :  Who 
goes  there  ?  ha ! 

Hor.  Peace,  Grumio ;  'tis  the  rival  of  my  love : — 
Petruchio,  stand  by  a  while. 

Gru.  A  proper  stripling,  and  an  amorous ! 

[  They  retire. 

Gre.  O,  very  well ;  I  have  perus'd  the  note. 
Hark  you,  sir ;  I'll  have  them  very  fairly  bound : 
All  books  of  love,  sec  that  at  any  hand  ;* 
And  see  you  read  no  other  lectures  to  her : 
You  imderstand  me : — Over  and  beside 
Signior  Baptista's  liberality, 
I'll  mend  it  with  a  largess :' — Take  your  papers  too, 
And  let  me  have  them  very  well  perfum'd ; 
For  she  is  sweeter  than  perfume  itself. 
To  whom  they  go.    What  will  you  read  to  her? 

Luc.  Whate'er  I  read  to  her,  I'll  plead  for  you. 
As  for  my  patron  (stand  you  so  assur'd,) 
As  firmly  as  yourself  ivere  still  in  place :    • 
Yea,  and  (perhaps)  with  more  successful  words 
Than  you,  unless  you  were  a  scholar,  sir.  ■ 

Gre.  0  this  learning !  what  a  thing  it  is  I 

Gru.  O  this  woodcock !  what  an  ass  it  is ! 

Pet.  Peace,  sirrah. 

Hor.   Grumio,  mum! — God  save  you,  signior 
Gremio ! 

Gre.  And  you're  well  met,  signior  Hortensio. 
Trow  you, 
Whither  I  am  going  ? — To  Baptista  Minola. 
I  promis'd  to  inquire  carefully 
Aoout  a  schoolmaster  for  fair  Bianca : 
And,  by  good  fortune,  I  have  lighted  well 
On  this  young  man ;  for  learning,  and  behaviour, 
Fit  for  her  turn  ;  well  read  in  poetry. 
And  other  books, — good  ones,  I  warrant  you. 

Hor,  'Tis  well :  and  I  have  met  a  gentleman, 
Hath  promis'd  me  to  help  me  to  another, 
A  fine  musician  to  instruct  our  mistress ; 


(1)  Abusive  language. 
(8)CB»twly, 


(2)  Withstand. 
\4)  These  measuresi 


To  fair  Bianca,  so  belov'd  of  me. 

Gre.  Belov'd  of  me, — and  that  my  deeds  shall 
prove. 

Gru.  And  that  his  bags  shall  prove.         [Aside. 

Hor.  Gremio,  'tis  now  no  time  to  vent  our  love  • 
Listen  to  me,  and  if  vou  speak  me  fair, 
I'll  tell  you  news  indifferent  good  for  either. 
Here  is  a  gentleman,  whom  by  chance  I  met, 
Upon  agreement  from  us  to  his  liking. 
Will  undertake  to  woo  curst  Katharine  ; 
Yea,  and  to  marry  her,  if  her  dowry  please. 

Gre.  So  said,  so  done,  is  well : — 
Hortensio,  have  you  told  liim  all  her  faults  ? 

Pet.  I  know,  she  is  an  irksome  brawling  scold  ; 
If  that  be  all,  masters,  I  hear  no  harm. 

Gre.  No,  say'st  mc  so,  friend  ?  What  country- 
man? 

Pet.  Bom  in  Verona,  old  Antonio's  son : 
My  fatlier  dead,  my  fortune  lives  for  me  ; 
And  I  do  hope  good  davs,  and  long,  to  see. 

Gre.  O,  sir,  such  a  life,  with  such  a  wife,  were 
strang-c : 
But,  if  you  have  a  stomach,  to't,  o'  God's  name; 
You  shall  have  me  assisting  you  in  all. 
But  will  you  woo  this  wild  cat  ? 

Pet.  Will  I  live  ? 

Gri(.  Will  he  woo  her  ?  av,  or  I'll  hang  her. 

[Aside. 

Pet.  Why  came  I  hither,  but  to  that  intent  ? 
Think  you,  a  little  din  ran  daunt  mine  ears  ? 
Have  I  not  m  my  time  heard  lions  roar  ? 
Have  I  not  heard  the  sea,  puff'd  isp  with  winds. 
Rage  like  an  anirry  boar,  cliafed  with  sweat  ? 
Have  I  not  heard  oreat  ordnance  in  the  field. 
And  heaven's  artillery  thunder  in  the  skies  ? 
Have  I  not  in  a  pitched  battle  heard 
Loud  'larums,  neighing  steeds,  and  trumpets' clang? 
And  do  you  tell  me  of  a  woman's  tongue ; 
That  gives  not  half  so  great  a  blow  to  the  ear, 
As  will  a  chesnut  in  a  farmer's  fire  ? 
Tush !  tush !  fear  boys  ivilh  bugs.* 

Gru.  For  he  fears  none. 

[Aside. 

Gre.  Hortensio,  hark ! 
This  gentleman  is  happily  arriv'd, 
Mv  mind  presumes,  for  his  own  good,  and  yours. 

Hor.  I  promis'd,  we  would  be  contributors. 
And  bear  his  charge  of  wooing,  whatsoe'er. 

Gre.  And  so  we  will ;  provided,  that  he  win  her. 

Gru.  I  would,  I  were  as^  sure  of  a  good  dinner. 

[Aside. 

Enter  Tranio,  bravely  apparelled;  and  Biondello. 

Tra.  Gentlemen,  God  save  you !  If  I  may  be  bold. 
Tell  me,  I  beseech  you,  ivhich  is  the  readiest  way 
To  the  house  of  signior  Baptista  Minola? 

Gre.  He  that  has  the  two  fair  daughters  : — is't 
[Aside  to  Tranio.]  he  you  mean  ? 

Tra.  Even  he.    Biondello ! 

Gre.  Hark  you,  sir ;  You  mean  not  her  to 

Tra.  Perhaps,  him  and  her,  sir;  What  have 
you  to  do  ? 

Pet.  Not  her  that  chides,  sir^  at  any  hand,  I  pray. 

Tra.  I  love  no  chiders,  sir  :-^Biondello,  let's 
away.  ; 

Lite.  Well  begun,  Tranio.-  [Aside, 

Hor.  Sir,  a  word  ere  you  go  • — 
Are  you  a  suitor  to  the  maid  you  talk  of,  yea, 
or  no? 

Tra.  An  if  I  be,  sir,  is  it  any  offence  ? 

(5)  Versed.        (6)  Rate.        (7)  Present, 
(8)  Fright  boys  with  bug-bears. 


Scent  I, 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


259 


•  Grt.  No ;  if,  without  more  words,  you  will  get 
you  hence. 
Tra.  ^Vhy,  sir,  1  prey,  are  not  the  streeta  as  free 
For  me,  as  for  ^ou '/ 

Gre.  '  But  so  is  not  she. 

Tra.  For  wlial  reason,  I  beseech  you  ? 

Gre.  For  this  reason,  if  you'll  know, 

That  she's  the  choice  love  of  signior  Gremio 


Kath.  Of  all  thy  suitors,  iiere  1  charge  thee,  tell 
Whom  thou  lov'st  best :  see  thou  dissemble  not. 

Bian.  Believe  me,  sister,  of  all  the  men  alive, 
;  I  never  yet  beheld  that  special  face 
Which  1  could  fancy  more  than  any  other. 

Kath.  Minion,  thou  liest ;  Is't  not  Hortensio? 

Bian.  If  you  aft'ect*  him,  sister,  here  I  swear, 
I'll  plead  for  you  myself,  but  you  shall  have  him. 


Hor.  That  she's  the  chosen  ol"sign:or  Hortensio,      Kath.  O,  then,  belike,  you  fancy  riches  more , 
—        -    --  .  .~        .  ..  You  will  have  Greraio  to  keep  you  fair. 

Bian.  Is  it  Ibr  him  you  do  envy  me  so  ?   • 
Nay,  then  you  jest :  and  now  I  will  perceive. 
You  have  but  jested  with  me  all  this  while  ; 
I  pr'ythee,  sister  Kate,  untie  my  hands. 
Kuth.  If  that  be  jest,  then  all  the  rest  was  so. 

[S!nA.M  Act, 


Tra.  SofLlv,  my  mastei-s !  if  you  be  gentlemen. 
Do  me  this  rlijht, — hear  me  witn  patience. 
Baptista  is  a  noble  gentleman, 
To  whom  my  father  is  not  all  unknown  ; 
And,  were  his  daughter  fairer  than  she  is. 
She  may  more  suitors  have,  and  me  for  one. 
Fair  Leda's  daughter  had  a  thousand  wooers ; 
Then  well  one  niore  may  fair  Bianca  have  : 
And  so  she  shall ;  Lucentio  shall  make  one, 
Though  Paris  came,  in  hope  to  speed  alone. 

Gre.  AVhat !  this  gentleman  will  out-talk  us  all. 

Luc.  Sir,  give  him  head  ;  I  know,  he'll  prove  a 
jade. 

Pet.  Hortensio,  to  what  end  are  all  these  words  ? 

Hor.  Sir,  let  me  be  so  bold,  as  to  ask  you. 
Did  you  vet  ever  see  Baptista's  daughter? 

Tra.  No,  sir ;  but  hear  I  do,  that  he  hath  two  ; 
The  one  as  famous  for  a  scoldins^  tongue, 
As  is  the  other  for  beauteous  modesty. 

Pet.  Sir,  sir,  the  first's  for  me  ;  let  her  rro  by. 

Gre.  Yea,  leave  that  labour  to  great  Hercules  ; 
And  let  it  be  more  than  Alcides'  twelve. 

Pet.  Sir,  understand  you  this  of  me,  in  sooth ; — 
The  youngest  dau;^hter,'  whom  you  hearken  for. 
Her  father  keeps  from  all  access  of  suitors  ; 
And  will  not  promise  her  to  any  man. 
Until  the  elder  sister  first  be  wed  : 
The  younger  then  is  free,  and  not  before. 

Tra.  If  it  be  so,  sir,  that  you  are  the  man 
Must  stead  us  all,  and  me  amon;:;  the  rest ; 
An  if  you  break  the  ice,  and  do  this  feat, — 
Achieve  the  elder,  set  the  younger  free 
For  our  access, — whose  hap  shall  be  to  have  her. 
Will  not  so  graceless  be,  to  be  ingrate.' 

Hor.  Sir,  you  say  well,  and  well  you  do  conceive ; 
And  since  you  do  profess  to  be  a  suitor. 
You  must,  as  we  do,  gratify  this' gentleman, 
To  whom  we  all  rest  generally  beholden. 

Tra.  Sir,  I  shall  not  be  slack :  in  sign  whereof, 
Please  ye  we  may  contrive  this  afternoon, 
And  quaff  carouses  to  our  mistress'  health ; 
And  do  as  adversaries  do  in  law, — 
Strive  miehtily,  but  eat  and  drink  as  friends. 
Gru.  5ion.' 0  excellent  motion! — Fellowj,* let's 
begone. 

Hor.  The  motion's  good  indeed,  and  be  it  so ; — 
Petruchio,  I  shall  be  your  ben  tetutio.       [Exeunt 


Enter  Baptista. 


Bap. 


ACT  II. 


SCEXE  I.— The. same.    A  roor,\  in  Baptista's 
hmise.     Entet  Katharina  and  Bianca. 

Bian.   Good  sisteft^- wrong  me  not,  nor  wrong 
yourself,       V 
To  make  a  bondmaid  and  a  slave  of  me  ; 
That  I  disdain  :  but  for  these  other  ^awds,' 
Unbind  my  hands,  I'll  pull  them  otf  "myself. 
Yea,  all  my  raiment,  to  my  petticoat ; 
Or,  what  you  will  command  me,  will  I  do. 
So  well  I  know  my  duty  to  my  elders. 

(1)  Ungrateful.  (2)  Companions. 

(S)  Trifling  ornaments. 


Wliy,  how  now,  dame!  whence  grows 

this  insolence  ? 

Bianca,  stand  aside  ; — poor  girl !  she  weeps :— — 
Go  ply  thy  needle ;  meddle  not  with  her. — 
For  shame,  thou  hilding'  of  a  devilish  spirit. 
Why  dost  thou  wrong  her  that  did  ne'er  wrong  thee? 
When  did  she  cross  thee  with  a  bitter  word? 
Kath.  Her  silence  flouts  me,  and  I'll  be  reveng'd. 
[Flies  after  Bianca. 
Bap.  What,  in  my  sight? — Bianca,  get  thee  in. 
[Exit  Bianca. 
Kath.  Will  you  not  suffer  me  ?  Nay,  now  I  see. 
She  is  your  treasure,  she  must  have  a  nusband? 
I  must  dance  bare-foot  on  her  wedding-day. 
And,  for  your  love  to  her,  lead  apes  in  hell. 
Talk  not  "to  me ;  I  will  go  sit  and  weep. 
Till  I  can  find  occasion  of  revenge.       [Exit  Kath. 

Bap.  Was  ever  gentleman  thus  griev'd  as  1 2 
But  who  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Gremio,  with  Lucentio  in  the  habit  of  a 
mean  man  ;  Petruchio,  with  Hortensio  as  a  trnt' 
sician;  and  Tranio,  with  Biondcllo  bearing  a 
lute  and  hooks. 

Gre.  Good-morrow,  neighbour  Baptista. 

Bap.   Good-morrow,  neighbour  Gremio:  God 
save  you,  gentlemen ! 

Pet.  And  you,  good  sir !  Pray,  hare  you  not  a 
daughter 
CalI'd  Katharina,  fair,  and  virtuous  ? 

Bap.  I  have  a  daughter,  sir,  call'd  Katharina. 

Gre.  You  are  too  blunt,  go  to  it  orderly. 

Pet.  You  wrong  me,  signior  Gremio ;  give  me 
leave. — 
I  am  a  gentleman  of  Verona,  sir, 
That,— hearing  of  her  beauty,  and  her  wit, 
Her  affability,  and  bashful  modesty, 
Her  wondrous  qualities,  and  mild  oehaviour,— 
Am  bold  to  ehow  myself  a  forward  guest 
Within  your  house,  to  make  mine  eye  the  witness 
Of  that  report  which  I  so  oft  have  heard. 
And,  for  an  entrance  to  my  entertainment, 
I  do  present  you  with  a  man  of  mine, 

[Presenting  Hortensio*. 
Cunning  in  music,  and  the  mathematics. 
To  instruct  her  fully  in  those  sciences. 
Whereof,  I  know,  she  is  not  ignorant : 
Accept  of  him,  or  else  you  do  me  wronf ; 
His  name  is  Licio,  born  in  Mantua. 

Bap.   You're  welcome,  sir;  and  he,  for  year 
good  sake : 
But  for  my  daughter  Katharine, — this  I  know, 
She  is  not  for  your  turn,  the  more  my  grief. 

Pet.  I  see,  you  do  not  mean  to  part  with  her ; 


(4)  Love, 


(5)  A  worthless  woman. 


utso 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


Ad  it 


Or  else  you  like  not  of  my  company. 

Bap.  Mistake  me  not,  I  speak  but  as  I  find. 
Whence  are  you,  sir  ?  what  may  I  call  your  name? 

Pel.  Eetruchio  is  my  name ;  Antonio's  son, 
A  man  vrell  known  throughout  all  Italy. 

Bap.  I  know  him  well :  you  are  welcome  for  his 
sake. 

Gre.  Saving  your  tale,  Petruchio,  I  pray, 
Let  us,  that  are  poor  petitioners,  speak  too : 
Baccate!'  you  are  marvellous  forward. 

Pet.  O,  pardon  me,  signior  Gremio ;  I  would  fain 
be  doin^. 

Gre.  I  doubt  it  not,  sir ;  but  you  will  curse  your 

wooing. 

Neighbour,  this  is  a  gift  very  grateful,  I  am  sure  of 
it.  To  express  the  like  kindness  myself,  that  have 
been  more  kindly  beholden  to  vou  than  any,  I  freely 
give  unto  you  this  youn^  scholar,  {Presenting  Tl.\i- 
centio.]  tKat  hath  been  long  studying  at  Rheims; 
as  cunning  in  Greek,  Latin,  and  other  languages, 
as  the  other  in  music  and  mathematics :  his  name 
is  Cambio ;  pray,  accept  his  service. 

Bap.  A  thousand  thanks,  sigiiior  Gremio :  wel- 
come, prood  Cambio. — But,  gentle  sir,  [2'oTranio.] 
methinks  you  walk  like  a  stranger ;  May  I  be  so 
bold  to  know  the  cause  of  your  coming? 

Tra.  Pardon  me,  sir,  the  boldness  is  mine  own ; 
That,  being  a  stranger  in  this  city  here, 
Do  make  myself  a  suitor  to  your  daughter. 
Unto  Bianca,  fair,  and  virtuous. 
Nor  is  your  firm  resolve  unknown  to  me. 
In  the  preferment  of  the  eldest  sister : 
This  liberty  is  all  that  I  request, — 
That,  upon  knowledge  of  my  parentage, 
I  may  have  welcome  'mongst  the  rest  that  woo, 
And  free  access  and  favour  as  the  rest. 
And,  toward  the  education  of  your  daughters, 
I  here  bestow  a  simple  instrument. 
And  this  small  packet  of  Greek  and  Latin  books : 
If  you  accept  them,  then  their  worth  is  great. 

Bap.  Lucentio  is  your  name?   of  whence,  I 
jprav? 

Tra.  Offisa,  sir;  son  to  Vincentio. 

Bap.  A  mighty  man  of  Pisa ;  by  report 
1  know  him  well :  you  are  very  welcome,  sir. — 
Take  you  [To  Hor.]  the  lute,  and  you  [To  Luc] 

theset  of  books, 
You  shall  go  see  your  pupils  presently. 
Holla,  within ! 

Enter  a  Servant. 
Sirrah,  lead 
These  gentlemen  to  my  daughters ;  and  tell  them 

both. 
These  are  their  tutors :  bid  them  use  them  well. 
[Exit  Servant,  xcilh  Hortcnsio,  Lucentio,  and 
Biondello. 
We  will  go  walk  a  little  in  the  orchard, 
And  then  to  dinner  :  You  are  passing  welcome. 
And  so  I  pray  you  all  to  think  yourselves. 

Ptt.  Signior  Baptista,  my  business  aslceth  haste, 
And  every  day  I  cannot  come  to  woo. 
You  knew  my  fatiier  well ;  and  in  him,  me, 
Left  solely  heir  to  all  his  lands  and  goods, 
Which  I  have  better'd  rather  than  decreas'd : 
Then  tell  me, — if  I  get  your  daughter's  love, 
What  dowry  shall  ihave  with  her  to  wife  ? 

Bap.  Afier  my  death,  the  one  half  of  ray  lands : 
And,  in  possession,  twenty  thousand  crowns. 

Pet,  And,  for  that  dowry,  I'll  assure  her  of 

(1)  A  proverbial  exclamation  then  in  use. 
(2J  A  fret  in  music  is  the  stop  which  causes  or 
regulates  the  vibration  of  tiie  string. 


Her  widowhood, — be  it  that  she  survive  me,— 
In  all  my  lands  and  leases  whatsoever : 
Let  specialties  be  therefore  drawn  between  us. 
That  covenants  may  be  kept  on  either  hand. 

Bap.  Ay,  when  the  special  thing  is  well  obtain'd, 
This  is,— her  love ;  for  that  is  all  m  all. 

Pet.  Why,  that  is  nothing ;  for  I  tell  you,  father, 
I  am  as  peremptory  as  she  proud-minded  ; 
And  where  two  raging  fires  meet  together. 
They  do  consume  the  thing  that  feeds  their  fury : 
Tliough  little  fire  grows  great  with  little  wind. 
Yet  extreme  gusts  will  blow  out  fire  and  all : 
So  I  to  her,  and  so  she  yields  to  me : 
For  I  am  rough,  and  %voo  not  like  a  babe. 

Bup.  Well  may'st  thou  woo,  and  happy  be  thy 
speed  ! 
But  be  thou  arm'd  for  some  unhappy  words. 

Pet.  Ay,  to  the  proof;  as  mountains  arc  for  winds, 
That  shake  not,  though  they  blow  perpetually. 

Re-enter  Hortensio,  with  his  head  broken. 

Bap.  How  now,  my  friend  ?  why  dost  thou  look 
so  pale  ? 

Hor.  For  fear,  I  promise  you,  if  I  look  pale. 

Bap.  What,  will  my  daughter  prove  a  good  mu- 
sician ? 

Hor.  I  think,  she'll  sooner  prove  a  soldier ; 
Iron  may  hold  with  her,  but  iiever  lutes. 

Bap.  Why,  then  thou  canst  not  break  her  to  the 
lute  ? 

Hor.  Why,  no ;  for  she  hath  broke  the  lute  to  me. 
I  did  but  tell  her,  she  mistook  her  frets,* 
And  bOw'd  her  hand  to  teach  her  fingering ; 
When,  with  a  most  impatient  devilish  spirit, 
Frets,  call  you  these  l  quoth  she :  VVL  fume  \citk 

them  : 
And,  with  that  word,  she  struck  me  on  the  head, 
And  through  the  instrument  my  pate  made  way  ; 
And  there  I  stood  amazed  for  a  while. 
As  on  a  pillory,  looking  through  the  lute : 
While  she  did  call  me,— rascal  fiddler. 
And — twangling  Jack;^    with  twenty  such  vile 

terms. 
As  she  had  studied  to  misuse  me  so. 

Pet.  Now,  by  the  world,  it  is  a  lusty  wench ; 
I  love  her  ten  times  more  than  e'er  I  did : 
0,  how  I  long  to  have  some  chat  with  her ! 

Bap.  Well,  go  with  me,  and  be  not  so  discomfited  : 
Proceed  in  practice  with  my  younger  daughter ; 
She's  apt  to  learn,  and  thankful  for  good  turns. — 
Signior  Petruchio,  will  you  go  with  us  ; 
Or  shall  I  send  my  daughter  Kate  to  you  ? 

Pet.  I  pray  you  do  ;  1  will  attend  her  here,— 

[£xf.  Bap.  Gre.  Tra.  «u(/Hor. 
And  woo  her  with  some  spirit  when  she  comes. 
Say,  that  she  rail ;  Why,  then  I'll  tell  her  plain. 
She  sings  as  siveelly  as  a  nightingale  : 
Say,  that  she  frown ;  I'll  say,  she  looks  as  clear 
As  morning  roses  newly  wash'd  with  dew  : 
Saj',  she  be  mute,  and  ivill  not  speak  a  word ; 
Then  I'll  commend  her  volubility. 
And  sav — she  utlereth  piercing  eloquence : 
If  she  00  bid  me  pack,  I'll  give  her  Uianks, 
As  though  she  bid  me  stay  by  her  a  week ; 
If  she  deny  to  wed,  I'll  crave  the  day 
When  I  shall  ask  the  banns,  and  when  be  married:— 
But  here  she  comes  ;  and  now,  Petruchio,  speak. 

Enter  Katharina. 
Good  morrow,  Kate ;  for  that's  your  name,  I  hear. 
Kath.  Well  have  you  heard,  but  something  hard 
of  hearing ; 


(3)  Paltry  musician. 


Scene  ). 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


afti 


They  call  me— Katharine,  that  do  talk  of  ine. 
Pet.  You  lie,  in  faith ;  for  you  are  call'd  plain 
Kate, 
And  bonny  Kate,  and  sometimes  Kate  the  curst ; 
But  Kate,  the  prettiest  Kate  in  Christendom, 
Kate  of  Kate-hall,  my  super-dainty  Kate, 
For  dainties  are  all  cates :  and  therefore,  Kate, 
Take  this  of  me.  Kate  of  my  consolation  ; — 
Hearing  thy  mildness  prais'd  in  every  town, 
Thv  virtues  spoke  of,  and  thy  beauty  sounded, 

iYct  not  so  deeply  as  to  thee  belonirs,) 
lyself  am  mov'd  to  woo  thee  for  my  wife. 
Kath,  Mov'd !  in  good  time :  let  him  that  mov'd 
you  hither. 
Remove  you  hence :  I  kmew  you  at  the  first, 
You  were  a  moveable. 
Pet.  ^Vhy»  what's  a  moveable  ? 

Kath.  A  joint-stool. 

Pet.  Thou  hast  hit  it :  come,  sit  on  me, 

Kath.  Asses  are  made  to  bear,  and  so  are  you. 
Pet.  Women  are  made  to  bear,  and  so  are  you. 
Kath.  No  such  jade,  sir,  as  you,  if  me  vou  mean. 
Pet.  Alas,  good  Kate  !  I  will  not  burden  thee  : 
For,  knowing  thee  to  be  but  young  and  light, — 

Kath.  Too  light  for  such  a  swain  as  you  to  catch ; 
And  yet  as  heavy  as  my  weight  should  be. 
Pet.  Should  be?  should  buz. 
Kath.  Well  ta'en,  and  like  a  buzz»rd. 

Pet.  0,  slow-wing'd  turtle !  shall  a  buzzard  take 

thee? 
Kath.  Ay,  for  a  turtle ;  as  he  takes  a  buzzard. 
Pet.  Come,  come,  you  wasp ;  i'faith,  you  arc  too 

angry. 
Kath.  If  I  be  waspish,  best  beware  my  sting. 
Pet.  My  remedy  is  then,  to  pluck  it  out. 
Kath.  Ay,  if  the  fool  could  find  it  where  it  lies. 
Pet.  Who  knows  not  where  a  wasp  doth  wear 
his  sting  ? 
In  his  tail. 

Kath.        In  his  tongue. 
Pet.  Whose  tongue? 

Kath.  Yours,  if  you  talk  of  tails ;  and  so  fare- 
well. 
Pet.  What,  with  my  tongue  in  your  tail  ?  nay, 
come  again. 
Good  Kate ;  I  am  a  gentleman. 
Kath.  Tliat  I'll  try. 

[Striking  him. 
Pet.  I  swear  I'll  cuff  you,  if  you  strike  again. 
Kath.  So  may  you  lose  your  arms : 
If  you  strike  me,  you  are  no  gentleman  ; 
And  if  no  gentleman,  why,  then  no  arms. 
Pet.  A  herald,  Kate  ?  O,  put  nie  in  thy  books. 
Kath.  What  is  your  crest  ?  a  coxconiu  ? 
Pel.  A  combless  cock,  so  Kate  will  be  my  hen. 
Kath.  No  cock  of  mine,  you  crow  too  like  a 

craven.' 
Pet.  Nay,  come,  Kate,  come  ;  you  must  not  look 

80  sour. 
Kath.  It  is  my  fashion,  when  I  see  a  crab. 
Pet.  Why,  here's  no  crab ;  and  therefore  look 

not  sour, 
Kath.  There  is,  there  is. 
Pet.  Then  show  it  me. 

Kath.  Had  I  a  glass,  I  would. 

Pet.  What,  you  mean  my  face  ? 
Kath.  Well  aim'd  of*  such  a  young  one. 

Pet.  Now,  by  Saint  George,  I  am  too  young  for 

you. 
Kath.  Yet  you  are  wither'd. 
Pet.  'Tis  with  cares. 

Ktth.  I  care  not. 


(I)  A  degenerate  cock. 


(2)  By. 


Pet.  Nay,  hear  you,  Kate :  in  sooth,  you  *«c4tpe 

not  so. 

Kath.  I  chafe  you,  if  I  tarry ;  let  me  go. 

Pet.  No,  not  a  whit ;  I  find  you  passing  genUe. 
'Twas  told  me,  you  were  rough,  and  coy,  and  ftullen. 
And  now  I  find  report  a  very  liar ; 
For  thou  art  pleasant,  gamesome,  passing  cour 

teous ; 
B  ut  slo w  in  speech,  yet  sweet  as  spring-time  flowers : 
Thou  canst  not  frown,  thou  canst  not  look  askance, 
Nor  bite  the  lip,  as  angry  wenches  will ; 
Nor  hast  thou  pleasure  to  be  cross  in  talk ; 
But  thou  with  mildness  entertain'st  thy  wooers, 
Witli  gentle  conference,  soft  and  affable. 
Why  does  the  world  report,  that  Kate  doth  limp? 

0  slanderous  world  !  Kate,  like  the  hazle-twig, 
Is  straight  and  slender  ;  and  as  brown  in  hue 
As  hazle  nuts,  and  sweeter  than  the  kernels, 
O,  let  me  see  thee  walk :  thou  dost  not  halt. 

Kath.  Go,  fool,  and  whom  thou  koep'st  command. 

Pet.  Did  ever  Dian  so  become  a  grove. 
As  Kate  this  chnnil)er  with  her  princely  gait  ? 
O,  bo  thou  Dian,  and  let  her  be  Kate ; 
And  then  let  Kate  be  chaste,  and  Dian  sportful ! 

Kath.    Where   did  you  study  all  this  gooidlj 
speech  ? 

Pet.  It  is  extempore,  from  my  mother-wit. 

Kath.  A  witty  mother !  witless  else  her  son. 

Pel.  Am  I  not  wise  ? 

Kath.  Yes ;  keep  you  warm. 

Pet.  Marry,  so  I  mean,  sweet  Katharine,  in  thy 
bed: 
And  therefore,  setting  all  this  chat  aside. 
Thus  in  plain  teims :— Your  father  hath  consented 
That  you  siiall  be  my  •iviie  ;  vour  dowry  'greed  on ; 
And,  will  you,  nill  you,  I  will  marry  you. 
Now,  Kate,  1  am  a  husband  for  your  turn  ; 
For,  by  Ihis  liprht,  whereby  I  see  thy  beauty, 
(I'hy  beauty,  tliat  dolii  make  rne  like  thee  well,) 
Thou  must  be  married  to  no  man  but  me : 
For  I  am  he,  am  born  to  tame  you,  Kate  ; 
.\nd  bring  vou  from  a  wild  cat  to  a  Kate 
Conformable,  as  other  household  Kates. 
Here  comes  your  father :  never  make  denial, 

1  must  and  will  have  Katharine  to  my  wife. 

lie-eiiter  B^plisla,  Greraio,  and  Tranio. 

Bap.  Now, 
Signior  Petruithio :  How  speed  you  with 
My  daughter  / 

Pet.  Ilowbut  well,  sir?  how  but  well  7 

It  were  impossible  I  should  speed  amiss. 

Bap.  Why,  how  now,  daughter  Katharine  ?  in 
your  dumps  ? 

Kath.  iCallyoumedaup-hter?  now  I  promise  you, 
You  have  show'd  a  tender  fatherly  regard, 
To  wish  me  wed  to  one  half  lunatic  : 
A  mad-cap  rufiian,  and  a  swearing  Jack, 
That  thinks  with  oaths  to  face  the  matter  out. 

Pet.  Father,  'tis  thus, — yourself  and  all  the  world. 
That  talk'd  of  her,  have  talk'd  amiss  of  her  ; 
If  she  be  curst,  it  is  for  policy: 
For  she's  not  frowaril,  but  modest  as  the  dove  ; 
S.'ie  is  not  hot,  but  f  eniperate  as  the  morn ; 
For  patience  she  will  prove  a  second  Grissel ; 
And  Roman  Lucrece  for  her  chastity : 
And  to  conclude, — we  have  'greed  so  well  log* 

ther. 
That  upon  Sunday  is  the  wedding-day. 

Kath.  I'll  see  tliec  hanar'd  on  Sunday  firsts 

Gre.  Hark,  Pctruchio  !  she  says,  she'll  see  thee 
hane'd  first. 

Tra.   Is  this  your  speeding?  nay,  then,  good 
night  our  part ! 


mt 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


Jlct  III. 


Pet.  Be  patient,'  gentlemen ;  I  choose  her  for 
mvself  ; 
If  she  and  I  be  pleas'd,  what's  that  to  you  ? 
'Tis  bargain'd  'twixt  us  twain,  being  alone, 
That  she  shall  still  be  curst  in  company. 
1  tell  you,  'tis  incredible  to  believe 
How  much  she  loves  me  :  O,  tlic  kindest  Kate  ! — 
She  hung  about  my  neck ;  and  lass  on  kiss 
She  vied'  so  fast,  protesting  oath  on  oath, 
That  in  a  twink  she  won  me  to  her  love. 
O,  you  are  novices  !  'tis  a  world  to  see,- 
How  tame,  when  men  and  women  are  alone, 
A  meacock^  wretch  can  make  the  curstest  shrew.— 
Give  me  thy  hand,  Kate :  I  will  unto  Venice, 
To  buy  apparel  'gainst  the  wcddinif-day : — 
Provide  the  feast,  father,  and  bid  the  guests ; 
I  will  be  sure,  my  Katharine  shall  be  fine. 

Bap.  I  kno»v  not  what  to  say :  but  give  me  your 
hands ; 
God  send  you  joy,  Petruchio !  'tis  a  match. 

Gre.  Tra.  Amen,  say  we ;  ive  will  be  witnesses. 

Pet.  Father,  and  wife,  and  gentlemen,  adieu ; 

I  will  to  Venice,  Sunday  comes  apace  : 

We  will  have  rings,  and  things,  and  fme  array; 
And  kiss  me,  Kate,  we  will  be  married  o'Sunday 
[Exeunt  Petruchio  und  Katharine,  severally. 

Gre.  Was  ever  match  clapp'd  up  so  suddenly  ? 

Bap.  Faith,  gentlemen,  now  I  play  a  merchant's 
part. 
And  venture  madly  on  a  desperate  mart. 

Tra.  'Twas  a  commodity  lay  fretting  by  you : 
'Twill  bring  you  gain,  or  perish  on  the  seas. 

Bap.  The  gain  I  seek  is — quiet  in  the  match. 

Gre.  No  doubt,  but  he  hath  got  a  quiet  catch. 
But  now,  Baptista,  to  j'our  younger  daughter ; — 
Now  is  the  day  we  long  have  looked  for ; 
I  am  your  neighbour,  and  was  suitor  first. 

Tra.  And  I  am  one,  that  love  Bianca  more 
Than  words  can  witness,or  3'our  thoughts  can  guess, 

Gre.  Youngling!  thou  canst  not  love  so  dear  as  I, 

Tra.  Grey-beara !  thy  love  dolh  freeze. 

Gre.  But  thine  doth  fry, 

Skipper,  stand  back :  'tis  age  that  nourisheth. 

Tra.  But  youth,  in  ladies' eyes  that  flourisheth. 

Bap.  Content  you,  gentlemen ;  I'll  compound 
this  strife ; 
*Tis  deeds,  must  win  the  prize ;  and  he,  of  both, 
That  can  assure  my  daughter  greatest  dower, 
Shall  have  Bianca's  love. — 
Say,  signior  Gremio,  what  can  you  assure  her  ? 

Ore.  First,  as  you  know,  my  house  within  the 
city. 
Is  richly  lurnish'd  with  plate  and  gold  ; 
Basons,  and  ewers,  to  lave  her  danity  hands  ; 
My  hangings  all  of  Tyrian  tapestry : 
In  ivory  corters  I  have  stuff''d  my  crowns  ; 
In  cypress  chests  my  arras,  counterpoints,* 
Costly  apparel,  tents,  and  canopies. 
Fine  linen,  Turkey  cushions  boss'd  with  pearl, 
Valance  of  Venice  gold  in  needle-work. 
Pewter  and  brass,  and  all  thins;s  that  belong 
To  house,  or  housekeeping :  then,  at  my  farm, 
I  have  a  hundred  milch-kine  to  the  pail, 
Six  score  fat  oxen  standing  in  my  stalls. 
And  all  things  answerable  to  this  portion. 
Myself  am  struck  in  years,  I  must  confess  ; 
Aiid,  if  I  die  to-morrow,  this  is  hers, 
If,  whilst  I  live,  she  will  be  only  mine. 

(1)  To  vie  and  revjc  were  terms  at  cards  now 
superseded  by  the  word  brag. 
(2J  It  is  well  worth  seeing. 

(3)  A  dastardly  creature. 

(4)  Coverings  for  beds ;  npw  called  counterpanes. 


Tra.  That  ordrj  came  well  la— — Sir,  list  to  me, 
I  am  my  father's  heir,  and  ouly  son : 
If  I  may  have  your  daughter  to  my  wife, 
I'll  leave  her  houses  three  or  four  as  good, 
Within  rich  Pisa  walls,  as  any  one 
Old  signior  Gremio  has  in  Padua  ; 
Besides  two  thousand  ducats  by  the  year. 
Of  fruitful  land,  all  which  shall  be  her  jointure.— 
What,  have  I  pinch'd  you,  signior  Gremio  ? 

Gre.  Two  thousand  ducats  by  the  year,  of  land! 
^ly  land  amounts  not  to  so  much  in  all : 
That  she  shall  have  ;  besides  an  argosy,' 

That  now  is  lying  in  Marseilles'  road : 

AVhat,  have  I  chok'd  you  v.ith  an  argosy? 

Tru.  Gremio,  'lis  known,  my  father  hath  no  less 
Tlian  three  great  argosies ;  besides  two  galliasses,* 
And  twelve  tight  gallics:  these  I  will  assure  her. 
And  twice  its  mucii,  whate'cr  thou  oiier'st  next. 

Gre.  Nay,  I  have  oficr'd  all,  I  have  jio  more  ; 
And  she  can  have  no  more  than  all  I  have  ; — 
If  vou  like  me,  she  shall  have  me  and  mine. 

Tra.  V^  h}-,  then  t!ie  maid  is  mine  from  all  the 
woild. 
By  your  firm  promise ;  Gremio  is  out-vied. 

Bap.  I  must  confess,  your  oilier  is  the  best ; 
And,  let  your  father  make  her  the  assurance. 
She  is  your  own ;  else,  you  must  pardon  me  : 
if  vou  should  die  before  him,  where's  her  dower? 

Tra.  Thai's  but  a  cavil ;  he  is  old,  I  young. 

Gre.  And  may  not  young  men  die,  as  well  as  old  ? 

Bap.  Well,  gentlemen, 
I  am  llius  resolv'd : — On  Sunday  next  you  know, 
My  daughter  Katharine  is  to  be  married  : 
Now,  on  the  Sunday  following,  shall  Bianca 
Be  bride  to  you,  if  you  make  this  assurance  ; 
If  not,  to  signior  Gremio : 
And  so  I  tal'c  my  leave,  and  thank  yon  both.  [Ex. 

Gre.  Adieu,  good  neighbour. — Now  I  fear  thee 
not; 
Sirrah,  young  gamester,  your  father  were  a  fool 
To  give  thee  all,  and,  in  his  waning  age. 
Set  ibot  under  thy  table :  Tut !  a  toy  ! 
An  old  Italian  fox  is  not  so  kind,  my  boy.      [Exit. 

Tra.  A  vengeance  on  your  crafty  ivither'd  hide ! 
Yet  I  have  faced  it  with  a  card  of  ten. ' 
'Tis  in  my  head  to  do  my  master  good : — 
I  see  no  reason,  but  suppos'd  Lucentio 
Must  get  a  father,  call'd — suppos'd  Vinccntio ; 
And  that's  a  wonder:  fathers,  commonly, 
Do  get  their  children  ;  but,  in  this  case  of  wooing, 
A  child  shall  get  a  sire,  if  I  fail  not  of  my  cunninsr. 

[ExiU 


ACT  III. 

SCEJ^E  T. — .?  rcom  in  Baptisla's  hcuse.    Enter 
Lucentio,  Hortensio,  atid  Bianca. 

Luc.  Fiddler,  forbear ;  you  grow  too  forward,  sir: 
Have  you  so  soon  forgot'the  entertainment 
Her  sister  Katharine  welccm'd  vou  withal  ? 

Ilor.  But,  wranding  pedant,  this  is 
The  patroness  of  heavenly  harmony  : 
Then  give  me  leave  to  have  prerogative  ; 
And  when  in  music  we  have  spent  an  hour. 
Your  lecture  shall  have  leisure  for  as  m;ich. 

Lxic.  Preposterous  ass !  that  never  read  so  far 
To  know  the  cause  why  music  was  ordain'd  ! 

(5)  A  large  me-cliant-ship. 

(6)  A  vessel  01  burthen  worked  both  with  saila 
and  oars. 

(7)  The  highest  card. . 


Btme  11. 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


aS3 


Was  it  not,  to  refresh  the  mind  of  man, 
After  his  studies,  or  his  usual  pain  ? 
Then  give  me  leave  to  read  philosophy, 
And,  while  I  pause,  serve  in  your  harmony. 

Hor.  Sirrah,  I  will  notAeaf  these  braves  of  thine. 

Btan.  "\Vhv,  gentlemen,  you  do  me  double  wrong, 
To  strive  for  that  which  rcsteth  in  my  choice  : 
I  am  no  breeching  scholar'  in  t!ie  schools  ; 
I'll  not  be  tied  to  hours,  nor  'pointed  times. 
But  learn  my  lessons  as  I  please  myself. 
And,  to  cut  off  all  strife,  here  sit  ive  down  :— 
Take  you  your  instrument,  play  you  the  whiles ; 
His  lecture  will  be  done  ere  you  have  tun'd. 

Hor.  You'll  leave  his  lecture  when  I  am  in  tune  ? 
[To  Bianca. — Hortcnsio  rutires. 

Lite.  That  will  be  never ; — tune  your  instrument. 

Bian.  Where  left  we  last? 

Luc.  Here,  madam : 

Hnc  ibat  Simois  ;  hie  est  Sigeia  telliis  ; 
Hie  steterat  Priami  re!C-:i  celsa  senis. 

Bian.  Construe  them. 

Luc.  Hac  ibat,  as  I  told  you  before, — Simois,  I 
am  Lucentio, — hie  est,  son  unto  Vincentio  of  Pisa, 
— Sigeia  telliui,  disguised  tlius  to  sjet  your  love  ; — 
Hie  sleUrat,  and  that  Lucentio  that  comes  a  woo- 
iiig;, — Priami,  is  my  man  Tranio, — re^ia,  bearinsj 
my  port,— celsa  seiiis,  that  we  might  bejuile  the 
old  pantaloon. - 

Hor.  Madam,  my  instrument's  in  tune. 

[Returning. 

Bian.  Let's  hear ; —  [Hortcnsio  plays. 

0  fie !  the  treble  jars. 
Lvc.  Spit  in  the  hole,  man,  and  tunc  again. 
Bia't.  Now  let  me  see  if  I  can  construe  it :  Hac 

ibat  Sinitds,  I  know  you  not ;  hie  est  Sigeia  tellus, 

1  trust  you  not, — Hie  steterat  Priami,  take  heed  he 
hear  us  not; — regia,  presume  not; — celsa  senis, 
despair  not. 

Hot:  Madam,  'tis  now  in  tune. 

Luc.  All  but  the  base. 

Hor.  The  base  is  right ;  'tis  tlie  base  knave  that 
jars. 
How  fiery  and  forward  our  pedont  is ! 
Now,  for  my  life,  the  knave  doth  court  my  love : 
Pedtisr.ul'',^  I'll  watch  you  better  yet. 

Bian.  In  time  I  may  believe,  yet  I  mistrust. 

Luc.  Mistrust  it  not ;  for,  sure,  3iacides 
Was  AJEX, — call'd  so  from  his  grandfather. 

Bian.  I  must  believe  my  master ;  else,  I  promise 
you, 
1  should  be  arcruinc^  still  upon  that  doubt: 
But  let  it  rest. — Now,  Licio,  to  you : — 
Good  masters,  take  it  not  unkindly,  pray. 
That  I  have  been  thus  pleasant  with  you  both, 

Hor.  You  may  go  v.alk,    [To  Lucentio.]    and 
frive  me  leave  a  wliilc; 
My  lessons  make  no  music  in  three  parts. 

"Dk.  Are  you  so  formal,  sir?  well,  I  must  wait, 
And  watch  willial ;  for,  but  I  be  deceiv'd. 
Our  fine  musician  groweth  amorous.  [.Jside. 

Hor.  Madam,  before  you  touch  the  instrument. 
To  learn  the  order  of  my  fingering, 
I  must  begin  with  rudiments  of  art ; 
To  teach  you  gamut  in  a  briefer  sort. 
More  pleasant,  pithy,  and  effectual. 
Than  hath  been  taught  by  any  of  my  trade : 
And  there  it  is  in  writing,  fairly  drawn. 
Bian.  Wiij-,  I  am  past  my  gamut  long  ago. 
Hor.  Yet  read  the  gamut  of  Hortcnsio. 
.  Bian.  [Reads.]  Gamut  lam,  the  ground  of  all 
accord, 

(1 )  No  schoolboy,  liable  to  be  whipped, 

(2)  The  old  cully  in  Italian  farces,        .    - 


A  re,  to  plead  Horlensit^i  passion ; 
B  mi,  Bianca,  take  him,  for  thy  lord, 

C  faut,  that  loves  with  all  ajfection  ; 
D  sol  re,  one  clijf,  two  notes  have  I ; 
E  la  mi,  show  pity,  or  I  die. 
Call  you  this — gamut  ?  tut !  I  like  it  not : 
Old  fashions  please  me  best ;  I  am  not  so  nice,* 
To  change  true  ndes  for  odd  inventions. 

Enter  Servant. 

Serv.  Mistress,  your  father  pr^s  yoa  leare  your 
books, 
And  help  to  dress  your  sister's  chamber  up ; 
You  know,  to-morroAv  is  the  wedding-day. 
Bian.  Farewell,  sweet  masters,  both ;  I  must  be 
eone.  [Exeunt  Bianca  and  Servant. 

Luc.  'Faith,  mistress,  then  I  have  no  cause  to 
stay.  [Exit. 

Hot.  But  I  have  cause  to  pry  into  this  pedant ; 
Methinlcs  he  looks  as  though  he  were  in  love : — 
Yet  if  thy  thoughts,  Bianca,  be  so  humble, 
To  cast  thy  wand'ring  eyes  on  every  stale,* 
Seize  thee,  that  list :  If  once  I  find  thee  ranging, 
Hortcnsio  will  be  quit  with  thee  by  changing. 

[ExU. 

SCEXE  H.—The  same.  Before  Bantista's  house. 
Enter  Baptista,  Gremio,  Tranio,  Katharina,  Bi- 
anca, Lucentio,  and  attendants. 

Bap.  Signior  Lucentio,  [To  Tranio.]  tliis  is  the 
'pointed  day 
That  Katliarine  and  Petruchio  should  be  married. 
And  yet  we  hear  not  of  our  son-in-laiv : 
What  will  be  said  ?  w^at  mockery  will  it  be. 
To  want  the  bridegroom,  when  the  priest  attends 
jTo  speak  the  ceremonial  rites  of  marriage  ? 
i  What  says  Lucentio  to  this  shame  of  ours  ? 

Kath.  No  shame  but  mine :  I  must,  forsooth,  be 
forc'd 
To  prive  my  hand,  oppos'd  against  my  heart. 
Unto  a  mad-brain'd  rudesby,  full  of  spleen  ;" 
Who  woo'd  in  haste,  and  means  to  wed  at  leisure. 
I  told  you,  I,  he  was  a  frantic  fool, 
Hidin?  his  bitter  jests  in  blunt  behaviour: 
And,  to  be  noted  for  a  merry  man. 
He'll  woo  a  thousand,  'point  the  day  of  marriage. 
Make  friends,  invite,  yes,  and  proclaim  the  banns  ; 
Yet  never  means  to  wed  where  he  hath  woo'd. 
Now  must  the  world  point  at  poor  Katharine, 
And  say, — Lo,  there  is  mad  Petmchio^s  wife. 
If  it  woidd  please  him  come  and  marry  her. 

Tra.  Patience,  good  Katharine,   and  Baptista 
too  ; 
LTnon  my  life,  Petruchio  means  but  well. 
Whatever  fortune  stavs  him  from  his  word  : 
Though  he  be  blunt,  I  know  him  passing  wise ; 
Though  he  be  merrv,  yet  withal  he's  honest. 

Kaih.  'Would  Katharine  had  never  seen  him 
though ! 

[Exit,  weeping,  followed  by  Bianca,  and  others. 

Bap.  Go,  girl ;  I  cannot  blame  thee  now  to  weep ; 
For  such  an  injury  would  vex  a  saint. 
Much  more  a  shrew  of  thy  impatient  humour. 

Enter  Biondello. 

Bion.  Master,  master !  news,  old  news,  and  such 
news  cs  you  never  heard  of! 

Bap.  Is  it  new  and  old  too  ?  how  may  that  be  ? 

Bion.  Why,  is  it  not  news,  to  hear  of  Petruchio's 
coming  ? 


Bap.  Is  he  come  ? 

(3)  Pedant. 
(5)  Bait,  decoy, 


(4)  Fantastical. 

(6)  Caprice,  inconstancy. 


M 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


Jlet  Hi. 


Bion.  Why,  no,  sir. 

Bap.  What  then? 

Bion.  He  is  coming. 

Bap.  When  will  he  be  here  7 

Bion.  When  he  stands  where  I  am,  and  sees 
you  there. 

Tra.  But,  say,  what : — To  thine  old  news. 

Bion.  Why,  Petruchio  is  coming,  in  a  new  hat 
and  an  old  jerkin  ;  a  pair  of  old  breeches,  thricf 
turned ;  a  pair  of  boots  that  have  been  candle-cases. 
one  buckled,  another  laced ;  an  old  rusty  swora 
ta'en  out  of  me  town  armoury,  with  a  broken  hilt, 
and  chapeless ;  with  two  broken  points :  His  horse 
hipped  with  an  old  mothy  saddle,  the  stirrups  of  no 
kindred :  besides,  possessed  with  the  glanders,  and 
like  to  mose  in  the  chine ;  troubled  with  the  lampass. 
infected  with  the  fashions,'  full  of  wind-galls,  sped 
with  spavins,  raied  with  the  yellows,  past  cure  of 
the  fives,*  stark  spoil'd  with  the  staggers,  begnawn 
with  the  hots ;  swayed  in  the  back,  and  shoulder- 
shotten ;  ne'er-legged  before,  and  with  a  half- 
checked  bit,  and  a  head-stall  of  sheep's  leather : 
which,  being  restrained  to  keep  him  from  stum- 
bling, hath  been  often  burst,  and  now  repaired  with 
knots :  one  girt  six  times  pieced,  and  a  woman's 
crupper  of  velure,'  which  hath  two  letters  for  her 
name,  fairljr  set  down  in  studs,  and  here  and  there 
pieced  witli  packthread. 

Bap.  Who  comes  with  him  ? 

Bion.  O,  sir,  his  lackey,  for  all  the  world  capa 
nsoned  like  the  horse ;  with  a  linen  stock*  on  one 
leg,  and  a  kersey  boot-hose  on  the  other,  gartered 
"wiUi  a  red  and  blue  list :  an  old  hat,  and  The  Am- 
moitr  of  forty  fancies  pricked  in't  for  a  feather : 
a  monster,  a  very  monster  in  apparel ;  and  not  like 
a  Christian  footboy,  or  a  gentleman's  lackey. 

Tra.  'Tis  some  odd  humour  pricks  him  to  this 
fashion ; — 
Yet  oftentimes  he  goes  but  mean  apparell'd. 

Bap.    I    am   glad  he  is  come,   nowsoe'er  he 
comes. 

Bion.  Why,  sir,  he  comes  not. 

Bap.  D'ldm.  thou  not  say,  he  comes  ? 

Bion.  Who  ?  that  Petruchio  came  ? 

Bap.  Ay,  that  Petruchio  came. 

Bion.  No,  sir ;  I  say,  his  horse  comes  with  him 
on  his  bark. 

Bap.  Why,  that's  all  one. 

Bion.   Nay,  by  Saint  Jamy,  I  hold  you  a  penny, 
A  horse  and  a  man  is  more  than  one,  and  yet  not 
many. 


Enter  Petruchio  and  Grumio. 


Pet. 


Come,  where  be  these  gallants  ?  who  is  at 
home? 

Bap.  You  are  welcome,  sir. 
Pet.  And  yet  I  come  not  well. 

Bap.  And  yet  you  halt  not. 
Tra.  Not  so  well  apparell'd 

As  I  wish  you  were. 

Pet.  Were  it  better  1  should  rush  in  thus. 
But  where  is  Kate  ?  where  is  my  lovely  bride  ? 
How  does  my  father? — Gentles,  methinks  you 

frown : 
And  wherefore  gaze  this  goodly  company ; 
As  if  they  saw  some  wondrous  monument. 
Some  comet,  or  unusual  prodifry  ? 
Bap.  \Vhy,  sir,  you  know,  this  is  your  wedding- 
day: 
First  were  we  sad,  fearing  you  would  not  come ; 


(1)  Farcy. 


,  Vires ;  a  distemper  in  horses  little  diiTering 
Croin  the  strangles. 


Now  sadder,  that  you  come  so  unprovided. 
Fie !  doff  this  habit,  shame  to  your  estate. 
An  eye-sore  to  our  solemn  festival. 

Tra.  And  tell  us,  what  occasion  of  import 
Hath  all  so  long  detain'd  you  from  your  wife, 
And  sent  you  hither  so  unlike  yourself? 

Pet.  Tedious  it  were  to  tell,  and  harsh  to  hear : 
Sufficeth,  I  am  come  to  keep  my  word. 
Though  in  some  part  enforced  to  digress :' 
Which,  at  more  leisure,  I  will  so  excuse 
As  you  shall  well  be  satisfied  withal. 
But,  where  is  Kate  ?  I  stay  too  long  from  her  ; 
The  morning  wears,  'tis  time  we  were  at  church. 

Tra.   See  not  your  bride  in  these  unrevereiit 
robes ; 
Go  to  my  chamber,  put  on  clothes  of  mine. 

Pet.  Not  I,  believe  me  ;  thus  I'll  visit  her. 

Bap.  But  thus,  I  trust,  you  will  not  marry  her. 

Pet.  Good  sooth,  even  thus ;  therefore  have  done 
with  words ; 
To  me  she's  married,  not  unto  my  clothes : 
Could  I  repair  what  she  will  wear  in  me, 
As  1  can  change  these  poor  accoutrements, 
'Twere  well  for  Kate,  and  better  for  myself. 
But  what  a  fool  am  I,  to  chat  with  you. 
When  I  should  bid  ^ood-morrow  to  my  bride. 
And  seal  the  title  with  a  lovely  kiss  ? 

[Exeunt  Petruchio,  Griimio.  and  Biondcllo. 

Tro,  He  hath  some  meaning  in  his  mad  attire : 
We  will  persuade  him,  be  it  possible. 
To  put  on  better  ere  he  go  to  church. 

Bap.  I'll  after  him,  and  see  the  event  of  tliis. 

[Exit. 

Tra.  But,  sir,  to  her  lo^'e  concerncth  us  to  add 
Her  father's  liking :  Which  to  brinjr  to  pass. 
As  I  before  imparted  to  your  worship, 
I  am  to  get  a  man, — whate'er  he  be. 
It  skills*  not  much :  we'll  fit  him  to  our  turn, — 
And  he  shall  be  Vincentio  of  Pisa ; 
And  make  assurance,  here  in  Padua, 
Of  greater  sums  than  I  have  promised. 
So  shall  you  quietlv  enjoy  your  hope, 
And  marry  sweet  fiianca  with  consent. 

Luc.  Were  it  not  that  my  fellow  schoolmaster 
Doth  watch  Bianca's  steps  so  narrowly, 
'Twere  good,  methinks,  to  steal  our  marriage ; 
Which  once  perform'd,  let  all  the  world  say — no, 
I'll  keep  mine  own,  despite  of  all  the  world. 

Tra.  That  by  degrees  we  mean  to  look  into, 
And  watch  our  vantage  in  this  business : 
We'll  over-reach  the  greybeard,  Gremio, 
The  narrow-prying  father,  Minola ; 
The  quaint'  musician,  amorous  Licio  ; 
All  for  my  master's  sake,  Lucentio. — 

Re-enter  Gremio. 

Signior  Gremio !  came  j'ou  from  the  church  ? 

Gre.  As  willingly  as  e'er  I  came  from  school. 

Tra.  And  is  the  bride  and  bridegroom  coming 
home? 

Gre.  A  bridegroom,  say  you  ?  'tis  a  groom,  in- 
deed, 
A  grumbling  groom,  and  that  the  girl  shall  find. 

Tra.  Curstcr  than  she  ?  why,  'tis  impossible. 

Gre.  Why,  he's  a  devil,  a  devil,  a  very  fiend. 

Tra.  Why,  she's  a  devil,  a  devil,  the  devil's  dam, 

Gre.  Tut !  she's  a  lamb,  a  dove,  a  fool  to  him. 
I'll  tell  you,  sir  Lucentio  ;  When  the  priest 
Should  ask — if  Katharine  should  be  his  wife, 
^y,  by  gogs-wouns,  quoth  he ;  and  swore  so  loud. 


3J  Velvet,  (4]  Stocking. 

5 )  i.  e.  To  deviate  from  my  promise. 

6)  Matters.  (7)  Strange. 


Sctnel. 


TAMING  or  THE  SHREW. 


That  all  amaz'd,  ihc  priest  let  fall  the  book: 
And,  as  he  stoop'd  again  to  take  it  up, 
The  mad-brain'd  bridegroom  took  him  such  a  cuff, 
That  down  fell  priest  and  book,  and  book  and  priest; 
Aoio  take  Ihem  ttp,  quoth  he,  tfany  list. 

Tra.  What  said  the  wench,  when  he  arose  again  ? 

Gre.  Trembled  and  shook;  for  why,  he  stamp'd, 
and  swore. 
As  if  the  vicar  meant  to  cozen  him. 
But  after  many  ceremonies  done. 
He  calls  for  wme  : — d  health,  quoth  he ;  as  if 
He  had  been  aboard  carousing'  to  his  mates 
After  a  storm  : — QuatPd  off  the  muscadel,' 
And  threw  the  sops  all  in  the  sexton's  face  ; 
Having  no  other  reason, — 
But  that  his  beard  grew  thin  and  hungerlj-. 
And  seem'd  to  ask  him  sops  as  ne  was  dnnldng. 
This  done,  he  took  the  bride  about  the  neck ; 
And  kiss'd  her  lips  wilh  such  a  clamorous  smack, 
That,  at  the  parting,  all  the  church  did  echo. 
I,  seeing  this,  came  thence  for  very  shame  ; 
And  after  nie,  I  know,  the  rout  i=!  coming: 
Such  a  mad  marriage  never  was  before  ; 
Hark,  hark !  I  hear  the  minstrels  play.        [Jilusic. 

Enter  Petruchio,   Katharina,   Bianca,   Baptista, 
Hortensio,  Grumio,  and  train. 

Pet.    Gentlemen  and  friends,  I  thank  you  for 
your  pains : 
I  know,  you  think  to  dine  with  me  to-day, 
And  have  prepar'd  great  store  of  wedding  cheer  ; 
But  so  it  is,  my  haste  doth  call  me  hence. 
And  therefore  nere  I  mean  to  take  my  leave. 

Bap.  Is't  possible,  you  will  away  to-night  ? 

Pet.  I  must  away  to-day,  before  night  come  : — 
Make  it  no  wonder ;  if  you  knew  my  business, 
You  would  entreat  me  rather  go  than  stay. 
And,  honest  company,  I  thank  you  all, 
That  have  beheld  me  give  away  myself 
To  this  most  patient,  sweet,  and  virtuous  wife : 
Dine  with  my  father,  drink  a  health  to  me  ; 
For  I  must  hence,  and  farewell  to  you  all. 

Tra.  Let  us  entreat  you  stay  till  after  dinner. 

Pel.  It  may  not  be. 

Gre.  Let  me  entreat  you. 

Pet.  It  cannot  be. 

Kath.  Let  me  entreat  you. 

Pet.  I  am  content. 

Kath.  Are  you  content  to  stay  ? 

Pet.  I  am  content  you  shall  entreat  me  stay ; 
But  yet  not  stay,  entreat  me  how  you  can. 

Kath.  Now,  if  you  love  me,  stay. 
.  Pet.  Grumio,  my  horses. 

Gru.  Ay,  sir,  they  be  ready ;  the  oats  have 
eaten  the  horses. 

Kath.  Nay,  then, 
Do  what  thou  canst,  I  will  not  go  to-day ; 
No,  nor  to-morrow,  nor  till  I  please  myself. 
The  door  is  open,  sir,  there  lies  your  w'ay. 
You  may  be  jogging,  whiles  your  boots  are  green  ; 
For  me,  I'll  not  be  gone,  tilfl  please  myself:— 
'Tis  like,  you'll  prove  a  jolly  surly  groom. 
That  take  it  on  you  at  the  first  so  roundlv. 

Pel.  O,  Kate,  content  thee ;  pr'j-thee,  be  not 
angrv. 

Kath.  I  will  be  angry ;  What  hast  thou  to  do  ? — 
Father,  be  quiet ;  he  shall  stav  my  leisure. 

Gre.  Aj',  marrj-,  sir:  now  it  berrins  to  w-ork. 

Kath.  Gentlemen,  fonvard  to  the  bridal  dinner : — 
I  see  a  woman  may  be  made  a  fool, 

(1)  It  was  the  custom  for  the  company  present 
•6  drink  wxne  immediately  after  the  marriage- 
ceremony. 


If  she  had  not  a  spirit  to  resist. 

Pet.  They  shall  go  forward,  Kate,  tt  thy  com- 
mand : — 
Obey  the  bride,  you  that  attend  on  her : 
Go  to  the  feast,  revel  and  domineer. 
Carouse  full  measure  to  her  maidenhead, 

Be  mad  and  merry, or  go  hang  yourselves ; 

But  for  my  bonny  Kate,  she  must  with  me. 
Nay,  look  not  big,  nor  stamp,  nor  stare,  nor  fret ; 
I  will  be  master  of  what  is  mine  own : 
She  is  my  goffds,  my  chattels  ;  she  is  my  house, 
My  household-stufij^my  field,  my  barn, 
My  horse,  my  ox,  my  ass,  my  any  thing ; 
And  here  she  stands,  touch  her  whoever  dart ; 
I'M  bring  my  action  on  the  proudest  he 

That  stops  my  way  in  Padua. Grumio, 

Draw  forth  thy  iveapon,  we're  beset  with  thievea ; 

Rescue  thy  mistress,  if  tJiou  be  a  man : — 

Fear  not,  sweet  wench,  they  shall  not  touch  thee, 

Kate  ; 
I'll  buckler  thee  against  a  million. 

[Exeunt  Pelruchio,  Katharine,  and  Grumio. 

Bap.  Na)',  let  them  go,  a  couple  of  quiet  ones. 

Gre.  Went  they  not  quickly,  I  should  die  with 
laughing. 

Tra.  Of  all  mad  matches,  never  was  the  like ! 

Luc.  Mistress,  what's  your  opinion  of  vour  sister? 

Bian.    That,  being  mad   herself,  she's  madly 
mated. 

Gre.  I  warrant  him,  Petruchio  is  Katcd. 

Bap.  Neighbours  and  friends,  though  bride  and 
bridegroom  wants 
For  to  supply  the  places  at  the  table. 
You  know,  there  wants  no  junkets^  at  the  feast  ;— 
Lucentio,  jrou  shall  supply  the  bridegroom's  place ; 
And  let  Bianca  take  her  sister's  room. 

Tra.  Shall  sweet  Bianca  practise  how  to  bride  it  7 

Bap.    She  shall,  Lucentio. — Come,  gentlemen, 
let's  go.  [ExeunL 


ACT  IV. 

SCEJ<rE  I.—Jl  hall  in  Pctruchio's  country  houat. 
Enter  Grumio. 

Gru.  Fie,  fie,  on  all  tired  jades!  on  all  mad 
masters !  and  all  foul  ivays  •  Was  ever  man  so 
beaten  ?  was  ever  man  so  rayed  ?'  was  ever  man 
so  weary  ?  I  am  sent  before  to  make  a  fire,  and  they 
are  coming  after  to  warm  them.  Now,  were  not 
I  a  little  pot,  and  soon  hot,  my  very  lips  might 
freeze  to  my  teelii,  my  tongue  to  the  roof  of  my 
mouth,  my  heart  in  my  belly,  ere  I  should  come  by 
a  fire  to  thaw  nie:-^B«t  I,  with  blowing  the  fire, 
shall  warm  myself;  for,  considering  the  weather, 
a  taller  man  than  I  will  take  cold.— Holla,  hoa! 
Curtis ! 

£/!/«•  Curtis. 

Cttrt.  Who  is  that,  calls  so  coldly  ? 

Gru.  A  piece  of  ice :  If  thou  doubt  it,  thou 
may'st  slide  from  my  shoulder  fo  my  heel,  with  no 
greater  a  run  but  my  head  and  my  neck.  A  fire, 
good  Curtis. 

Curt.  Is  my  master  and  his  wife  coming,  Grumio? 

Gni.  O,  ay,  Curtis,  ay:  and  therefore  fire,  fire  ; 
cast  on  no  water. 

Curt.  Is  she  so  hot  a  shrew  as  she's  reported  ? 

Gnt.  She  was,  good  Curtis,  before  this  frost ; 
but,  thou  know'st,  winter  lames  man,  woman,  and 
beast ;  for  it  hath  tamed  my  old  master,  and  my 
new  mistress,  and  myself,  fellow  Curtis. 


(2)  Delicacies. 


(3)  Bewrayed,  dirty, 
2  L 


266 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


Jd  19, 


Curt.  Away,  you  three-inch  fool !  I  am  no  beast. 

Gru.  Am  I  but  three  inches  ?  why,  thy  horn  is 
a  foot ;  and  so  long  am  I,  at  the  least.  But  wilt 
thou  make  a  fire,  or  shall  I  complain  on  thee  to  our 
mistress,  whose  hand  (she  being  now  at  hand)  thou 
shalt  soon  feel,  to  thy  cold  comfort,  for  being  slow 
in  thy  hot  office. 

Citrt.  I  pr'ythee,  good  Grumio,  tell  me.  How 
goes  the  world  ? 

Gni.  A  cold  ivorld,  Curtis,  in  every  oflice  but 
thine ;  and,  therefore,  fire :  Do  thy  duty,  and  have 
thy  duty ;  for  my  master  and  mistress  are  almost 
frozen  to  death. 

Curt.  There's  fire  ready ;  And  therefors,  good 
Grumio,  the  news  ? 

Gru.  Why,  Jack  boy!  ho  boy!  and  as  much 
news  as  thou  wilt. 


Gru.  Call  them  forth. 

Curt.  Do  you  hear,  ho  ?  you  must  meet  my 
master,  to  countenance  my  mistress. 

Gru.  Why,  she  hath  a  lace  of  her  own. 

Curt.  Who  knows  not  that  ? 

Gru,  Thou,  it  seems ;  that  callcst  for  company 
to  countenance  her. 

Curt.  I  call  them  forth  to  credit  her. 

Gru.  Why,  she  comes  to  borrow  nothing  of  them. 

Enter  several  Servants. 
JiTatk.  Welcome  home,  Grumio. 
Fhil.  How  now,  Grumio  ? 
Jos.  What,  Grumio ! 
J^icli.  Fellow  Grumio ! 
J^Tath.  How  now,  old  lad  ? 
Gru.  Welcome,  you  ;— how  now,  you ;— what, 


Curt.  Come,  you  are  so  full  of  conycatching: — h'ou ;— fellow,  you ;  and  thus  much  for  greetine. 

Gru.  Why,  therefore,  fire ;  for  I  have  caught  ex-  Now,  my  spruce  companions,  is  all  ready,  and  all 
treme  cold.     Where's  the  cook?  is  supper  ready,  thinp  neat ? 

the  house  trimmed,  rushes  strewed,  cobwebs  swept ;      JSatli.  All  things  is  ready:    How  near  is  our 
the  serving-men  in  their  new  fustian,  their  whitf  master  ? 


stockings,  and  every  ofTicer  his  wedding-garment 
on  ?  Be  the  jacks  fair  within,  the  Jills  f;iir  without, 
the  carpets  laid,  and  every  thing  in  order? 

Curt.  All  ready;  And  therefore,  I  pray  thee, 
news  ? 

Gru.  First,  know,  my  horse  is  tired ;  my  master 
and  mistress  fallen  out. 

Curt.  How? 

Gru.  Out  of  their  saddles  into  the  dirt ;  And 
thereby  hangs  a  talc. 

Curt.  Let's  ha't,  good  Grumio. 

Gru.  Lend  thine  ear. 

Curt.  Here. 

Gru.  There.  [Striking  him. 

Curt.  This  is  to  feel  a  tale,  not  to  liear  a  tale. 

Gru.  And  therefore  'tis  called,  a  sensible  tale : 
and  this  cuft'was  but  to  Icnock  at  your  ear,  and  be- 
seech listening.  Now  I  begin  :  Imprimis,  wc  came 
down  a  foul  hill,  my  mastsr  riding  behind  my  mis- 
tress : — 

Curt.  Both  on  one  horse  ? 

Gru.  What's  that  to  thee  ? 

Curt.  Why,  a  horse. 


Gru.  E'en  at  hand,  alighted  by  this  ;  and  there- 
fore be  not, Cock's  passion,  silence ! 1  hear 

my  master. 

Enter  Petrucliio  and  Katharina. 

Pd.  AV'here  be  these  knaves  ?  What,  no  man  at 
door, 
To  hold  my  stirrup,  nor  to  take  rnv  horse  ? 
Wlicrc  is  Nathaniel,  Gregory,  Philip  ? 

All  SejT.  Here,  here,  sir ;  here,  sir. 

Pet.  Here,  sir !  here,  sir !  here,  sir !  here,  sir  !— 
You  logger-headed  and  unpolish'd  grooms ! 
What,  no  attendance  ?  no  regard  ?  no  duty  ? — 
Where  is  the  foolish  knave  I  sent  before  ? 

Gru.  Here,  sir  ;  as  ibolish  as  I  was  before. 

Pet.  You  peasant  swain !  you  ivhoreson  malt- 
horse  drudge ! 
Did  I  not  bid  thee  meet  me  in  the  park, 
And  bring  along  these  rascal  knaves  with  thee  ? 

Gni.  Nathaniel's  coat,  sir,  was  not  fully  made. 
And  Gabriel's  pumps  were  all  unpink'd  i'the  heel; 
There  was  no  link*  to  colour  Peter's  hat. 
And  Walter's  dagger  was  not  come  from  sheathinjr: 


Gru.  TeUYhou  the  tale  : But  liadst  thou  notl'Jfiicre  were  none  line,  but  Adam,  Ralph,  and  Gre- 

crossed  me,  thou  shouldst  liave  hoard  how  her  horse pory 


fell,  and  she  under  her  horse ;  thou  should'st  have 
heard,  in  how  miry  a  place  :  how  she  ivas  benioil- 
ed : '  how  he  left  her  with  the  horse  upon  her ;  liou- 
he  beat  me  because  her  horse  stumbled  ;  how  she 
waded  througli  the  dirt  to  i)luck  him  off  me  ;  how 
he  swore ;  how  she  prayed — that  never  prayed  be- 
fore ;  how  I  cried  ;  how  the  horses  ran  away ;  how 
her  bridle  was  burst;-  how  I  lost  my  crupper ; — 
with  many  things  of  worthy  memory  ;  which  now 
shall  die  in  oblivion,  and  thou  return  unexperienced 
to  thy  grave. 

Curt.  By  this  reckoning,  he  is  more  shrew  than 
she. 

Gri;.  Ay:  and  that,  thou  and  the  proudest  of 
you  all  shall  find,  when  he  comes  home.  But  what 
talk  I  of  this  ? — call  forth  Nathaniel,  Joseph,  Nich- 
olas, Philip,  Walter,  Sugarsop,  and  the  rest ;  let 
their  heads  be  sleekly  combed,  their  blue  coats 
brushed,  and  their  garters  of  an  indifferent'  knit : 
let  them  curtsey  with  their  left  legs  ;  and  not  pre- 
sume to  touch  a  hair  of  my  master's  horse-tail,  till 
they  kiss  their  hands.    Are  they  all  ready  ? 

Curt.  They  are. 

(1)  Bemired,  (2)  Broken. 

(3)  Not  different  one  from  the  other. 

(4)  A  torch  of  pitch. 


The  rest  ^vere  ragged,  old,  and  beggarly ; 

Yet,  as  they  arc,  here  are  they  come  to  meet  you. 

Pet.  Go,  rascals,  go,  and  letch  my  supper  in. 

[Exeunt  so^ne  of  the  Servants. 
Where  is  the  life  that  late  I  led—  [Sings. 

Where  are  those Sit  down.  Kale,  and  welcome! 

Soud,  soud,  soud,  soud  !"■ 

Re-enter  Servants,  loith  supper: 

Why,  when,  I  say  ?— Naj',  good  sweet  Kate,  be 

merr}'. 
Off  with  my  boots,  3-ou  rogues,  you  villains ;  When  ? 
Jt  was  the  friar  of  orders  grey,  [Sinn-s. 

.5s  he  forth  tcalked  on  Itis  toay  .- —  " 

Out,  out,  you  rogue  !  you  pluck  my  foot  awry : 

Take  that,  and  mend  the  plucking  ofl'the  other 

„  -rr  „  [Strikes  him. 

Be  merry,  Kate :— Some  water,  here  ;  what,  ho  •— 
Where's  my  spaniel  Troilus  ?— Sirrah,  get  you 

hence. 
And  bid  my  cousin  Ferdinand  come  hither:— 

[Exit  Servant, 
One,  Kate,  that  you  must  kiss,  and  be  acquainted 
with.— 

(5)  A  word  coined  by  Shakspeare  to  express  the 
noise  made  by  a  person  heated  and  fatigued. 


Scene  U. 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


267 


Where  are  my  slipp«rs  ? — Shall  I  have  some  water  ? 

[j3  bason  is  presented  to  hinu 

Come,  Kate,  and  wash,  and  welcome  heartily : — 

[Servant  lets  the  ewer  fall. 

You  whoreson  villain !  will  you  let  it  fall  ? 

[atrilces  him. 
Kalh.  Patience,  I  prayjou;  'twas  a  fiiult  un- 
willing. 
Pet.  A  whoreson,  beetle-headed,  Cap-car'd  knave ! 
Come,  Kate,  sit  down ;  I  knoiif  you  have  a  stomach. 
>VilI  you  frive  thanks,  sweet  Kate ;  or  else  shall  I  ?— 
What  is  this  ?  mutton  ? 
1  Serv.  Ay. 

Pet.  WIio  brought  it? 

1  Sot.  I. 

Pet.  'Tis  burnt ;  and  so  is  all  the  meat : 
"What  dogs  arc  tliesc  ? — Where  is  the  rascal  cook  ? 
How  durst  you,  villains,  brin^  it  from  the  dresser, 
And  serve  it  thus  to  me  that  love  it  not? 
Tlicrc,  take  it  to  you,  trenchers,  cups,  and  all : 

[Throics  the  meat,  ^-c.  abovt  the  sta^e. 
You  heedless  jolliieads,  and  unraaniier'd  slaves? 
■What,  do  30U  ^-umblc ?  I'll  be  with  jou  straight. 

Kath.  I  pray  you,  husband,  be  not  so  disquiet ; 
The  meat  was' well,  if  you  were  so  conlchted. 
Pet.  I  tell  thee,  Kate,  'twas  burnt  and  dried 
away ; 
And  I  expressly  am  forbid  to  touch  it, 
For  it  engenders  choler,  planteth  anper ; 
And  better  'twere,  that  both  of  us  did  fast, — 
Since,  of  ourselves,  ourselves  are  choleric, — 
Than  feed  it  with  such  over-roasted  flesh. 
Be  patient ;  to-morrow  it  shall  be  mendetl. 
Ana,  for  this  nipht,  we'll  fast  for  company : 
Come,  I  will  briny-  thee  to  thy  bridal  chamber. 

[Exextnt  Petruchio,  Katharina,  and  Curtis. 
Natli.    [Mvancins:.]  Peter,  didst'  ever  see  the 

like  ? 
Peter.  He  kills  her  in  her  own  humour. 

Re-enter  Curtis. 

Oru.  Wiere  is  he  ? 

Ci!r(.  In  her  chamber, 
Makinar  a  sermon  of  continency  to  her : 
And  rails,  and  swears,  and  rates ;  that  she,  poor  soul. 
Knows  not  which  way  to  stand,  to  look,  to  speak ; 
,\nd  sits  as  one  new-risen  from  a  dream. 
Away,  away !  for  he  is  coming  hither.      [Exeunt. 

Re-enter  Petruchio. 
Pet.  Thus  have  I  politicly  begun  my  reign, 
And  'tis  my  hope  to  end  successfully  : 
My  falcon  now  is  sharp,  and  passin?  empty ; 
Aiid  till  she  stoop,  she  must  not  be  tull-gofg'd. 
For  then  she  never  looks  upon  her  lure. ' 
Another  way  I  have  to  man  my  haggard,- 
To  make  her  come,  and  know  her  keeper's  call. 
That  is, — to  watch  her,  as  we  watch  these  kites. 
That  bate,=  and  beat,  and  will  not  be  obedient. 
She  eat  no  meat  to-day,  nor  none  shall  eat; 
Last  night  she  slept  not,  nor  to-night  she  shall  not ; 
As  with  the  meat,  some  undeserved  fault 
I'll  find  about  the  makinsr  of  the  bed  ; 
And  here  I'll  fling  the  pillow,  there  the  bolster. 
This  way  the  coverlet,  another  way  the  sheets  : — 
Av,  and  amid  this  hurly,  I  intend,* 
That  all  is  done  in  reverent  care  of  her  ;  _ 
And,  in  conclusion,  she  shall  watch  all  night ; 
And,  if  she  chance  to  nod,  I'll  rail,  and  brawl. 
And  with  the  clamour  keep  her  still  awake. 

(1)  A  thing  stuffed  to  look  like  the  game  which 
the  hawk  was  to  pursue. 
(8)  To  tame  »y  wild  hawk, 


This  is  the  way  to  kill  a  w  ife  with  kindness ; 
And  thus  I'll  curb  hei'  mad  and  headstrong  htt« 

mour: 

He  that  knows  better  how  to  tame  a  shrew, 
Now  let  him  speak;  'tis  charity  to  show.      [Exit. 

SCEXE  //.—Padua.     Before  BaptisU's  hottse. 
Enter  Tranio  and  Hortcnsio. 
Tra.  Is't  possible,  friend  Licio,  that  Bianca 
Doth  fancy  any  other  but  Lucentio  ? 
I  tell  you,  sir,  she  bears  me  fair  in  hand. 

Hor.  Sir,  to  satisfy  you  in  what  I  have  said. 
Stand  by,  auQ  mark  yie  manner  of  his  teaching. 

[They  stand  (uide. 

Enter  Bianca  and  Lucentio. 

Luc.  Now,  mistress,  profit  you  in  what  you  read  ? 

Bian.  What,  master,  read  you  ?  first  resolve  me 
Uiat. 

Lx'c.  I  read  that  I  profess,  the  art  to  love. 

Bian.  And  may  you  prove,  sir,  master  of  your 

art! 
,  Luc.  While  you,  sweet  dear,  prove  mistress  of 
my  heart.  [They  retire. 

Hor.  Quick  procecders,  marry !  Now,  tell  me, 
I  pray, 
1  ou  that  durst  swear  that  your  mistress  Bianca 
Lov'd  none  in  tlie  world  so  ^vell  as  Lucentio. 

Tra.    O  despiteful  love !    unconstant  woman 
kind!— 
I  tell  thee,  Licio,  this  is  wonderful. 

Hor.  Mistake  no  more ;  I  am  not  Licio, 
Nor  a  musician,  as  I  seem  to  be ; 
But  one  that  scorn  to  live  in  this  disguise, 
Tor  such  a  one  as  leaves  a  gentleman, 
And  makes  a  god  of  such  a  cullion  :' 
Know,  sir,  that  I  am  call'd — Ilortensio. 

Tra.  Signior  Hortcnsio,  I  have  often  beard 
Of  your  entire  affection  to  Bianca  ; 
And  since  mine  eyes  are  witness  of  her  lightness, 
I  will  with  you, — ^if  you  be  so  contented, — 
Forswear  Bianca  and  her  love  for  ever. 

Hot.  See,  how  they  kiss  and  court ! Si^or 

Lucentio, 
Here  is  my  hand,  and  here  I  Crmly  vow — 
Never  to  woo  her  more ;  but  do  forswear  her, 
As  one  unworthv  al!  the  former  favours 
That  I  have  fondly  (iatter'd  her  withal. 

Tra.  And  here  I  take  the  like  unfeigned  oath, — 
Ne'er  to  marry  with  her  though  she  would  entreat : 
Fie  on  her !  see,  hov,-  beastly  she  doth  court  him. 

Hor.  'Would,  all  the  world,  but  he,  had  quite 
forsworn ! 
For  me, — that  I  may  surelv  keep  mine  oath, 
I  will  be  married  to  a  ^vealthy  widow. 
Ere  three  days  pass ;  which  hath  as  long  lov'd  mc. 
As  I  have  lov'd  this  proud  disdainful  haggard : 
And  so  farewell,  signior  Lucentio. — 
Kindness  in  women,  not  their  beauteous  looks. 
Shall  win  my  love : — and  so  I  take  my  leave. 
In  resolution  as  I  swore  before. 

[Exi,t  Hortensio. — Luc.  and  Bian.  advance. 

Tra.  Mistress  Bianca,  bless  you  with  such  grace 
As  'longeth  to  a  lover's  blessed  case  ! 
Nay,  I  have  ta'en  you  napping,  gentle  love  ; 
And  have  forsworn  you,  with  Hortensio. 

Bian.  Tranio,  you  jest ;  But  have  you  both  for- 
sworn me  ? 

Tra,  Mistress,  we  have. 

Luc.  Then  we  are  rid  of  Licio. 

Tra.  I'faith,  he'll  have  a  lusty  widow  now, 

(3)  Flutter.  (4)  Pretend. 

1  (5)  Despicable  fellow. 


TAMING  OP  THE  SHRfiW. 


jitttr. 


That  shall  be  woo'd  and  wadded  in  a  day. 

Sitm.  God  give  him  joy ! 

Tra.  Ay,  and  he'll  tame  her. 

Bian.  He  says  so,  Tranio. 

Tra.  'Faith,  he  Is  gone  unto  the  taminpr-school. 

Bian.  The  taming-school !  what,  is  there  such 
a  place  ? 

Tra.  Ay,  mistress,  and  Petruchio  is  the  master ; 
That  teacheth  tricks  eleven  and  twenty  long', — 
To  tame  a  shrew,  and  charm  her  chattering  tongue. 

EiUer  Biondello  running. 

Bian.  O  master,  master,  I  have  watch'd  so  long. 
That  I'm  dog-weary  ;  but  at  last  I  spied 
An  ancient  angel'  coming  down  the  hill, 
Will  serve  ths  turn. 

Tra.  What  is  he,  Biondello  ? 

Bion.  Master,  a  mercatant(5,  or  a  pedant,* 
I  know  not  what ;  but  formal  in  apparel, 
In  gait  and  countenance  surely  like  a  father. 

Luc.  And  what  of  him,  Tranio  ? 

Tra.  If  he  be  credulous,  and  trust  my  tale, 
I'll  make  him  glad  to  seem  Vincentio ; 
And  eive  assurance  to  Baptista  Minola, 
As  if  ne  were  the  right  Vincentio. 
Take  in  your  love,  and  then  let  me  alone. 

[Exeunt  Lucentio  and  Bianca 

Enter  a  Pedant. 

Ped.  God  save  you,  sir ! 

Tra.  And  you,  sir !  you  are  welcome. 

Travel  vou  far  on,  or  are  you  at  the  furthest  ? 

Ped.  Sir,  at  the  furthest  for  a  week  or  two  : 
But  then  up  further,  and  as  far  as  Rome  ; 
And  so  to  Tripol)-,  if  God  lend  me  life. 

Tra.  What  countryman,  I  pray  ? 

Ped.  Of  Mantua. 

Tra.  Of  Mantua,  sir? — marry,  God  forbid! 
And  come  to  Padua,  careless  of  your  life  ? 

Ped.  My  life,  sir !  now,  I  pray  ?  for  that  goes  hard. 

Tra.  'Tis  death  for  any  one  in  Mantua 
To  come  to  Padua ;  Know  you  not  the  cause  ? 
Your  ships  are  staid  at  Venice ;  and  the  duke 
(For  private  quarrel  'tvixt  your  duke  and  him,) 
Hath  publish'd  and  proclahu'd  it  openly : 
'Tis  marvel ;  but  that  you're  but  newly  come, 
You  might  have  heard  it  else  proclaim'd  about. 

Ped.  Alas,  sir,  it  is  worse  for  me  than  so ; 
For  I  have  bills  for  money  by  exchange 
From  Florence,  and  must  here  deliver  them. 

Tra.  Well,  sir,  to  do  you  courtesy. 
This  will  I  do,  and  this  will  I  advise  vou  ;— 
First,  tell  me,  have  you  ever  been  at  Pisa  ? 

Ped.  Ay,  sir,  in  Pisa  have  I  often  been  ; 
Pisa,  renowned  for  grave  citizens. 

Tra.  Among  them,  know  you  one  Vincentio : 

Ped.  I  know  him  not,  but  I  have  heard  of  him  ; 
A  merchant  of  incomparable  wealth. 

Tra.  He  is  my  father,  sir ;  and,  sooth  to  say, 
In  countenance  somewliat  doth  resemble  you. 

Bion.  As  much  as  an  apple  doth  an  oyster,  and 
all  one.  [Aside. 

Tra.  To  save  your  life  in  this  extremity, 
This  favour  will  I  do  you  for  his  sake  ; 
And  think  it  not  the  worst  of  all  your  fortunes, 
That  your  are  like  to  sir  Vincentio. 
His  name  and  cieclit  shall  you  undertake, 
And  in  my  house  you  shall  be  friendly  lodg'd  ; — 
Look,  that  you  Uake  upon  you  as  you  should ; 
You  understand  me,  sir ;— so  shall  you  stay 
Till  you  have  done  your  business  in  the  city : 
If  this  be  courtesy,  sir,  accept  of  it 

(I)  Messenger.  (2)  A  merchant  or  a  schoolmaster. 


Ped.  0,  sir,  I  do  |  and  will  repute  you  ever 
The  patron  of  my  life  and  liberty. 

Tra.  Then  go  with  me,  to  make  the  matter  good. 
This,  by  the  way,  I  let  you  understand  ; — 
My  father  is  here  look'd  for  every  day^ 
To  pass  assurance  of  a  dower  in  marriage 
'Twist  me  and  one  Baptista's  daughter  here : 
In  all  these  circumstances  I'll  instruct  you  : 
Go  with  me,  sir,  to  clothe  you  as  becomes  you. 

[Exeunt, 

SCEJ\rE    III.— A   room   in   Pelruchio's    house. 
Enter  Katharina  and  Grumio. 

Gni.  No,  no ;  forsooth ;  I  dare  not,  for  my  life. 

Kath.  The  more  my  wrong,  the  more  his  spite 
appears  : 
What,  did  he  marry  me  to  famish  me  ? 
Beggars,  that  come  unto  my  father's  door, 
Upon  entreaty,  have  a  present  alms ; 
If  not,  elsewhere  they  meet  with  charity : 
But  I, — who  never  knew  how  to  entreat, — 
Am  starv'd  for  meat,  giddy  for  lack  of  sleep  ; 
With  oaths  kept  waking,  and  with  brawling  fed : 
And  that  which  spites  me  more  than  all  these  wants, 
He  does  it  under  name  of  perfect  love ; 
As  who  should  say, — If  I  should  sleep,  or  eat, 
'Twere  deadly  sickness,  or  else  present  death. — 
I  pr'ythee  go,  and  get  me  some  repast ; 
I  care  not  what,  so  it  be  wholesome  food. 

Gm.  What  say  you  to  a  neat's  foot  ? 

Kath.  'Tis  passing  good  ;    I  pr'ythee  let  me 
have  it. 

Gru.  I  fear  it  is  too  choleric  a  meat : — 
Hnw  say  you  to  a  fat  tripe,  finely  broil'd  ? 

Kath.  I  like  it  well ;  good  Grumio,  fetch  it  me. 

G>i/..  I  cannot  tell  j  I  fear  'tis  choleric. 
What  say  you  to  a  piece  of  beef,  and  mustard  ? 

Kath.  A  dish  that  I  do  love  to  feed  upon. 

Gru.  Av,  but  the  mustard  is  too  hot  a  little. 

Kath.  Why,  then  the  beef,  and  let  the  mustard 
rest. 

Gru.  Nay,  then  I  will  not;  you  shall  have  the 
mustard, 
Or  else  you  get  no  beef  of  Grumio. 

Kath,'T\\c\\  both,  or  one,  or  any  thing  thou  wilt* 

Gru.  VV'hy,  then  I  he  mustard  without  the  beef. 

Kalk.   Go,  get  thee- gone,  thou  false  deluding 
slave,  [Betds  him. 

That  fecd'st  me  with  the  very  name  of  meat : 
Sorrow  on  thee,  and  all  the  pack  of  you, 
That  triumph  thus  upon  my  miserj"  I 
Go,  get  thee  gone,  I  say. 

Enter  Petruchio  with  a  dish  of  meat ;  and  Hor- 
tensio. 
Pet.  How  fares  my  Kate  ?  What,  sweeting,  all 

•Tmort?* 
Hor.  Mistress,  what  chrer  ? 
Kaih.  'Failh,  as  cold  as  can  be. 

Pet.  Pluck  up  thy  spirits,  look  cheerfully  upon 
me. 
Here,  love  ;  thou  see'st  how  diligent  I  am, 
To  dress  thy  meat  myself,  and  bring  it  thee  : 

[Sets  the  dish  on  a  table. 
I  am  sure,  sweet  Kate,  this  kindness  merits  thanks. 
What,  not  a  word?  Nay,  then,  thou  lov'st  it  not  J 

And  all  my  pains  is  sorted  to  no  proof: 

Here,  take  away  this  dish. 
Kath.  'Pray  you,  let  it  stand. 

Pel.  Tlie  poorest  service  is  repaid  with  thanks  ; 
And  so  shall  mine,  before  you  touch  the  meat. 
Kath.  I  thank  you,  sir. 

-     (3)  Dispirited ;  a  gallicism. 


Seme  lit. 


TAMING  OF  T^E  SHREW. 


269 


Hot.  Signior  Petruchio,  fie !  you  are  to  blame ! 
Come,  mistress  Kate,  I'll  bear  vou  company. 

Pet.  Eat  it  up  all,  Hortensio,  if  thou  lov'st  me. — 

[.■isitte. 
Much  good  do  it  unto  thy  gentle  heart ! 
Kate,  eat  apace  : — And  now,  my  honey  love, 
Will  we  return  unto  thy  father's  house  ; 
Ai^  revel  it  as  bravely  as  the  best, 
With  silken  coats,  and  caps,  and  golden  rings, 
With  rufls,  and  cuffs,  and  farthingales,  and  things  ; 
With  scarfs,  and  fans,  and  double  change  of  bra- 
very,' 
With  amber  bracelets,  beads,  and  all  this  knaverj*. 
What,  hast  thou  dined  ?  The  tailor  stays  thy  leisure. 
To  deck  thy  body  with  his  ruffling*  treasure. 

Enter  Tailor. 
Come,  tailor,  let  us  see  these  ornaments. 
Enter  Haberdasher. 

Lay  forth  the  gown. — What  news  with  you,  sir  ? 

Ilab.  Here  is  the  cap  your  worship  did  bespeak. 

Pet.  Why,  this  was  moulded  on  a  porrinjjer ; 
A  velvet  dish ; — fie,  fie !  'tis  lewd  and  filthy : 
Why,  'lis  a  cockle,  or  a  walnut  shell, 
A  knackj  a  toy,  a  trick,  a  baby's  cap  ; 
Away  with  it,  come,  let  me  have  a  bi^^r. 

Kalh.  I'll  have  no  bigger ;  this  doth  fit  the  time, 
And  gentlewomen  wear  such  caps  as  these. 

Pet.  When  you  are  gentle,  you  shall  have  one 
too, 
And  not  till  then. 

Hor.  That  will  not  be  in  haste.  [,^side. 

Kath.  Whv,   sir,   I  trust  I  may  have  leave  to 
speak  ; 
And  speak  I  will ;  I  am  no  child,  no  babe : 
Your  betters  have  endur'd  me  say  my  mind  ; 
And,  if  you  cannot,  best  you  stoijs  your  ears. 
My  tongue  will  tell  the  anger  of  my  heart ;     i 
Or  else  my  heart,  concealing  it,  will  break: 
And,  rather  than  it  shall,  I  will  be  free 
Even  to  the  uttermost,  as  I  please,  in  words. 

Pet.  Why,  thou  say'st  true  ;  it  is  a  paltry  cap, 
A  custard-coffin,'  a  bauble,  a  silken  pic  : 
I  love  thee  well,  in  that  thou  lik'st  it  not. 

Kalh.  Love  me,  or  lave  me  not,  I  like  the  cap ; 
And  it  I  will  have,  or  I  will  have  none. 

Pet.  Thy  gown  ?  why,  ay  :■=— Come,  tailor,  let  us 
see't 

0  mercy,  God !  what  masking  stuff  is  here  ? 
What's'this  ?  a  sleeve  ?  'tis  like  a  demi-cannon : 
What!  up  and  down,  carv'd  like  an  apple-tart? 
Here's  smp,  and  nip,  and  cut,  and  slish,  and  slash. 
Like  to  a  censer*  iu  a  barber's  shop : — 

Whv,  what,  o'devil's  name,  tailor,  call'st  thou  this  ? 

Hor.  I  see,  she's  like  to  have  neither  cap  nor 
gown.  {^side. 

Tai.  You  bid  me  make  it  orderly  and  well. 
According  to  the  fashion,  and  the  time. 

Pet.  Marry,  and  did;  but  if  you  be  remembered, 

1  did  not  bid  you  mar  it  to  the  time. 
Go,  hop  me  over  every  kennel  home. 

For  you  shall  hop  without  my  custom,  sir : 
I'll  none  of  it ;  hence,  make  your  best  of  it. 

Kalh.  I  never  saw  a  better-fashioned  gown. 
More  quaint,'  more  pleasing,  nor  more  commend- 
able : 
Belike  vou  mean  to  make  a  puppet  of  me. 
Pet.  Why,  true ;  he  means  to  make  a  puppet  of 
thee. 

(\)  Finery.  (2)  Rustling. 

(S)  A  comn  was  the  culinary  term  lor  raised  crust. 

(4)  These  censers  resembled  our  brasiers  in  shape. 


Tai.  She  says,  your  worship  means  to  make  a 
puppet  of  her. 

Pet.  O  monstrous  arrogance !  Thou  liest,  thou 
thread. 
Thou  thimble. 
Thou  yard,  three-quarters,  half-yard,  quarter,  nail, 

Thou  flea,  thou  nit,  thou  winter  cricket  thou : 

Brav'd  in  mine  own  house  with  a  skein  of  thread  ! 
Awaj-,  thou  raff,  thou  quantity,  thou  remnant ; 
Or  I  shall  so  be-mete*  thee  iv'ith  thy  yard. 
As  thou  shalt  think  on  prating  whilst  thou  liv'st ! 
I  tell  thee,  I,  that  thou  hast  marr'd  her  gown. 

Tai.  Your  worship  is  deceiv'd ;  the  gown  is  made 
Just  as  my  master  had  direction : 
Grumio  gave  order  how  it  should  be  done, 

Gni.  I  gave  him  no  order,  I  gave  him  the  stuff. 

Tai.  But  how  did  you  desire  it  should  be  made'/ 

Gnt.  Marrj,  sir,  with  needle  and  tiiread. 

Tai.  But  did  you  not  request  to  have  it  cut  ? 

Grit.  Thou  hast  faced  many  tilings.' 

Tai.  I  have. 

Grti.  Pice  not  me :  thou  hast  brav'd  manv  men  ; 
brave  not  me ;  I  Avill  neither  be  faced  nor  Sraved. 
I  say  unto  thee, — I  bid  thy  master  cut  out  the 
gown  ;  but  I  did  not  bid  him  cut  it  to  pieces :  ergo, 
thou  licst. 

Toi.  Why,  here  is  the  note  of  the  fashion  to  testify. 

Pet.  Read  it. 

Gni.  The  note  lies  in  his  throat,  if  he  say  I  said  so. 

Tai.  Imprimis,  a  loose-bodied  gown : 

Gnt.  Master,  if  ever  I  said  loose-bodied  gown, 
sew  me  in  the  skirts  of  it,  and  beat  me  to  death 
with  a  bottom  of  brown  thread  :  I  said,  a  gown. 

Pet.  Proceed. 

Tai.  With  a  small  compassed  cape  :* 

Gnt.  I  confess  the  cape. 

Tai.  With  a  tnmk  sleeve  ; 

Gru,  I  confess  two  sleeves. 

Tai.  The  sleeves  curiously  cut. 

Pet.  Ay,  there's  the  villanj. 

Gru.  Error  i'the  bill,  sir ;  error  i'the  bill.  I 
commanded  the  sleeves  should  be  cut  out,  and 
sewed  up  again ;  and  that  I'll  prove  upon  thee, 
though  thy  little  finger  be  arm'd  in  a  thimble. 

Tai.  This  is  true,  that  I  say ;  an  I  had  thee  in 
place  where,  thou  should'st  know  it. 

Gru.  I  am  for  thee  straight :  take  tliou  the  bill, 
give  roe  thy  mete-yard,'  and  spare  not  me. 

Hor.  God-a-mei-cy,  Grumio !  then  he  shall  have 
no  odds. 

Pet.  \V"ell,  sir,  in  brief,  the  gown  is  not  for  me. 

Gru.  You  are  i'the  right,  sir ;  ^tis  for  my  mistress. 

Pet.  Go,  take  it  up  unto  thv  master's  use. 

Gru.  Villain,  not  for  thy  life :  Take  up  my  mis- 
tress' gown  for  thy  master's  use  ! 

Pet.  Wliy,  sir,  what's  your  conceit  in  that  ? 

Gru.  O,  sir,  the  conceit  is  deeper  than  you  think 
for  : 
Talie  up  mv  mistress'  gown  to  his  master's  use ! 
O,  fie,  fie,  fie ! 

Pet.   Hortensio,  say  thou  wilt  sec  the  tailor 
paid :—  [^Iside, 

Go  take  it  hence  ;  be  gone,  and  say  no  more. 

Hor.  Tailor,  I'll  pay  thee  for  thy  gown  to-mcjw 
row. 
Take  no  unkindness  of  his  hasty  words  : 
Away,  I  say ;  commend  me  to  thy  master. 

[Exit  Tailor. 

Pet.  Well,  come,  my  Kate ;  we  will  unto  your 
father's, 

(5)  Curious.  (6)  Be-measure. 

(1)  Turned  up  many  garments  with  facings. 

(8)  A  round  cape.       (9)  Measuring-yaro, 


270 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


Jltt  IK 


Eren  in  these  honest  tnean  habiliments ; 

Our  purses  shall  be  proud,  our  garments  poor: 

For  'tis  the  mind  that  makes  the  body  rich ; 

And  as  the  sun  breaks  through  the  darkest  clouds, 

So  honour  peereth'  in  the  meanest  habit. 

What,  is  the  jay  more  precious  than  the  lark, 

Because  his  feathers  are  more  beautiful  ? 

Or  is  the  adder  better  than  the  eel, 

Because  his  painted  skin  contents  the  eye  ? 

O,  no,  good  Kate  j  neither  art  thou  the  worse 

For  this  poor  furniture,  and  mean  array. 

If  thou  account's!  it  shame,  lay  it  on  me : 

And  therefore,  frolic  ;  wc  will  hence  forthwith. 

To  feast  and  sport  us  at  thy  father's  house. — 

Go,  call  my  men,  and  let  us  slraifrht  to  him  ; 

And  brins;  our  horses  unto  Lon<r-lane  end, 

There  will  we  mount,  and  tliithcr  walk  on  foot. — 

Let's  see ;  I  think,  'tis  now  some  seven  o'clock, 

And  well  we  may  come  there  by  dinner-time. 

Katk.  I  dare  assure  you,  sir,  'lis  almost  two ; 
And  'twill  be  supper-time,  ere  you  come  there. 

Pet,  It  shall  be  seven,  ere  I  <ro  to  horse : 
Look,  what  I  speak,  or  do,  or  think  to  do. 
You  are  still  crossing  it. — Sirs,  left  alone: 
I  will  not  go  to-day  ;  and  ere  I  do, 
It  shall  be  what  o'clock  I  say  it  is. 

Hot.  Why  so !  this  gallant  will  command  the  sun. 

[Exeunt. 

SCE:\'E  IV.— P&Aiia.— Before  Baptista's  house. 

Enter  Tranio,  and  the  Pedant  dressed  like  Vin- 

centio. 

Tra.  Sir,  this  is  the  house ;  Please  it  you,  that  I 
call  ? 

Fed.  Ay,  what  else  ?  and,  but  I  be  deceived, 
Signior  Baptista  may  remember  me, 
Near  t%venty  years  ago,  in  Genoa,  where 
We  were  lodgers  at  the  Pegasus. 

Tra.  »Tis  well ; 

And  hold  your  own,  in  any  case,  with  such 
Austerity  as  'longeth  to  a  father. 
Enter  Biondello. 

Ped.  I  warrant  you:  But,  sir,  here  comes  your 

boy; 

•Twere  good  he  were  school'd. 

Tra.  Fear  you  not  him.    Sirrah,  Biondello, 
Now  do  your  duty  thorous^hly,  I  advise  you  ; 
Imas;ine  'twere  the  right  >  incentio. 

Bion.  Tut !  fear  not  me. 

Tra.  But  hast  thou  done  thy  errand  to  Baptista  ? 

Bion.  I  told  him,  that  your  fither  was  at  V  ctiice ; 
And  that  you  look'd  for  him  this  day  in  Padua. 

Tra.  Thou'rt  a  tall*  fellow ;  hold  thee  tliat  to 
drink. 
Here  comes  Baptista : — set  your  countenance,  sir. — 
Enter  Baptista  and  Luccntio. 

Signior  Baptista,  you  are  haply  met : — 

Sir,  [To  «/ie  Pedant.] 

This  is  the  gentleman  I  told  you  of; 

I  pray  you,  stand  good  father  to  me  now, 

Give  me  Bianca  for  my  patrimony. 

Ped.  Soft,  son  ! — 
Sir,  by  your  leave :  having  come  to  Padua 
To  8;ather  in  some  debts,  my  son  Lucentio 
Made  me  acquainted  with  a  weighty  cause 
Of  love  between  your  daughter  and  himself: 
And, — for  the  good  reports  hear  of  you ; 
And  for  the  love  he  beareth  to  your  daughter, 
And  she  to  him, — to  stay  him  not  too  long, 
I  am  content,  in  a  good  father's  care, 

(1)  Appeareth.    (2)  Brave.     (3)  Scrupulous, 
(4)  Assure  or  convey.       (5)  Betrothea, 


To  have  him  match'd ;  and,— if  you  please  to  like 
No  worse  than  I,  sir, — upon  some  agreement, 
Me  shall  you  find  most  ready  and  most  willing 
With  one  consent  to  have  her  so  bestow'd  ; 
For  curious'  I  cannot  be  with  you, 
Sicnior  Baptista,  of  whom  I  hear  so  well. 

Bap.  Sir,  pardon  me  in  v/hat  I  have  to  say  ; — 
Your  plainness,  and  your  shortness,  please  me  welL 
lligiit  true  it  is,  your  son  Lucentio  here 
Doth  love  my  daughter,  and  she  loveth  him, 
Or  both  dissemble  deeply  their  aflections  : 
And,  therefore,  if  you  say  no  more  than  this. 
That  like  a  father  you  will  deal  with  him. 
And  pass*  my  dauditer  a  sufiicicnt  dower, 
The  match  is  fully  made,  and  all  is  done  : 
Your  son  shall  have  my  dauohtcr  with  consent. 

Tra.  I  thank  you,  sir.    WTierc  then  do  you  know 
best, 
We  be  afiied  ;'  and  such  a.isurance  ta'cn, 
As  shall  witli  citlicr  part's  agreement  stand  ? 

Bap.  Not  in  my  house,  Lucentio;  for,  you  know, 
Pitchers  have  ears,  and  I  have  many  servants: 
Besides,  old  Grcmio  is  heark'ning  still ; 
And,  happih',"  wc  might  be  interrupted. 

Tra.  Then  at  my  lodi,'ing,  an  it  like  you,  sir: 
There  doth  my  father  lie ;  and  there,  tliis  niglit, 
We'll  pass  the  business  privately  and  well : 
Send  lor  your  daughter  by  your  servant  here. 
My  boy  shall  fetcii  tlic  scrivener  jjrescntly. 
The  worst  is  this, — that,  at  so  slender  warning. 
You're  like  to  have  a  tliin  and  slender  pittance. 

Bap,  It  likes  me  well : — Cambio,  hie  you  home. 
And  bid  Bianca  make  her  ready  straight ; 
And,  if  you  will,  tell  what  halh  happened: — 
Lucentio's  faliicr  is  arriv'd  in  Pndua, 
And  how  she's  like  to  be  Luccntio's  wife. 

Luc.  I  pray  the  .<ro<is  she  mav,  with  all  my  heart ! 

Tra.  Dally  not  witli  the  gods,  but  get  thee  gone. 
Signior  Baptiista,  shall  I  lead  the  way  ? 
Welcome !  one  mess  is  like  to  be  your  cheer: 
Come,  sir ;  we'll  belter  it  in  Pisa. 

Bap.  I  follow  you. 

[Exeimt  Tranio,  Pedant,  and  Baptista. 

Bion.  Cambio. — 

Lvc.  What  say'st  thou,  Biondello  ? 

Bimi.  You  saw  my  matter  wink  and  laugh  upon 
you  ? 

Lite.  Biondello,  v.-liat  of  that? 

Bion.  'Faith,  nothing ;  but  he  has  left  me  here 
behind,  to  expound  the  meaning  or  moral'  of  his 
signs  and  tokens. 

Lite.  I  pray  thee,  moralize  them. 

Bimi.  Theii  thus.  BaptisUi  is  safe,  talking  with 
the  deccivini^  father  of  a  deceitful  son. 

Ljfc.  And  what  of  him  ? 

Bion.  His  daughter  is  to  be  brought  by  you  to 
the  supper. 

Lnc.  And  tlicn  7 — 

Bion.  'I'hc  old  priest  at  Saint  Luke's  church  is 
at  vour  command  at  all  hours. 

Lnc.  And  what  of  all  this  ? 

Bion.  I  cannot  tell ;  except  they  are  busied 
about  a  counterfeit  assurance :  Take  your  assurance 
of  her,  cifui  privilegio  ad  imprimendnm  solum: 
to  the  churcli ;  take  the  priest,  clerk,  and  some 
sufficient  honest  witnesses : 
If  this  be  not  that  you  look  for,  I  have  no  more  to 

say. 
But,  bid  Bianca  farewell  for  ever  and  a  day. 

[Going, 

Luc.  Hear'st  thou.  Biondello  ? 

Bion,  I  cannot  tarry :  I  knew  a  wench  married 

(6)  Accidentally.        (7)  Secret  purpose. 


Scent  I. 


TAMING  OP  THE  SHREW. 


2^ 


in  an  afternoon  as  she  went  to  the  garden  for  pars- 
lev  to  stuff  a  rabbit ;  and  so  may  jou,  sir,  and  so 
adieu,  sir.  My  master  hath  appointed  me  to  go  to 
Saint  Luke's,  to  bid  the  priest  be  ready  to  come 
a^nst  vou  come  with  your  appendbc,  [Exit. 

Lite,  i  mav,  and  will,  if  she  be  so  contented  : 
She  will  be  pleas'd,  then  wherefore  should  I  doubt  ? 
Hap  what  hap  may,  I'll  roundly  g^o  about  her : 
It  shall  go  hard,  if  Cambio  go  without  her.    [Exit. 

SCEJ^E  v.— A  jniblic  road.     Enter  Petruchio, 
Katharina,  and  Hortensio. 

Pet.  Come  on,  o'  God's  name ;  once  more  to- 
ward our  father's. 
Good  Lord,  how  bright  and  goodly  shines  the  moon ! 

Kath.  The  moon !  the  sun ;  it  is  not  moonlight 
now. 

Pet.  I  say,  it  is  the  moon  that  shines  so  bright. 

Kath.  I  know,  it  is  the  sun  that  shines  so  bright. 

Pet.  Now,  by  my  mollier's  son,  and  that's  niyself. 
It  shall  be  moon,  or  star,  or  what  I  list. 
Or  ere  I  journey  to  your  father's  house ; — 
Go  on,  and  fetch  our  horses  back  a^ain. — 
Evermore  cross'd,  and  cross'd ;  nothmg  but  cross'd  I 

Hor.  Say  as  he  says,  or  we  shall  never  sro. 

Kath.  Forward,  I  pray,  since  we  have  come  so 
far,  , 

And  be  it  moon,  or  sun.  or  what  you  please : 
And  if  you  please  to  call  it  a  rush  candle, 
Henceforth  I  vow  it  siiall  be  so  for  mc. 

Pet.  I  say,  it  is  the  moon. 

Kath.  I  know  it  is. 

Pel,  Nay,  thenyou  lie ;  it  is  the  blessed  sun. 

Kath.    Then,  God  be  bless'd,  it  is  the  blessed 
sun: — 
But  sun  it  is  not,  when  you  say  it  is  not ; 
And  the  moon  changes,  even  as  your  mind. 
AVhat  you  will  have  it  nam'd,  even  that  it  b  ; 
And  so  it  shall  be  so,  for  Katharine. 

Hor.  Petruchio,  go  thy  ways ;  the  field  is  won. 

Pet.    Well,  forward,  forward :    thus   the  bowl 
should  run, 
And  not  unluckily  against  the  bias. — 
But  soft ;  what  company  is  coming  here? 

Enter  Vincentio,  in  a  travelling  dress. 
Good-morrow,  gentle  mistress :  'Where  away  ? — 

[  To  Vincentio. 
Tell  me,  sweet  Kate,  and  tell  mc  truly  too, 
Hast  thou  beheld  a  fresher  gentlewoman  ? 
Such  war  of  white  and  red  within  her  cheeks! 
^^'hat  stars  do  spangle  heaven  with  such  beauty. 

As  those  two  eves  become  that  heavenly  face  ? —         »,o-,       ..i  i-.-r  -., 

Fair  lovelv  maid,  once  more  good  day  to  thee  :—    I     "'f-  Sir,  here's  the  door,  this  is  Lucentio's  house. 
Sweet  Kate,  embrace  her  for  her  beauty's  sake.       M-^.f'^^*'^'"'^  1'?'^"  ".'?'''^  toward  the  market-place ; 


^\^lich  way  thou  travellest :  if  along  with  us, 
We  shall  be  joyful  of  thy  company, 

Vin.  Fair  sir, — and  you  my  merry  mistress, 
That  with  your  strange  encounter  much  amaz'd 

me ; 
My  name  is  call'd — ^\'incentio ;  my  dwelling — ^Pisa ; 
And  bound  I  am  to  Padua  ;  there  to  visit 
A  son  of  mine,  which  long  I  have  not  seen. 

Pet.  ^^'hat  is  his  name  V 

Vin.  Lucentio,  eentls  sir. 

Pet.  Happily  met ;  the  happier  for  thy  son. 
And  now  by  law,  as  well  as  reverend  age, 
I  may  entitle  thee — my  loving  father ; 
The  sister  to  my  wife,  this  gentlewoman. 
Thy  son  by  this  hath  married  :  Wonder  not. 
Nor  be  not  griev'd  ;  she  is  of  good  esteem, 
Her  dowry  wealthy,  and  of  worthy  birth ; 
Beside,  so  qualified  as  may  beseem 
The  spouse  of  any  noble  gentleman. 
Let  me  embrace  with  oldVincentio : 
And  wander  we  to  see  thy  honest  son, 
Who  will  of  thy  arrival  be  full  joyous. 

Vin.  But  is  this  true  ?  or  is  it  else  vour  pleasure, 
fcike  pleasant  travellers,  to  break  a  jest 
Upon  the  company  you  overtake  ? 

Hor.  I  do  assure  thee,  father,  so  it  is. 

Pet.  Come,  go  along,  and  see  the  truth  hereof; 
For  our  first  merriment  hath  made  thee  jealous, 
[Exeimt  Petruchio,  Katharina,  and  Vincentio. 

Hor.  Well,  Petruchio,  this  hath  put  me  in  heart. 
Have  to  my  wMow ;  and  if  she  be  forward. 
Then  hast  thou  taught  Hortensio  to  be  untoward. 

[Exit. 


ACT  V. 

SCEJ^E  /.— Padua.  Before  Lucentio's  house. 
Enter  on  one  side  Biondello,  Lucentio,  and  Bi- 
anca ;  GrenJo  Kolking  on  the  other  side. 

Bion.  Softly  and  siviftly,  sir ;  for  the  priest  is 
ready. 

Lt'ic.  I  fly,  Biondello :  but  they  may  chance  to 
need  thee  at  home,  therefore  leave  us, 

Bion.  Nay,  faith,  I'll  see  the  church  o'  your 
back ;  and  then  come  back  to  my  master  as  soon 
as  1  can.  [Exeunt  Luc.'Bian.  and  Bion. 

Gre.  I  marvel  Cambio  comes  not  all  this  while. 

Enter  Petruchio,  Katharina,  Vincentio,  and  at' 

tendanls. 


Hor.  'A  will  make  the  man  mad,  to  make  a 
woman  of  him. 

Kath.  Yoimg  budding  virgin,  fair,  and  fresh,  and 
sweet, 
Whither  away ;  or  where  is  thy  abode  ? 
Happy  the  parents  of  so  fair  a  child  ; 
Happier  the  man,  whom  favourable  stars 
Allot  thee  for  his  lovely  bed-fellow! 

Pet.  ^Vhy,  how  now,  Kate !  I  hope  thou  art  not 
mad: 
This  is  a  man,  old,  wrinkled,  faded,  wither'd ; 
And  not  a  maiden,  as  thou  say'st  he  is. 

Kath.  Pardon,  old  father,  my  mistaking  eyes, 
That  have  been  so  bedazzled  with  the  sun. 
That  every  thing  I  look  on  seemeth  green  : 
Now  I  perceive,  thou  art  a  reverend  father ; 
Pardon,  I  pray  thee,  for  my  mad  mistaking. 

Pet.  Do,  good  old  grandsire ;  and,  withal,  make 
known 


Thither  must  I,  and  here  I  leave  you,  sir, 

Vin.  You  shall  not  choose  but  drink  before  you 

go; 

I  think,  I  shall  command  your  welcome  here, 
And,  bj'  all  likeliliood,  some  cheer  is  toward. 

[Kiioeks. 
Gre.  They're  busy  within,  you  were  best  knockr 
louder. 

Enter  Pedant  above  at  a  window. 

Ped.  What's  he,  that  knocks  as  he  would  beat 
down  the  gate  ? 

Vin.  Is  sigtiior  Lucentio  within,  sir? 

Ped.  He's  within,  sir,  but  not  to  be  spoken  witlial. 

Vin.  What  if  a  man  bring  him  a  hundred  pound 
or  two,  to  make  merry  withal  ? 

Ped.  Keep  your  hundred  pounds  to  yourself:  he 
shall  need  none,  so  long  as  I  live. 

Pet.  Nay,  I  told  you,  your  son  was  beloved  iq 


2^ 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


^ct  F. 


Padua. — Do  you  hear,  sir  ?— to  leave  frivolous  cir- 
cumstances,— I  pray  you,  tell  signior  Lucentio, 
that  his  father  is  come  from  Pisa,  arJ  is  here  at 
the  door  to  speak  with  him. 

Ped.  Thou  liest ;  his  father  is  come  from  Pim, 
apd  here  looking  out  at  the  window. 

Fin.  Art  thou  nis  father  ? 

Ped.  Ay,  sir ;  so  his  mother  says,  if  I  may  be- 
lieve her. 

Pet,  Why,  how,  now,  gentlemen !  [To  Vincen.] 
why,  this  is  flat  knavery,  to  take  upon  you  another 
man's  name. 

Ped.  Lay  hands  on  the  villain  ;  I  believe  'a 
means  to  cozen  somebody  in  tliis  city  under  my 
countenance. 

Re'enter  Biondello 

Bion. 


I  have  seen  them  in  the  church  together ; 

"    ■  ■      ng ! — But  who  is  here  ? 

mine  old  master,  Vinceiitio  f  now  we  are  undone. 


God  send  'em  good  shipping! — But  who  is  here? 
mine  old  master,  Vincei 
and  brougni  to  nothing. 


Vin.  Come  hither,  crack-hemp. 

[Seeing  Biondello. 

Bion.  1  hope,  I  may  choose,  sir. 

Vin.  Come,  hither,  you  rogue ;  What,  have  you 
forgot  me  ? 

Sion.  Forgot  you  ?  no,  sir :  I  could  not  forget 
you,  for  I  never  saw  you  before  in  all  my  life. 

Vin.  What,  you  notorious  villain,  didst  thou 
never  see  thy  master's  father,  Vincenlio  ? 

Bion.  What,  my  old,  worshipful  old  master? 
yes,  marry,  sir ;  see  where  he  looks  out  of  the  win- 
dow. 

Vin.  Is't  so,  indeed  ?  [Beats  Biondello. 

Bum.  Help,  help,  help!  here's  a  madman  will 
murder  me.  [Exit. 

Ped.  Help,  son  !  help,  signior  Baptista ! 

[Exit  from  the  tcindow. 

Pet.  Pr'ythce,  Kate,  let's  stand  aside,  and  see 
the  end  of  this  controversy.  [They  retire. 

Re-enter  Pedant  below ;  Baptista,  Tranio,  and 
servants. 

Tra.  Sir,  what  are  you,  that  ofler  to  beat  my 
servant  ? 

Vin.  What  ami,  sir?  nay,  what  are  you,  sir? — 
O  immortal  gods !  O  fine  villain !  A  silken  doublet ! 
a  velvet  hose !  a  scarlet  cloak !  and  a  copatain  hat  I ' 
— O,  I  am  undone !  I  am  undt>n*t  ■  wtsile  I  play  the 
good  husband  at  home,  my  soji  am;  my  servant 
spend  all  at  the  university. 

Tra.  How  now !  what's  the  matter  ? 

Bap.  What,  is  the  man  lunatic  ' 

Tra.  Sir,  you  seem  a  sober  ancient  gentleman 
by  your  habit,  but  your  words  show  you  a  mad- 
man :  Why,  sir,  what  concerns  it  you,  if  I  wear 
pearl  and  gold  ?  I  thank  my  good  father,  I  am  able 
to  maintain  it. 

Vin.  Thy  father  ?  O,  villain !  he  is  a  sail-maker 
in  Bergamo. 

Bap.  You  mistake,  sir ;  you  mistake,  sir :  Pray, 
what  do  you  think  is  his  name? 

Vin.  His  name  ?  as  if  I  knew  not  his  name !  1 
have  brought  him  up  ever  since  he  was  three  years 
old,  and  his  name  is — Tranio. 

Ped.  Away^  away,  mad  ass !  his  name  is  Lucen- 
tio!— and  he  is  mine  only  son,  and  heir  to  the  lands 
of  me,  signior  Vincentio. 

Vin.  Lucentio !  O,  he  hath  murdered  his  mas- 
ter ! — Lay  hold  on  him,  I  charge  you,  in  the  duke's 

nj  A  hat  with  a  conical  crown. 

h)  Cheated.  (3J  Deceived  thy  eye». 

i4)  Tricking-,  underhana  contrivances, 


name :— 0,  my  son,  my  son !— tell  me,  thou  villain, 
where  is  mv  son  Lucentio  ? 

Tra.  Call  forth  an  officer :  [Enter  one  with  a7i 
officer.]  carry  this  mad  knave  to  the  gaol : — Father 
Baptista,  I  charge  you  see,  that  he  be  forth-comuig. 

Vin.  Carry  me  to  the  gaol ! 

Gre.  Slav,  officer ;  he  shall  not  go  to  prison. 

Bap.  Talk  not,  signior  Gremio ;  I  say,  he  shall 
go  to  prison. 

Gre.  Take  heed,  signior  Baptista,  lest  you  be 
conycatched*  in  this  business ;  I  dare  swear,  this 
is  the  right  Vincentio. 

Ped.  Swear,  if  thou  darest. 

Gi-e.  Nay,  I  dare  not  swear  it. 

Tra.  Then  thou  wert  best  say,  that  I  am  not 
Lucentio. 

Gre.  Yes,  I  know  thee  to  be  signior  Lucentio. 

Bap.  Away  with  the  dotard  ;  to  the  gaol  witli 
him. 

Vin.  Thus  strangers  may  be  haled  and  abus'd : — 
0  monstrous  villain ! 

Re-enter  Biondello,  with  Lucentio,  and  Bianca. 

Bion.  O,  we  are  spoiled,  and — Yonder  he  is; 
deny  him,  forswear  him,  or  else  we  are  all  undone. 

Ltic.  Pardon,  siveet  father.  [K7ieeling. 

Vin.  Lives  my  s^veetest  son  ? 

[Biondello,  Tranio,  and  Pedant,  run  out. 

Bian.  Pardon,  dear  father.  [Kneeling. 

Bap.  How  hast  thou  onended  ? — 

AVhere  is  Lucentio  ? 

Luc.  Here's  Lucentio, 

Right  son  unto  the  right  Viifcentio  ; 
That  have  by  marriage  made  thy  daughter  mine, 
While  counterfeit  supposes  blear'd  thine  eyne.' 

Gre.  Here's  packing,"  with  a  witness,  to  deceive 
us  all! 

Vin.  Where  is  that  damned  villain,  Tranio, 
That  fac'd  and  hrav'd  me  in  this  matter  so  ? 

Bap.  Why,  tell  me,  is  not  this  my  Cambio  ? 

Bian.  Cambio  is  chang'd  into  Lucentio. 

Lire.  Love  wrought  these  miracles.  Bianca's  love 
Made  me  exchange  my  state  with  Tranio, 
While  lie  did  bear  my  countenance  in  the  town  ; 
And  happily  I  have  arriv'd  at  last 
Unto  the  wished  haven  of  my  bliss : — 
What  Tranio  did,  myself  entorc'd  him  to  ; 
Then  pardon  him,  sweet  father,  for  my  sake. 

Vin.  I'll  slit  the  villain's  nose,  that  would  have 
sc:it  me  to  the  gaol. 

jBa^j.  But  do  you  hear,  sir?  [To Lucentio.]  Have 
you  married  my  daughter  without  asking  my  good- 
will ? 

Vin.  Fear  not,  Baptista;  we  will  content  you, 
zo  to :  But  I  will  in,  to  be  revenged  for  tliis  villany. 

Bap.  And  I,  to  sound  the  depth  of  this  knavery. 

[Exit. 

Luc.  Look  not  pale,  Bianca ;  thy  father  will  not 

frown.  [Exeunt  Luc.  and  Bian. 

Gre.  My  cake  is  dough  :=>  But  I'll  in  among  the 

rest ; 

Out  of  hope  of  all,— but  my  share  of  the  feast. 

[Exit. 
Petruchio  and  Katharina  advance. 
Kath.  Husband,  let's  follow,  to  see  the  end  of 

this  ado. 
Pet.  First  kiss  me,  Kate,  and  we  will. 
Kath.  What,  in  the  midst  of  the  street  ? 
Pet.  What,  art  thou  ashamed  of  me  ? 

(5)  A  proverbial  expression,  repeated  after  a 
disappointment. 


Scene  II. 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHtlEW. 


S78 


JTaf  A.  No,  sir ;  God  forbid : — ^but  ashamed  to  kiss.'    Pet.  Nay,  that  you  shall  not;  since  you  htri 
Pet.  Why,  then  let's  home  again : — Come,  sirrah,  i  begun, 

let's  away.  jHave  at  j-ou  for  a  bitter  jest  or  two. 


Kath.  Nay,  I  will  give  thee  a  kiss  :  now  pray 

thee,  love,  stav. 
Pet.  Is  not  this  well ) — Come,  my  sweet  Kate  ; 
Better  once  than  never,  for  never  too  late.     [Exe. 

SCEJ^'E  II. — ^  room  in  Lucentio's  house.  A 
banquet  set  out.  Enter  Baptista,  Vincentio, 
Gremio,  iheVedant,  Lucentio,  Bianca,  Petruchio, 
Katharina,  Uortensio,  and  Widow.  Tranio, 
Biondello,  Grumio,  and  others,  attending. 

Ltu.   At  last,  though  lon^,  our  jarring  notes 
a^ree  : 
And  time  it  is,  when  raging  war  is  done. 
To  smile  at  'scapes  and  perils  overblown. — 
My  fair  Bianca,  bid  my  father  welcome. 
While  I  with  self-same  kindness  welcome  thine : — 
Brother  Petruchio, — sister  Katharina, — 
And  thou,  Hortensio,  with  thy  loving  widow, — 
Feast  with  the  best,  and  welcome  to  my  house ; 
My  banquet'  is  to  close  our  stomachs  up. 
After  our  great  good  cheer  :  Pray  you,  sit  down  ; 
For  now  we  sit  to  chat,  as  well  as  eat. 

[They  sit  at  table. 


Bian.  Am  I  your  bird?  I  mean  to  shift  my  bosh, 

And  then  pursue  me  as  you  draw  your  bow  : 

You  are  welcome  all. 

[Exeunt  Bianca,  Katharina,  and  Widow. 

Pet.  She  hath  prevented  me.— Here,    Signior 
TraniOj 
This  bird  you  aim'd  at,  though  you  hit  her  not ; 
Therefore,  a  health  to  all  that  shot  and  miss'd. 

Tra.  O,  sir,  Lucentio  slipp'd  me  like  his  grey- 
hound. 
Which  runs  himself,  and  catches  for  his  master. 

Pet.  A  good  switl'  simile,  but  something  currish. 

Tra.  'Tis  well,  sir,  that  you  hunted  for  yourself; 
'Tis  thought,  vour  deer  does  hold  you  at  a  bay. 

Bap.  O  ho,  x*etruchio,  Tranio  hits  you  now. 

Luc.  I  thank  thee  for  that  gird,*  good  Tranio. 

Ilor.  Confess,  confess,  hath  he  not  hit  you  here  ? 

Pet.  'A  has  a  little  gall'd  me,  I  confess  ; 
And  as  the  jest  did  glance  away  from  me, 
'Tis  ten  to  one  it  maim'd  you  two  outright. 

Bap.  Now,  in  good  sadness,  son  Petriichio, 
1 1  think  thou  has  the  veriest  shrew  of  all. 
I    Pet.  Well,  I  say— no :  and  therefore,  for  assttf 
ranee. 


Pet.  Nothing  but  sit  and  sit,  and  eat  and  eat !      ,.    .,         ,  ,  , .      .o 

Bap.  Padua  affords  this  kindness,  son  Petruchio.  I  V^S^,^=»<^"°"e  ^^^^  V"*"  "'^  ^'fe  ; 

Pet.  Padua  affords  nothing  but  what  is  kind.       '^""  "='  ^"°*^  ^'"^  '^  most  obedient 

Hor.   For  both  our  sakes,  I  would  that  word'J"  ^°"'?  at  first,  when  he  doth  send  for  her, 


were  true. 
Pet.  Now  for  my  life,  Hortensio  fears^  his  widow. 
Wid.  Then  never  trust  me  if  I  be  afeard. 
Pet.   You  are  sensible,  and  yet  you  miss  my 

sense  ; 
I  mean,  Hortensio  is  afeard  of  vou. 

tVid.  He  that  b  giddy,  tliinks  the  world  turns 

round. 
Pet.  Roundly  replied. 

Kath.  Mistress,  how  mean  you  that? 

Wid.  Thus  I  conceive  by  him. 
Pet.  Conceives  by  me ! — How  likes  Hortensio 

that  ? 
Hor.  My  widow  says,  thus  she  conceives  her 

tale. 
Pet.  Very  well  mended :  Kiss  him  for  that,  good 

widow. 
Kath.  He  that  is  giddy  thinks  the  world  turns 

round: — 
I  pray  you,  tell  me  what  you  meant  by  that. 

Wid.  Your   husband,    being   troubled  with  a 

shrew, 
Measures  my  husband's  sorrow  by  his  wo  : 
And  now  you  know  my  meaning. 
Kath.  A  very  mean  meaning. 
Wid.  Right,  I  mean  you. 

Kath.  And  I  am  mean,  indeed,  respecting  you. 
Pet.  To  her,  Kate ! 
Hor.  To  her,  widow  !  . 
Pet.  A  hundred  marks,  my  Kate  does  put  her 

down. 
Hor.  That's  my  office. 
Pet.  Spoke  like  an  officer :— Ha,  to  thee,  lad. 

[Drinks  to  Hortensio.' 
Bap.  How  likes  Gremio  these  quick-witted  folks? 
Gre.  Believe  me,  sir,  they  butt  together  well. 
Biitu.  Head,  and  butt?  a  hasty-wilted  body 
Would  say,  your  head  and  butt  were  head  and  horn. 
Fin.  Ay,  mistress  bride,  hath  that  awaken'd  vou  ? 
Bian.   Ay,  but  not  frighted  me ;  therefore  I'll 

sleep  again. 

(1)  A  banquet  was  a  refection  consisting  of  fruit,! 
cues,  &c.  \ 


Shall  win  the  wager  which  we  will  propose. 

Hor.  Content : ^What  is  the  wager  ? 

iwc.  Twenty  crowns. 

Pet.  Twenty  crowns ! 
I'll  venture  so  much  on  my  hawk,  or  hound, 
But  twenty  times  so  much  upon  my  wife. 

Lue.  A  hundred  then. 

Hor.  Content 

Pet.  A  match ;  'tis  done. 

Hor.  Who  shall  begin  ? 

Lite.  That  win  I.    Go, 

Biondello,  bid  your  mistress  come  to  me. 

Bion.  I  go.  [Exit. 

Bap.  Son,  I  will  be  vour  half,  Bianca  comes. 

Luc.  I'll  have  no  halves ;  I'll  bear  it  all  myself. 

Re-enter  Biondello. 

How  now !  what  news  ? 

Bion.  Sir,  my  mistress  sends  you  word, 

That  she  is  busy,  and  she  cannot  come. 

Pet.  How !  she  is  busy,  and  she  cannot  come  ! 
Is  that  an  answer  ? 

Gre.  Ay,  and  a  kind  one  too  : 

Pray  God,  sir,  your  wife  send  you  not  a  worse. 

Pet.  1  hope,  better. 

Hor.    Sirrah,   Biondello,    go,   and  entreat  my 
wife 
To  come  to  me  forthwith.  [Exit  Biondello. 

Pet.  O,  ho!  entreat  her! 

Nay,  then  she  must  needs  come. 

Hor.  I  am  afraid,  sir, 

Do  what  you  can,  yours  will  not  be  entreated. 

Re-enter  Biondello. 

Now,  Where's  my  wife  ? 
Bion.  She  says,  you  hate  some  goodly  jeit  ih 
hand ; 
She  will  nol  come  ;  she  bids  you  come  to  her. 
Pet.  Worse  and  worse ;  sne  wiU  not  come !  0 
vile. 
Intolerable,  not  to  be  endur'd  ! 
Sirrah,  Grumio,  go  to  your  mistress ; 


(8)  Dreads, 


(»>T6- 


(4)  SarcwQi 


S74 

Say,  I  comman   her  come  to  me. 
Hor.  I  know  her  answer. 


TAMING  OP  THE  SHREW. 


Jletr. 


[Exit  Grumio. 


Pet.  What? 

Hor.  She  will  not  come. 

Pet.  The  fouler  fortune  mine,  and  there  an  end. 

Enter  Katharina. 
Bap.  Now,  by  my  holidame,  here  comes  Katha- 
rina ! 
Kalh.  What  is  your  will,  sir,  that  you  send  for 

me? 
Pet.  Where  is  your  sister,  and  Hortensio's  wife  ? 
Kath.  They  sit  conferring  bv  the  parlour  fire. 
Pet.    Go,  fetch  them  hither;   if  they  deny  to 
come, 
Swinge  me  them  soundly  forth  unto  their  husbands : 
Away,  I  say,  and  bring  them  hither  straight. 

[Exit  liatharina. 
Lite.  Here  is  a  wonder,  if  you  talk  of  a  wonder. 
Hor.  And  so  it  is  :  I  wonder  what  it  bodes. 
Pet.  Marry,  peace  it  bodes,  and  love,  and  quiet 
life, 
An  awful  rule,  »nd  right  supremacy ; 
And,  to  be  short,  what  not,  that's  sweet  and  happy. 

Bap.  Now  fair  befall  thee,  good  Petruchio ! 
The  wager  thou  hast  won ;  and  I  will  add 
Unto  their  losses  twenty  thousand  crowns  ; 
Another  dowry  to  another  daughter, 
For  she  is  chang'd,  as  she  had  never  be^. 

Pet.  Nay,  I  will  win  jny  wager  better  yet ; 
And  show  more  sign  of  her  obedience, 
Her  new-built  virtue  and  obedience. 

Re-enter  Katharina,  icilh  Bianca,  and  Widow. 
See,  where  she  comes ;  and  brings  your  froward 

wives 
As  prisoners  to  her  womanly  persuasion. — 
Katharine,  that  cap  of  yours  becomes  you  not ; 
Oflwith  that  bauble,  throw  it  under  foot. 

[Kathannap«/is  off  her  cap,  and  throws  it  dmcn. 

Wid.  Lord,  let  me  never  nave  a  cause  to  sigh. 
Till  I  be  brought  to  such  a  silly  pass ! 

Bian.  Fie !  what  a  foolish  duty  call  you  this  ? 

Luc.  I  would,  your  duty  were  as  foolish  too : 
The  wisdom  of  your  duty,  fair  Bianca, 
Hath  cost  me  a  hundred  crowns  since  supper-time. 

Bian.  The  more  fool  you,  for  laying  on  my 
duty. 

Pet.  Katharine,  I  charge  thee,  tell  these  head- 
strong women 
What  duty  they  do  owe  their  lords  and  husbands. 

Wid.   Come,  come,  you're  mocking;  we  will 
have  no  telling. 

Pet.  Come  on,  I  say  ;  and  first  begin  with  her. 

Wid.  She  shall  not. 

Pet.  I  say,  she  shall ;-— and  first  begin  with  her. 

Kath.  Fie,  fie!  unknit  that  thrcat'ning  unkind 
brow ; 
And  dart  not  scornful  glances  from  those  eyes, 
To  wound  thy  lord,  thy  king,  thy  govcnior : 
It  blots  thy  beauty,  as  frosts  bite  the  meads  ; 
Confounds  thy  fame,  as  whirlwinds  shake  fair  buds ; 
And  m  no  sense  is  meet,  or  amiable. 
A  woman  mov'd,  is  like  a  fountain  troubled, 
Muddy,  ill-seeming,  thick,  bereft  of  beauty  ; 
And,  while  it  is  so,  none  so  dry  or  thirsty 
Will  deign  to  sip,  or  touch  one  drop  oPit. 
Thy  husband  is  thy  lord,  thy  life,  thy  keeper, 

(1)  Gentle  temper. 


Thy  head,  thy  sovereign ;  one  that  cares  for  thee, 
And  for  thy  maintenance :  commits  his  body 
To  painful  labour,  both  by  sea  and  land  ; 
To  watch  the  night  in  storms,  the  day  in  cold, 
While  thou  licst  warm  at  home,  secure  and  safe  i 
And  craves  no  other  tribute  at  thy  hands, 
But  Jove,  fair  looks,  and  true  obedience ; — 
Too  little  payment  for  so  great  a  debt. 
Such  duty  as  the  subject  owes  the  prince, 
Even  such,  a  woman  oweth  to  her  husband : 
And,  when  she's  froward,  peevish,  sullen,  sour, 
And,  not  obedient  to  his  honest  will. 
What  is  she,  but  a  foul  contending  rebel. 
And  graceless  traitor  to  her  loving-  lord? 
I  am  asiiam'd,  that  women  are  so  simple 
To  ofier  war,  wlicre  they  should  kneel  for  peace  ; 
Or  seek  for  rule,  supremacy,  and  sway. 
When  they  are  bound  to  serve,  love,  and  obey. 
Why  are  our  bodies  soft,  and  weak,  and  smooth, 
Unapt  to  toil  and  trouble  in  the  world  ; 
But  ti.at  our  soft  conditions,'  and  our  hearts, 
Should  well  agree  with  our  external  parts  ? 
Come,  come,  you  froward  and  unable  worms ! 
My  mind  hath  been  as  big  as  one  of  yours, 
My  heart  as  great ;  my  reason,  haply,  more. 
To  bandy  word  for  word,  and  frown  for  frown : 
But  now,  I  sec  our  lances  are  but  straws  ; 
Our  strength  as  weak,  our  weakness  past  com- 
pare,— 
That  seeming  to  be  most,  which  we  least  are. 
Then  vail  your  stomachs,^  for  it  is  no  boot ; 
And  place  your  hands  below  your  husband's  foot : 
In  token  of  which  duty,  if  he  please, 
Mv  hand  is  ready,  may  it  do  him  ease. 
Fet.  Why,  there's  a  wench ! — Come  on,  and  kiss 

me,  Kate. 
Luc.  Well,  go  thy  wavs,  old  lad  ;  for  thou  shalt 

ha't, 
Vin.  'Tis  a  good  hearing,  when  children  are 

toward. 
Luc.  But  a  harsh  hearing,  when  women  ard 

froward. 

Pet.  Come,  Kate,  we'll  to  bed : 

We  three  are  married,  but  you  two  are  sped. 
'Twas  I  won  the  wager,  though  you  hit  the  white ; 

[To  Lucentio. 
And,  being  a  -winner,  God  give  you  good  night ! 

[£a:et«(/ Petruchio  andKalh. 
Hor.  Now  go  thy  ways,  thou  hast  tam'd  a  curst 

shrew. 
Luc.  'Tis  a  wonder,  by  your  leave,  she  will  be 

tam'd  so.  [Exeunt. 


Of  this  plav  the  two  plots  arc  so  well  united, 
that  they  can  hardly  be  called  two,  without  injury 
to  the  art  with  which  they  arc  interwoven.  The 
attention  is  entertained  with  all  the  variety  of  a 
double  plot,  yet  is  Bot  distracted  by  unconnected 
incidents.  •• 

The  part  between  Katharine  and  Petruchio  is 
eminently  sprightly  and  diverting.  At  the  marriage 
of  Bianca,  the  arrival  of  the  real  father,  perhaps, 
produces  more  perplexity  than  pleasure.  The 
whole  play  is  very  popular  and  diverting. 

JOHNSON, 


(2)  Abate  your  spirits. 


WIi\TER"S  TALE. 
Act  IV.— Scene  3. 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 
Act   V. — Scene  1. 


m 


(    275     ) 


WINTER'S   TALE, 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


Leontes,  king  of  Sicilia. 

Mainillius,  his  son. 

Camillo,       ^ 

Antii;onus,    f  g^y,;^,,  ,^^^,^ 

Cleomeiies,  C 

Dion,  J 

^Inotrier  SicUian  lord. 

Kogero,  a  Sicilian  gentleman. 

^in~(Uteadant  on  the  young  prince  Mamilliiis. 

Officers  of  a  court  ofjtiilicature. 

I'olixeiies,  king  of  Bohemia. 

Florizcl,  Aw  son. 

Archidumus,  a  Bohemian  lord. 

.■1  mnriner. 

Gaoler. 

dn  old  shepherd,  reputed  father  ofPerdila. 


Clown,  his  son. 
Servant  to  the  old  shepheiu. 
Autolycus,  a  rogue. 
Time,  as  Chorus. 

Hermione,  qiuen  to  Leontes, 

Perdita,  daughter  to  Leontes  and  Hermione. 

Paulina,  wife  to  ..iniigonus. 

T^'^th^ru'dies,}''^^^-'^"^'^'^''^-''-- 

Do°S  }  Shepherdesses. 

Lords,  ladies,  and  attendants  ;  satyrs  for  a  dance, 
shepherds,  shepherdesses,  guards,  ^-c. 

Scene,  sometimes  in  Sicilia,  sometimes  in  Boliemia. 


ACT  I. 

SCEJVB  /.—Sicilia.    .in  .Intechamber  in  Lcon- 
tfcs'  palace.    Enter  Camillo  and  Arehidamus. 

Archidamus. 

If  you  shall  chance,  Camillo,  to  visit  Bohemia,  on 
the  like  occasion  whereon  my  services  are  now  on 
foot,  you  shall  see,  as  I  have  said,  great  dilTerence 
betwixt  our  Bohemia  and  your  Sicflia. 

Cam.  I  think,  this  coming  summer,  the  king  of 
Sicilia  means  to  pay  Bohemia  the  visitation  which 
ne  justly  owes  him. 

»'irc/t.  Wherein  our  entertainment  shall  shame 
us,  we  will  be  justified  in  our  loves  :  for,  indeed, — 

Cam.  'Beseech  you, 

.irc/j.  Verily,  I  speak  it  in  the  freedom  of  my 
knowledge :  wc  cannot  with  such  ma.^nificence — 

in  so  rare — I  know  not  what  to  say. We  will 

give  you  sleepy  drinks  ;  that  your  senses,  unintelli- 
gent of  our  insufiicience,  may,  though  they  can- 
not praise  us,  as  little  accuse  us. 

Cam.  You  pay  a  great  deal  too  dear,  for  what's 
given  freely. 

Jlrch.  Believe  me,  I  speak  as  my  understanding 
instructs  me,  and  as  mine  honesty  puts  it  to  utter- 
ance. 

Cam.  Sicilia  cannot  show  himself  over-kind  to 
Bohemia.  They  were  trained  toiclher  in  their 
childhoods ;  and  there  rooted  betwixt  them  then 
such  an  affection,  which  cannot  choose  but  branch 
now.  Since  their  more  mature  diznities,  and  royal 
necessities,  made  separation  of  their  society,  their 
encounters,  thoujh  not  personal,  have  been  royally 
attornied'  with  interchange  of  gifts,  letters,  loving 
embassies ;  that  they  have  seemed  to  be  together, 
though  absent  j  shook  hands,  as  over  a  vast  ;*  and 
embraced,  as  it  were,  from  the  ends  of  opposed 
•winds.     The  heavens  continue  their  loves '. 

,irch.  I  think,  there  is  not  in  the  world  either 

fl)  Nobly  supplied  by  substitution  of  embassies. 
(2)  Wide  waste  of  countr}-. 


malice,  or  matter,  to  alter  it.  You  have  an  un- 
speakable comfort  of  vour  young  prince  Mamillius  ; 
it  is  a  gentleman  of  tlie  greatest  p.'omise,  that  ever 
came  into  my  note. 

Cam.  I  very  well  agree  with  you  in  the  hopes  of 
him  :  it  is  a  gallant  child  ;  one  that,  indeed,  phy- 
sics the  subject,'  makes  old  hearts  fresh  :  they,  that 
went  on  crutches  ere  he  was  born,  desire  yet  their 
life,  to  see  him  a  man. 

Arch.  Would  they  else  be  content  to  die  ? 

Cam.  Yes  :  if  there  were  no  other  excuse  why 
they  should  desire  to  live. 

Jirch.  If  the  king  had  no  son,  they  would  desire 
to  live  on  crutches  till  he  had  one.  [Exeunt. 

SCEJ^'E  n. — The  same.     .1  room  of  state  in  the 

palace.     Enter  Leontes,  Polbcenes,  Hermione, 

Mamillius,  Camillo,  and  attejidants. 

Pol.   Nine  changes  of  the  wat'r}'  star  have  been 
The  shepherd's  note,  since  we  have  left  our  throne 
Without  a  burden  :  time  as  long  again 
Would  be  fill'd  up,  my  brother,  with  our  thanks  : 
And  yet  we  should,  for  perpetuity. 
Go  hence  in  debt :  And  therefore,  like  a  cipher. 
Yet  standing  in  rich  place,  I  multiply. 
With  one  we-thank-you,  many  thousands  more 
That  go  before  it. 

Leon.  Stay  your  thanks  awhile ; 

And  pay  them  when  yoii  part. 

Pol.  Sir,  that's  to-morrow, 

I  am  question'd  by  my  fears,  of  what  may  chance. 
Or  breed  upon  our  absence :  That  may  blow 
No  sncaping*  winds  at  home,  to  make  us  say. 
This  is  put  forth  too  truly  !  Besides,  I  have  stay'd 
To  tire  your  royalty. 

Leon.  We  are  tougher,  brolher- 

Than  you  can  put  us  to't. 

Pol.  No  longer  slay. 

Leon.  One  seven-night  longer. 

Pol.-  Very  sooth,  to-morrow. 

Leon.  We'll  part  the  time  bctween's  then:  and 
in  that 

I    (3)  Affords  a  cordial  to  the  state.    (4)  Nipping, 


276 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


^ctl. 


I'll  no  gain-saying. 

Pol.  Press  me  not,  'beseech  you,  so ; 

There  is  no  tongue  that  moves,  none,  none  i'the 

world. 
So  soon  as  yours,  could  win  me  :  so  it  should  now, 
Were  there  necessity  in  your  request,  although 
'Tivere  needful  I  denied  it.     My  affairs 
Do  even  drag  me  homeward :  which  to  hinder. 
Were,  in  your  lore,  a  whip  to  me ;  my  stay. 
To  you  a  charge,  and  trouble :  to  save  both. 
Farewell,  our  brother. 

Leon.  Tongue-tied,  our  queen  ?  speak  you. 

Her.  I  l,ad  thought,  sir,  to  have  held  my  peace, 
until 
You  had  drawn  oaths  from  him,  not  to  stay.  You,  sir, 
Charge  him  too  coldly  :  Tell  him,  you  are  sure, 
All  in  Bohemia's  well :  this  satisfaction 
The  by-gone  dav  proclaim'd  ;  say  this  to  him. 
He's  beat  from  hLs  best  ward. 

Leon.  Well  said,  Hermione. 

Her.  To  tell,  he  longs  to  see  his  son,  were  strong  : 
But  let  him  say  so  then,  and  let  him  go  ; 
But  let  him  swear  so,  and  he  shall  not  stay. 
We'll  thwack  him  hence  with  distaffs. — 
Yet  of  your  royal  presence  [To  Polixenes.]  I'll  ad- 
venture 
The  borrow  of  a  week.    When  at  Bohemia 
You  take  my  lord,  I'll  give  him  my  commission. 
To  let  him  there  a  month,  beiiind  tlie  gest' 
Prefix'd  for  his  parting  :  yet,  g-ood  deed,^  Leontes, 
I  love  thee  not  a  jar^  o'  the  clock  behind 
What  lady  she  her  lord. — You'll  stay  ? 

Pol.  '   No,  madam. 

Her.  Nay,  but  you  will  ? 

Pol.  I  may  not,  verily. 

Her.  Verily ! 
Y'ou  put  me  oil' with  limber*  vows :  But  I, 
Though  you  would  seek  to  unsphere  the  stars  with 

oaths. 
Should  yet  say.  Sir,  no  going.  Verily, 
You  shall  not  go ;  a  lady's  verily  is 
As  potent  as  a  lord's.     Will  you  go  yet? 
Force  me  to  keep  you  as  a  prisoner. 
Not  like  a  guest ;  so  you  shall  pay  your  fees. 
When  you  depart,  and  save  your  thanks.    How  say 

you? 
My  prisoner  ?  or  my  guest  ?  by  your  dread  verily. 
One  of  them  you  shall  be. 

Pol.  Your  guest  then,  madam : 

To  be  your  prisoner,  should  import  oflcndin^ ; 
Whichis  for  me  less  easy  to  commit. 
Than  you  to  punish. 

Her.  Not  your  gaoler  then. 

But  your  kind  hostess.     Come,  I'll  question  you 
Of  my  lord's  tricks,  and  yours,  wlien  you  were 

boys ; 
You  were  pretty  lordings*  then. 

Pol.  We  %vcre,  fair  queen. 

Two  lads,  that  thought  there  was  no  more  behind, 
But  such  a  day  to-morrow  as  to-day, 
And  to  be  boy  eternal. 

Her.  Was  not  my  lord  the  verier  wac  o'  the  two  ? 

Pol.  We  were  as  twinn'd  lambs,  t^iat  did  frisk 
i'  the  sun. 
And  bleat  the  one  at  the  other :  \|irhat  ne  chang'd, 
Was  innocence  for  innocence  ;  ^ke  kn<;w  not 
The  doctrine  of  ill-doing,  no,  nor  dream'd 
That  any  did  :  Had  we  pursued  that  life. 
And  our  weak  spirits  ne'er  beeil  higher  rear'd 

(1)  Gests  were  the  names  bf  the  stages  where 
the  king  appointed  to  lie,  during  a  royal  progress. 

(2)  Indeed.        (3)  Tick.    /   (4)  Flimsy. 
(5)  A  diminutive  of  lord*. 


With  stronger  blood,  we  should  have  answer'd 

heaven 
Boldly,  J\l'ot  guilty  ;  the  imposition  clear'd, 
Hereditary  ours.** 

Her.  By  this  we  gather. 

You  have  tripp'd  since. 

Pol.  O  my  most  sacred  lady, 

Temptations  have  since  then  been  born  to  us  :  for 
In  those  unfledg'd  days  was  my  wife  a  girl ; 
Your  precious  self  had  then  not  cross'd  the  eyes 
Of  my  young  play-fellow. 

Her.  Grace  to  boot ! 

Of  this  make  no  conclusion  ;  lest  you  say, 
Y'our  queen  and  I  are  devils :  Yet,  go  on  ; 
The  ofiences  we  have  made  j'ou  do,  we'll  answer ; 
If  you  (irst  sinn'd  with  us,  and  that  with  us 
You  did  continue  fault,  and  that  you  slipp'd  not 
With  any  but  with  us. 

Leon.  Is  he  won  yet  ? 

Her.  He'll  stay,  my  lord. 

Leon.  At  my  request,  he  would  not. 

Hermione,  my  dearest,  thou  never  spok'st 
To  better  purpose. 

Her.  Never  ? 

Leon.  Never,  but  once. 

Her.   What?  have   I  twice  said  well?  when 
was't  before  ? 
I  pr'ythee,  tell  n>e:   Cram  us  with  praise,  and 
.  make  us 

As  fat  as  tame  things:    One  good  deed,  dying 

tonguelcss. 
Slaughters  a  thousand,  waiting  upon  that. 
Our  praises  are  our  wages:  You  may  ride  us, 
Witli  one  soil  kiss,  a  thousand  furlongs,  ere 
With  spur  we  heat  an  acre.  But  to  the  goal ; — 
My  last  good  was,  to  entreat  his  stay ; 
What  was  my  first  ?  it  has  an  elder  sinter. 
Or  I  mistake  you  :  O,  would  her  name  were  Grace ! 
But  once  before  I  spoke  to  the  purpose.    When  ? 
Nay,  let  me  have't ;  I  long. 

Leon.  Why,  that  was  when 

Three  crabbed  months  had  sour'd  themselves  to 

death, 

Ere  I  could  make  thee  open  thy  white  hand, 
And  clap  thyself  my  love  ;  then  didst  thou  utter, 
/  am  yours  for  ever. 

Her.  It  is  Grace,  indeed. 

Why,  Id  you  now,  I  have  spoke  to  the  purpose  twice; 
The  one  for  ever  earn'd  a  royal  husband  ; 
The  other,  for  some  while  a  friend. 

[Giving  her  hand  to  Polixenes. 

Leon.  Too  hot,  too  hot :   [^isiJe. 

To  minsrle  friendship  far,  is  mingling  bloods. 
I  have  tremor  cordis''  on  me :  my  heart  dances  ; 
But  not,  for  joy, — not  joy. — This  entertainment 
May  a  free  face  put  on  ;  derive  a  liberty 
From  heartiness,  from  bounty,  fertile  bosom, 
And  well  become  the  agent:  it  ma}',  I  grant : 
But  to  be  paddling  palms,  and  pinching  fingers, 
As  now  they  are ;  and  making  practis'd  smiles. 
As  in  a  looking-glass  ; — and  then  to  sigh,  as  'twere 
The  mort  o'the  deer  ;•  O,  that  is  entertainment 
My  bosom  likes  not,  nor  my  brows. — Mamillius, 
Art  thou  my  boy  ? 

jyiam.  Ay,  my  good  lord. 

Leon.  '  I'feeks  ? 

Why,  that's  my  bawcock.*    What,  hast  smutch'd 

thy  nose  ? — 
They  say,  it's  a  copy  out  of  mine.   Come,  captain. 

f  6)  Setting  aside  original  sin. 
(7>  Trembling  of  the  heart. 

(8)  The  tune  played  at  the  death  of  the  deer, 

(9)  Hearty  fellow. 


Setnell.  WINTER'S  TALE.  Sff 

We  must  be  neat ;  not  neat,  but  cleanly,  captain  :  We  are  yours  i'the  garden :   Sliall's  attend  you 

And  yet  the  steer,  the  heifer,  and  the  calf,  there? 

Are  all  call'd,  neat — Still  virginalling'  Leon,  To  your  own  bents  dispose  you :  jou'Il  be 

[Oftsermng' Polixenes  (m<i  Hermione.  found. 

Upon  his  palm  ? — How  now,  you  wanton  calf?      ;  Be  you  beneath  the  sky : — I  am  angling  now, 
Art  thou  my  calf?  Though  you  perceive  me  not  how  1  give  line. 

J^am.  Yes,  if  you  will,  my  lord.     ,  Go  to,  go  to ! 

Leon.  Thou  want'st  a  rough  pash,  and  tJie  shoots  [.^side.     Observing  Polixcnes  mid  Hermione. 

How  she  holds  up  the  neb,'"  the  bill  to  him ! 
And  arms  her  with  the  boldness  of  a  wife 
To  her  allowing"  husband!  Gone  already; 
Inch-thick,  knee-deep  ;  o'er  head  and  ears  a  fork'd 
one.'- — 
[Exeunt  Polixenes,  Hermione,  and  attendants. 
Go,  play,  boy,  play  ; — thy  mother  plays,  and  I 
Play  too  ;  but  so  disgrac'd  a  part,  whose  issue 


that  I  have,* 
To  be  full  like  me : — yet,  they  say,  we  arc 
Almost  as  like  as  e"^a ;  women  say  so. 
That  will  say  any  thmg:  But  were' they  false 
As  o'er-died  blacks,  as  wind,  as  waters  ;  false 
As  dice  are  lo  be  wish'd,  by  one  that  fixes 
No  bourn'  twixt  his  and  mine  ;  yet  were  it  true 
To  say  this  boy  were  like  me. — Come,  sir  page. 

Look  on  me  with  your  welkin*  eye  :  Sweet  villain  !  'Will  hiss  me  to  my  grave  ;  contempt  and  clamour 
Mostdear'st!  my  coUop ! — Can  thy  dam? — may 't  Will  be  my  knell. — Go,  play,  boy,  play ; — There 

have  been. 
Or  I  am  much  deceiv'd,  cuckolds  ere  now ; 
And  many  a  man  there  is,  even  at  this  present. 
Now,  while  I  speak  this,  holds  his  wife  by  the  arm. 
That  little  thinks  she  has  been  sluic'd  in  his  absence. 
And  his  pond  fish'd  by  his  next  neighbour,  by 
Sir  Smile,  his  neighbour :  nay,  there's  comfort  in't, 
W'hiles  other  men  have  gates ;   and  those  gates 

open'd, 
As  mine,  asiainst  their  will :  Should  all  despair 
That  have  revolted  wives,  the  tenth  of  mankind 
Would  hang  themselves.  Phvsic  for't  there  is  none ; 
It  is  a  bawdy  planet,  that  will  strike 
Where  'tis  predominant ;  and  'tis  powerful,  think  it. 
From  east,  west,  norih,  and  south :  Be  it  concluded, 
No  barrjcado  for  a  belly  ;  know  it ; 
It  will  let  in  and  out  the  enemy, 
With  bag  and  bagQBire  :  many  &  thousand  of  us 
Have  the  disease,  and  feel't  not. — How  now,  boy  ? 
Mam.  I  am  like  yoti,  they  say. 
Leo)}.  Whj',  that's  some  comfort. — 

What!  Camillo there? 
Cam.  Av,  my  good  lord. 

Leon.   Go  play,  Mamillius ;   thou'rt  an  honest 
man. —  [Exit  Mamillius. 

Camillo,  this  great  sir  will  yet  stay  longer. 

Cam.  Vc  u  had  much  a  do  to  make  his  anchor  hold : 
When  you  cast  out,  it  still  came  home. 
Lemi.  Didst  note  it? 

Cam.  He  would  not  stay  at  your  petitions ;  made 
His  business  more  material. 

Leon.  Didst  perceive  it  ? — 

They're  here  with  me  already ;  whispering,  round- 
ing,'* 
Sicilia  is  a  so-forth  :  'Tis  far  gone. 
When  I  shall  gust'*  it  last. — Howcame't,  Camillo, 
That  he  did  stay? 

Cam.  At  the  good  queen's  entreaty. 

Leon.  At  the  queen's,  be't:    good,  should  bo 
pertinent ; 
But  so  it  is,  it  is  not.    Was  this  taken 
By  any  understanding  pale  but  thine  ? 
Far  thV  conceit  is  soakmz,  will  draw  in^ 
More  than  the  common  blocks: — Not  noted, is'l. 
But  of  the  finer  natures  ?  by  some  severals. 
Of  head-piece  extraordinary?  lower  messes,'* 
Perchance,  arc  to  this  business  purblind :  say. 
Cam.  Business,  my  lord  ?  I  think,  most  under- 
stand 
Bohemia  stays  here  longer. 


be? 
Affection  !  thy  infection  stabs  the  centre : 
Thou  dost  make  possible,  things  not  so  held, 
Communicat'stwithdreams;— (Howcanthisbe?) — 
With  what's  unreal  thou  coactive  art. 
And  fellow'st  nothing  :  Then,  'tis  very  credent,' 
Thou  may'st  co-join  with  something;    and  thou 

dost ; 
(And  that  beyond  cornmission  ;  and  I  find  it,) 
And  that  to  the  infection  of  my  brains. 
And  hardening  of  my  brows. 

Pol.  W^hat  means  Sicil:a  ? 

Her.  He  something  seems  unsettled. 

Pol.  How,  my  lord  ? 

What  cheer?  how  is't  with  you,  best  brother? 

Her.  You  look, 

As  if  you  held  a  brow  of  much  distraction : 
Are  you  mov'd,  my  lord  ? 

Leon.  No,  in  pood  earnest. — 

How  sometimes  nature  will  betray  its  folly. 
Its  tenderness,  and  make  itself  a  pastime 
To  harder  bosoms  !  Looking  on  ihe  lines 
Ot  my  boy's  face,  methoughts,  I  did  recoil 
Tiventy-three  years  ;  and  saw  myself  unbreech'd. 
In  my  green  velvet  coat ;  my  dagger  muzzled, 
Lest  it  should  bite  its  master,  and  so  prove. 
As  ornaments  oft  dd,  too  dangerous. 
How  like,  methought,  I  then  was  to  this  kernel. 
This  squash,'  this  gentleman  : — mine  honest  friend, 
Will  you  take  eggs  for  money  ?' 

.Worn.  No,  my  lord,  I'll  fight. 

Leon.  You  will  ?  why,  happy  man  be  liis  dole !' — 
My  brother. 
Are  you  so  fond  of  your  young  prince,  as  we 
De  seem  to  be  of  ours  ? 

Pol.  If  at  home,  sir. 

He's  all  my  exercise,  my  mirth,  my  matter : 
Now  my  sworn  friend,  and  then  mine  enemy  ; 
My  parasite,  my  soldier,  statesman,  all ; 
He  makes  a  July's  day  short  as  December  ; 
And,  with  his  varying  childness,  cures  in  me 
Thoughts  that  would  thick  my  blood. 

Leon.  So  stands  this  squire 

Olhc'd  with  me  :  We  two  will  walk,  my  lord. 
And  leave  you  to  your  graver  steps. — Hermione, 
How  thou  fov'st  us,  show  in  our  brother's  welcome ; 
Let  what  is  dear  in  Sicily,  be  cheap : 
Next  to  thyself,  and  my  young  rover,  he's 
Apparent*  to  my  heart. 

Her.  If  you  would  seek  us, 

(1)  t.  e.  Plajingwithherfingersasifonaspinnet. 

(2)  Thou  wantest  a  rough  head,  and  the  budding 
boms  that  I  have. 

<S)  Boundary.         (4)  Blue.        (5)  Credible, 
(6)  Pea-cod.  (7)  Will  you  be  cajoled  ? 


(S)  May  his  share  of  life  be  a  happv  one ! 
(9)  Heir  apparent,  next  claimant.  (10)  Mouth. 
(11)  Approving.     (12)  A  horned  one,  a  cuckold, 
nsj  To  round  in  the  ear  was  to  tell  secretly. 
(14)  Taste,  (16)  Inferiors  in  rank. ' 


227S 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


Jet  I. 


Leon.  Ha? 

Com.  Stays  here  longer. 

Leon.  Ay,  but  why  ? 

Cam.  To  satisfy  your  highness,  and  the  entreaties 
Of  our  most  gracious  mistress. 

Leon.  Satisfy 

The  entreaties  of  vour  mistress  ? satisfy  ? — 

Let  that  suiiice.     I  have  trusted  thee,  Camillo, 
With  all  the  nearest  things  to  my  heart,  as  v.ell 
My  chamber-counsels :  wherein,  priest-like,  thou 
Hast  cleans'd  my  bosom  ;  I  from  thee  departed 
Thy  penitent  reform'd  :  but  we  have  been 
Deceiv'd  in  tiiy  integrity,  decciv'd 
In  that  which  seems  so. 

Cam.  Be  it  forbid,  my  lord ! 

Leon.  Tobideupon't; — Thou  art  not  honest :  or, 
If  thou  inclin'st  that  waj',  tiiou  art  a  coward ; 
Which  hoses'  honesty  behind,  restraining 
From  course  requir'd :  Or  else  thou  must  be  counted 
A  servant,  grafted  in  my  serious  trust, 
And  therein  negligent ;  or  else  a  fool. 
That  secst  a  game  play'd  home,  the  rich  stake 

drawn, 
And  tak'st  it  all  for  jest. 

Cam.  My  gracious  lord, 

I  may  be  negligent,  foolish,  and  fearful ; 
In  every  one  of  these  no  man  is  free, 
JJut  that  his  negligence,  nis  folly,  fear, 
Amonist  the  innnite  doings  of  the  world, 
Sometime  puts  forth :  In  your  afl'airs,  my  lord, 
if  ever  I  were  wilful-negligent, 
It  was  my  folly  ;  if  industriously 
I  play'd  the  fool,  it  was  mv  negligence, 
Not  weighing  well  the  end ;  if  ever  fearful 
To  do  a  thing,  where  I  the  issue  doubted, 
Whereof  t!ie  execution  did  cry  out 
Against  the  non-performance,  'twas  a  fear 
Which  oft  affects  the  wisest :  these,  my  lord. 
Are  such  allow'd  infirmities,  that  honesty 
Is  never  free  of.    But,  'beseech  your  grace, 
Be  plainer  with  me  ;  let  me  know  my  trespass 
By  its  own  visage :  if  I  then  deny  it, 
'Tis  none  of  mine. 

Leon.  Have  not  you  seen,  Camillo, 

i  But  that's  past  doubt:  you  have;  or  your  eye-glass 
s  thicker  than  a  cuckold's  horn  ;)  or  heard 
(For,  to  a  vison  so  apparent,  rumour 
Cannot  be  mute,)  or  thought  (for  cogitation 
Resides  not  in  that  man,  that  does  not  think  it,) 
My  wife  is  slippery?  If  thou  wilt  confess, 
(Or  else  be  impudently  negative, 
To  have  nor  eyes,  nor  cars,  nor  thought,)  then  say. 
My  wife's  a  hobby-horse  ;  deserves  a  name 
As  rank  as  any  flax-wciich,  that  puts  to 
Before  her  troth-plight :  say  if,  and  justify  it. 
Cam.  I  would  not  be  a  stander-by,  to  hear 
My  sovereign  mistress  clouded  so,  without 
My  present  vengeance  taken :  'Shrew  my  heart, 
You  never  spoke  what  did  become  you  less 
Than  this  :  which  to  reiterate,  were  sin 
As  deep  as  that,  though  true. 

Leon.  Is  whispering  nothing  ? 

Is  leaning  cheek  to  cheek  ?  is  meeting  noses  ? 
Kissing  with  inside  lip  ?  stopping  the  career 
Of  laughter  with  a  sigh  ?  (a  note  infallible 
Of  breaking  honesty :)  horsing  foot  on  foot  ? 
Skulking  in  corners  ?  wishing  clocks  more  swift  ? 
Hours,  minutes?   noon,  midnight?  and  all  eyes 

blind 
With  the  pin  and  web,'  but  theirs,  theirs  only, 

(1)  To  box  is  to  hamstring. 

(2)  Disorders  of  the  eye. 
<3)  Hour-glass.        (4)  Hasty. 


That  would  unseen  be  wicked  ?  is  this  notliing? 
Why,  then  the  world,  and  all  that's  in't,  is  nothing ; 
The  covering  sky  is  nothing ;  Bohemia  nothing ; 
My  wife  is  nothing;  nor  noticing  have  these  notluugs, 
If  this  be  nothing. 

Cam.  Good  my  lord,  becur'd 

Of  this  diseas'd  opinion,  and  betimes  ; 
For  'tis  most  dangerous. 

Leon.  Say,  it  be  ;  'tis  true. 

Cam.  No,  no,  my  lord. 

Leon.  It  is  ;  you  lie,  you  lie ". 

I  say,  thou  liest,  Camillo,  and  I  hate  thee ; 
Pronounce  thee  a  gross  lout,  a  mindless  slave  , 
Or  else  a  hovering  temporizer,  that 
Canst  with  thine  eyes  at  once  sec  good  and  evil, 
Inclining  to  them  both :  Were  my  wife's  liver 
Infected  as  her  life,  she  would  not  live 
The  running  of  one  glass.' 

Cam.  Who  does  infect  her  ? 

Leon.  Why  he,  that  wears  her  like  her  medal, 
hanging 
About  his  neck,  Bohemia :  Who — if  I 
Had  servants  true  about  me  ;  that  bare  eyes 
To  see  alike  mine  honour  as  their  profits, 
Their  own  particular  thrifts, — they  would  do  that 
Which  should  undo  more  doing:  Ay,  and  thou 
His  cup-bearer, — whom  I  from  meaner  form 
Have  bcnch'd,  and  rcar'd  to  Avorship  ;  who  may'st 

see 
Plainlv,  as  heaven  sees  earth,  and  earth  sees  heaven. 
How  i  am  galled — might'st  bespicc  a  cup. 
To  give  mine  enemy  a  lasting  wink ; 
Which  draught  to  me  were  cordial. 

Cam.  Sir,  my  lord, 

I  could  do  this  ;  and  that  with  no  rash*  potion, 
But  with  a  ling'ring  dram,  that  should  not  work 
Maliciously^  like  poison  :  But  I  cannot 
Believe  this  crack  to  be  in  my  dread  mistress, 
So  sovereignly  being  honourable. 
-I  have  lov'd  thee, 

Leon.  Make't  thy  question,  and  go  lot. 

Dost  think,  I  am  so  muddy,  so  unsettled. 
To  appoint  myself  in  this  vexation  ?  sully 
The  purity  and  whiteness  of  my  sheets, 
Which  to  preserve  is  sleep ;  ivhich  being  spotted, 
Is  goads,  thorns,  nettles,  tails  of  wasps? 
Give  scandal  to  the  blood  o'  the  prince  my  son, 
Who,  I  do  think  is  mine,  and  love  as  mine ; 
Without  ripe  movin?  to't  ?  Would  I  do  this  ? 
Could  man  so  blench  1^ 

Cam.  I  must  believe  you,  sir ; 

I  do  ;  and  will  fetch  off  Bohemia  tbr't: 
Provided,  that  when  he's  remov'd,  your  highness 
Will  take  again  your  queen,  as  yours  at  first ; 
Even  for  your  son's  sake ;  and,  thereby,  for  sealing 
The  injury  of  tongues,  in  courts  and  kingdoms 
Known  and  allied  to  yours. 

Leon.  Thou  dost  advise  me. 

Even  so  as  T  mine  own  course  have  set  down  : 
I'll  give  no  blemish  to  her  honour,  none. 

Cam.  My  lord,    . 
Go  then ;  and  ■with  a  countenance  as  clear 
As  friendship  ivears  at  feasts,  keep  with  Bohemia, 
And  with  your  queen  :  I  am  his  cupbearer ; 
If  from  me  he  have  wholesome  beverage, 
Account  me  not  your  servant. 
.  Leon.  This  is  all : 

Do't,  and  thou  hast  the  one  half  of  my  heart; 
Do't  not,  thou  splitt'st  thine  own. 

Cam.  I'll  do't,  my  lori. 

(5^  Maliciously,  with  effects  openly  hurtful. 
(6)  i.  e.  Could  any  man  so  start  off  from  pro 
priety  ? 


Scene  11. 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


279 


Leon.  I  will  seem  fricmllv,  as  thou  hast  advis'd;  Since  I  am  cliarg'd  in  honour,  and  by  him 

me.  "  [ExU.\Tha.t.  I  think  honourable:  Therefore,  mark  vaf 


Cam.  0  miserable  lady  !— But,  for  me, 
What  case  stand  I  in  ?  1  must  be  the  poisoner 
Of  good  PolLxencs :  and  my  ground  to  do't 
Is  the  obedience  to  a  master  ;  onCj 
^\■ho,  in  rebellion  with  himself,  will  hare 
All  that  are  his,  so  too.— To  do  this  deed. 
Promotion  follows  :  If  I  could  find  example 
Of  thousands,  that  had  struck  anointed  Icings, 
And  flourish'd  after,  I'd  not  do't:  but  since 
rs  or  brass,  nor  stone,  nor  parchment,  bears  not  one, 
Let  villany  itself  forswear't.     I  must 
Forsake  tlie  court :  to  do't,  or  no,  is  certain 
To  me  a  break-neck.    Happy  star,  reign  now  I 
Here  comes  Bohemia. 

Enter  Pclixenes. 

Pol.  This  is  strange !  methinks, 

My  favour  here  begins  to  warp,    j^'ot  speak  ? 

Good-day,  Camillo. 

Cam.  Hail,  most  royal  sir ! 

Pol.  What  is  the  news  i'thc  court? 

Cam.  None  rare,  my  lord. 

Pol.  The  king  hath  on  him  such  a  countenance, 
As  he  had  lost  some  province,  and  a  region, 
LoT'd  as  he  loves  himself;  even  now  I  met  him 
AVith  customary  compliment ;  when  he, 
Wafting  his  eyes  to  the  contrary,  and  fairing 
A  lip  of  much  contempt,  speeds  iVom  me  ;  and 
So  leaves  me  to  consider  what  is  breeding. 
That  changes  thus  his  manners. 

Cam.  I  dare  not  know,  my  lord. 

Pol.  How!  dare  not?  do  not.    Do  you  know, 
and  dare  not 
Be  intelligent  to  me  ?  'Tis  thereabouts ; 
For,  to  yourself,  what  you  do  loiow,  you  must ; 
And  cannot  say,  you  dare  not.     Good  Camillo, 
Your  chang'd  complexions  are  to  me  a  mirror 
Which  shows  me  mine  chang'd  too  :  for  I  must  be 
A  party  in  this  alteration,  finding 
Myself  thus  altcr'd  with  it. 

Cam.  There  is  a  sickness 

Which  puts  some  of  us  in  distemper ;  but 
I  cannot  name  the  disease  ;  and  it  is  caught 
Of  you  that  yet  are  well. 

Pol.  How !  cattght  of  me  ? 

Make  me  not  sighted  like  the  basilisk : 
I  have  look'd  on  thousands,  who  have  sped  the  better 

By  my  regard,  but  kill'd  none  so.     Camillo, 

As  you  arc  certainly  a  gentleman  ;  thereto 
Clerk-like,  experiehe'd,  %vhich  no  less  adorns 
Our  gentry,  than  our  parents'  noble  names. 
In  whose  success'  wc  are  gentle,^ — I  beseech  you, 
If  you  know  aught  which  dees  behove  my  know- 
ledge , 
Thereof  to  be  inform'd,  imprison  it  not 
In  ignorant  concealment. 

Cam.  I  may  not  answer. 

Pol.  A  sickness  caught  of  me,  and  yet  I  well ! 
I  must  be  answer'd. — Dost  thou  hear,  Camillo, 
I  c6njure  thee,  by  all  the  parts  of  man, 


counsel ; 
AMiich  must  be  even  as  swiftly  folio w'd.  as 
I  mean  to  utter  it ;  or  both  yourself  ana  me 
Cry,  lost,  and  so  good-night. 

Pol.  On,  good  Camillo. 

Cam,  I  am  appointed  Him  to  murder  you.' 

Pol.  By  whom,  Camillo  ? 

Cam.  By  tlie  king. 

Pol.  For  what? 

Ca7n.  He  tliinks,  nay,  with  all  confidence  he 
swears, 
As  he  had  seen't,  or  been  an  instrument 
To  vice*  you  to't, — that  you  have  touch'd  hb  queen 
Forbiddenly, 

Pol.  O,  tlien  my  best  blood  turn 

To  an  infected  jelly ;  and  my  name 
Be  yok'd  with  his,  that  did  betray  the  best ! 
Turn  then  my  freshest  reputation  to 
A  savour,  that  may  strike  the  dullest  nostril 
Where  I  arrive  ;  and  my  approach  be  shunn'd, 
Nay,  hated  too,  worse  than  the  great'st  infection 
That  e'er  was  heard,  or  road ! 

Cam.  Swear  his  thought  over 

By  each  particular  star  in  heaven,  and 
By  r.!l  their  influences,  you  may  as  well 
Forbid  the  sea  for  to  obey  the  moon. 
As  or,  by  oath,  remove,  or  counsel,  shake 
The  fabric  of  his  folly  ;  whose  foundation 
Is  pil'd  upon  his  faith,'  and  will  continue 
The  standing  of  his  body. 

Pol.  How  should  this  grow  ? 

Cam.  I  know  not :  but,  I  am  sure,  'tis  safer  to 
Avoid  what's  grown,  than  question  how  'tis  born. 
If  therefore  you  dare  trust  mjr  honesty, — 
That  lies  enclosed  in  this  trunk,  which  you 
I  Shrill  bear  along  imnawn'd, — away  to-night. 
Your  followers  I  will  whisjier  to  the  business ; 
And  will,  by  twos,  and  threes,  at  several  posterns, 
Clear  them  o'  the  city :  For  myself,  I'll  put 
My  fortunes  to  your  service,  wliich  are  here 
By  this  discovery  lost.    Be  not  uncertain  ; 
For,  by  the  honour  of  my  parents,  I 
Have  utter'd  truth  :  which  if  you  seek  to  prove, 
I  dare  not  stand  by  ;  nor  shall  you  be  safer 
Than  one  condemn'd  by  the  king's  own  mouth, 

thereon 
His  execution  sworn. 

Pol.  I  do  believe  thee : 

I  saw  his  heart  in  his  face.    Give  me  thy  hand ; 
Be  pilot  to  me,  and  thy  places  shall 
Still  neighbour  mine  :"My  ships  are  ready,  and 
My  people  did  expect  my  hence  departure 
Two  days  a^o. — This  jealousy 
Is  for  a  precious  creature :  as  she's  rare, 
jMust  it  be  great ;  and,  as  his  person's  mighty, 
I  Must  it  be  violent ;  and  as  he  does  conceive 
He  is  dishonour'd  by  a  man  which  ever 
I  Profess'd  to  him,  why,  his  revenges  must 
I  In  that  be  made  more  bitter.  Fear  o'ershadcs  mc  : 
Good  expedition  be  my  friend,  and  comfort 


W'hich  honour  docs   acknowledge, — whereof  the  j  The  gracious  queen,  part  of  his  theme,  but  nothing 

Of  his  ill-ta'en  suspicion  !  Come,  Camillo  ; 
I  Avill  respect  thee  as  a  father,  if 
Thou  bear'st  my  life  off  hence ;  Let  us  avoid. 

Cam.  It  is  in  mine  authority,  to  command 
The  keys  of  all  the  nosterns :  I'leasc  your  highness 
To  take  the  urgent  hour :  come,  sir,  aAvay. 

[Exetmt. 


least 
Is  not  this  suit  of  mine, — that  thoTi  declare 
What  incidency  thou  dost  guess  of  harm 
Is  creeping  toward  me  ;  how  far  ofT,  how  near ; 
Which  way  to  be  prevented,  if  to  be  ; 
If  not,  how  best  to  bear  it. 
Cam.  Sir,  I'll  tell  you ; 

(1)  For  succession. 
-     (2)  Gentle  was  opposed  to  simple ;  well  bom. 


(3)  f.  e.  I  am  the  person  appointed,  &c. 

(4)  Draw.  (5)  Settled  belief. 


WINTER'S  TAL£. 


JlelJL 


ACT  n. 


SCE^TE  I. — The  same.    Enter  Hermione,  Ma 
milUus,  and  Ladies. 

Her.  Take  the  boy  to  you :  he  so  troubles  me, 
'Tis  past  enduring. 

1  Lady.  Come,  my  gracious  lord, 

Shall  I  be  your  play-fellow  ? 

J^am.  No,  I'll  none  of  j'ou. 

1  Lady,  Why,  my  sweet  lord  ? 
Mam.  You'll  Mss  me  hard ;  and  speak  to  me  as  if 

I  were  a  baby  still. — I  love  you  better. 

2  Lady.  And  why  so,  my  good  lord  ? 
JVfom.  Not  for  because 

,  Your  brows  are  blacker :  yet  black  brows,  they  say, 
Become  some  women  best ;  so  that  there  be  not 
Too  much  hair  there,  but  in  a  semi-circle, 
Or  half-moon  made  with  a  pen. 
2  lAidy.  Who  taught  you  this  ? 

Mam.  I  leam'd  it  out  of  women's  faces. — Pray 
now 
What  colour  are  your  eye-brows  ? 

1  Lady.  Blue,  my  lord. 
Mam.  Nay,  that's  a  mock :  I  have  seen  a  lady's 

nose 
That  has  been  blue,  but  not  her  eye-brows. 

2  Lady.  Hark  ye : 
The  queen,  your  mother,  rounds  apace :  we  shall 
Present  our  services  to  a  fine  new  prince. 
One  of  these  days;  and  then  you'd  wanton  with  us. 
If  we  would  have  you. 

1  Lady.  She  is  spread  of  late 

Into  a  goodly  bulk :  Good  time  encounter  her ! 

Her.  What  wisdom  stirs  amongst  you  ?    Come, 
sir,  now 
I  am  for  you  attain :  Pray  you  sit  by  us, 
And  tell 's  a  tale. 

Mam.  Merry^  or  sad,  shalPt  be  ? 

Her.  As  merry  as  you  will. 

Mam.  A  sad  tale's  best  for  winter : 

I  have  one  of  sprites  and  goblins. 

Her.  Let's  have  that,  sir, 

Come  on,  sit  down : — Come  on,  and  do  your  best 
To  fright  me  with  your  sprites:  you're  powerful 
at  it 

Mam.  There  was  a  man, 

Her.  Nay,  come,  sit  down;  then  on. 

Mam.  Dwelt  by  a  churcn-yard ; — I  will  tell  it 
softly ; 
Yon  crickets  shall  not  hear  it. 

Her.  Come  on,  then. 

And  give't  me  in  mine  ear. 

Enter  Leontes,  Antigonus,  Lords,  and  others. 

Leon.  Was  he  met  there?  his  train?  Camfllo 
with  him  ? 

1  Lard.  Behind  the  tuft  of  pines  I  met  them ; 
never 
Saw  I  men  scour  so  on  their  way :  I  ey'd  them 
Even  to  their  ships. 

Leon.  How  bless'd  am  I 

In  my  just  censure?'  in  my  true  opinion? — 
AlacK,  for  lesser  knowledge  !"    How  accurs'd. 
In  being  so  blest ! — There  may  be  in  the  cup 
A  spider*  steep'd,  and  one  may  drink  ;  depart, 
Ana  yet  partake  no  venom ;  for  his  knowledge 
Is  not  intected  :  but  if  one  present 
The  abhorr'd  ingredient  to  his  eye,  make  known 
How  he  hath  drank,  he  cracks  his  gorge,  his  sides, 

(I)  Judgment. 

(2i  0  that  my  knowledge  were  less ! 
(3)  Spideni  were  esteemed  poisonous  in  our  au- 
thor's tune. 


With  violent  hefls  :*— I  have  drank,  and  seen  the 

spider. 
Camillo  was  his  help  in  this,  his  pander : — 


There  is  a  plot  against  my  life,  my  crown  : 
All's  true  that  is  mistrusted  :,^that  false  vil 


lUain, 


Whom  I  employ'd,  was  pre-employ'd  by  him 
He  has  discover'd  my  design,  and  I 
Remain  a  pinch'd  tlimg :'  yea,  a  very  trick 
For  them  to  play  at  will : — How  came  the  posterns 
So  easily  open  ? 

1  Loi'd.  By  his  great  authority ; 

Wiiich  often  hath  no  less  prevail'd  than  so. 
On  your  command. 

Leon.  I  know't  too  well. 

Give  me  the  boy ;  I  am  glad,  you  did  not  nurse  him: 
Though  he  does  bear  some  signs  of  me,  yet  you 
Have  too  much  blood  in  him. 

Her.  What  is  this?  sport? 

Leon.  Bear  the  boy  hence,  he  shall  not  come 
about  her ; 
Away  with  him : — and  let  her  sport  herself 
With  that  she's  big  with  ;  for  'tis  Polixenes 
Has  made  thee  swell  thus. 

Her.  But  I'd  say,  he  had  not. 

And,  I'll  be  sworn  you  would  believe  my  saying, 
Howe'er  you  lean  to'  the  nayward. 

Leon.  You,  my  lords, 

Look  on  her,  mark  her  well ;  be  but  about 
To  say,  she  is  a  goodly  lady,  and 
The  justice  of  your  hearts  will  thereto  add, 
'TVs  pity  she^s  not  honest,  honourable  : 
Praise  her  but  for  this  her  wilhout-door  form. 
(Which,  on  my  faith,  deserves  high  speech,)  and 

straight 
The  shrug,  the  hum,  or  ha ;  these  petty  brands, 
That  calumny  doth  use : — O,  I  am  out, 
That  mercv  does  ;  for  calumny  %vill  sear* 
Virtue  itself: — These  shrugs,  these  hums,  and  ha's. 
When  you  have  said,  she's  goodly,  come  between. 
Ere  you  can  say  she's  honest :  But  be  it  known, 
From  him  that  has  most  cause  to  grieve  it  should  be, 
She's  an  adultress. 

Her.  Should  a  villain  say  so. 

The  most  replenish'd  villain  in  the  world. 
He  were  as  much  more  villain :  you,  my  Iqrd, 
Do  but  mistake. 

Leon.   '  You  have  mistook,  my  lady, 

Polixenes  for  Leontes :  O  thou  thing. 
Which  I'll  not  call  a  creature  of  thy  place. 
Lest  barbarism,  making  me  the  precedent. 
Should  a  like  language  use  to  all  degrees, 
And  mannerly  distinguishment  leave  out 
Betwixt  the  prince  and  beggar ! — I  have  said, 
She's  an  adultress  ;  I  have  said  with  whom : 
More,  she's  a  traitor  ;  and  Camillo  is 
A  federary'  with  her ;  and  one  that  knows 
What  she  should  shamg  to  know  herself, 
But'  with  her  most  vile  principal,  that  she's 
A  bed-swerver,  even  as  bad  as  those 
That  vulgars  give  bold  titles  ;  ay,  and  privy 
To  this  their  late  escape. 

Her.  No,  by  my  life. 

Privy  to  none  of  this :  How  will  this  grieve  you, 
When  you  shall  come  to  clearer  knowledge,  that 
You  thus  have  publish'd  me  ?  Gentle  my  lord. 
You  scarce  can  right  me  throughly  then,  to  say 
You  did  mistake. 

Leon.  No,  no ;  if  I  mistake 

In  those  foundations  which  I  build  upon, 

(4)  Heavmgs. 

(5)  A  thing  pinched  out  of  clouts,  a  puppet 

(6)  Brand  as  infamous.  (7)  Confederate. 
(8)  Only. 


BcmuU. 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


281 


The  centre  is  not  big  enough  to  bear 
A  school-boy's  top.— Away  with  her  to  prison : 
He,  who  shall  speak  for  her,  is  afar  off  guilty,' 
But  that  he  speaks.^ 

Her.  There's  some  ill  planet  reigns  : 

I  must  be  patient,  till  the  heavens  look 

With    an   aspect  more  favourable. Good  my 

lords, 
1  am  not  prone  to  weeping,  as  our  sex 
Commonly  are  :  the  want  of  which  vain  dew. 
Perchance,  shall  dry  your  pities :  but  I  have 
That  honourable  grief  lodg'd  here,  which  bums 
Worse  than  tears  drown:  'Beseech  jou  all,  my 

lords. 
With  thoughts  so  qualified  as  your  charities 
Shall  best  instruct  you,  measure  me ; — and  so 
The  kine^s  %vill  be  perform'd  ! 
Uim.  Shall  I  be  heard  ? 

\To  the  i(uards. 
Her,  Who  is't,  that  goes  with  me  ? — 'Beseech 
your  highness, 
My  women  may  be  with  me ;  for,  you  see, 
My  plight  requires  it.     Do  not  weep,  good  fools  ; 
There  is  no  cause:  when  you  shall  know,  youi- 

mistress 
Has  deserv'd  prison,  then  abound  in  tears, 
As  I  come  out :  this  action,  I  now  go  on. 
Is  for  my  better  grace. — Adieu,  my  lord  : 
I  never  wish'd  to  see  you  sorry  ;  now, 

I  trust,  I  shall. My  women,  come ;  yoa  have 

leave. 
Leon.  Go,  do  our  bidding ;  hence. 

[Exeunt  Queen  and  Ladies. 
1  Lord.  'Beseech  your  highness,  call  the  queen 

again. 
^nt.  Be  certain  what  you  do,  sir;  lest  your 
justice 
Prove  violence ;  in  the  which  three  great  ones  suffer. 
Yourself,  your  queen,  your  son. 

1  Lord.  For  her,  my  lord, — 

I  dare  my  life  lay  down,  and  will  do't,  sir. 
Please  you  to  accept  it,  that  the  queen  is  spotless 
I'the  eyes  of  heaven,  and  to  you  ;  I  mean. 
In  this' which  you  accuse  her. 

^nt..  If  it  prove 

She's  otherwise,  I'll  keep  my  stables^  where 
I  lodge  my  wife ;  I'll  go  in  couples  with  her  ; 
Than  when  I  feel,  and  see  her,  no  further  trust  her ; 
For  every  inch  of  woman  in  the  vrorld. 
Ay,  every  dram  of  woman's  flesh,  is  false, 
If'  she  be. 
Leon.        Hold  your  peaces. 
1  Lord.  Good  my  lord, 

»4nf.  It  is  for  you  we  speak,  not  for  ourselves : 
You  are  abus'd,  and  by  some  putter-on,* 
That  will  be  dkmn'd  for't;   would  I  knew  the 

villain, 
I  would  Innd-damn  him :  Be  she  honour-flaw'd, — 
I  have  three  daughters  ;  the  eldest  is  eleven  ; 
The  second,  and  the  third,  nine,  and  some  five  ; 
If  this  prove  true,   they'll    pay  for't :  by  mine 

honour, 
I'll  geld  them  all ;  fourteen  they  shall  not  see. 
To  bring  false  generations :  they  arc  co-heirs  ; 
And  I  had  rather  glib  myself,  than  they 
Should  not  produce  fair  issue. 

Leon.  Cease  ;  no  more. 

You  smell  this  business  with  a  sense  as  cold 
As  is  a  dead  man's  nose :  I  see't,  and  feel't. 
As  you  feel  doing  thus  ;  and  see  withal 
The  instruments  that  feel. 


il )  Remotely  guilty. 
3)  Take  my  station. 


(2)  In  merely  speaking. 
(4)  Instigator. 


^nt.  If  it  be  so, 

We  need  no  grave  to  bury  honesty ; 
There's  not  a  ^rain  of  it,  the  face  to  sweeten 
Of  the  whole  dungy  earth. 

Leon.  What!  lack  I  credit? 

1  Lord.  I  had  rather  you  did  lack,  than  I,  my 
lord, 
Upon  this  ground :  and  more  it  would  content  me 
To  have  her  honour  true,  than  your  suspicion  ; 
Be  blam'd  for't  how  you  might. 

Leon.  Why,  what  need  we 

Commune  with  you  of  this?  but  rather  follow 
Our  forceful  instigation.    Our  prerogative 
Calls  not  your  counsels  ;  but  our  natural  goodness 
Imparts  this  :  which, — if  you  (or  stupified. 
Or  seeming  so  in  skill,)  cannot,  or  will  not, 
Relish  as  truth,  like  us  ;  inform  yourselves. 
We  need  no  more  of  your  advice :  the  matter, 
The  loss,  the  gain,  the  ordering  on't,  is  all 
Properly  ours. 

.^nt.  And  I  wish,  my  liege, 

You  had  only  in  your  silent  judgment  tried  it. 
Without  more  overture. 

Leon.  How  could  that  be 7 

Either  thou  art  most  ignorant  by  age. 
Or  thou  wert  born  a  fool.     Camillo's  flight, 
Added  to  their  familiarity, 
(Which  was  as  gross  as  ever  touch'd  conjecture- 
That  lack'd  sight  only,  nought  for  approbation,* 
But  only  seeing,  all  other  circujnstances 
Made  up  to  the  deed, )  doth  push  on  this  proceeding ; 
Yet,  for  a  greater  confirmation, 
(For,  in  an  act  of  this  importance,  'twere 
Most  piteous  to  be  wild,)  I  have  despalch'd  in  post. 
To  sacred  Delphos,  to  Apollo's  temple, 
Cleomenes  and  Dion,  whom  you  know 
Of  stufl''d  sufliciency  ;•=  Now,  from  the  oracle 
Thcv  will  bring  all ;  whose  spiritual  counsel  had, 
Shall  step,  or  spur  me.     Have  I  done  well  ? 

1  Lord.  Well  done,  my  lord. 

Leon.  Though  I  am  satisfied,  and  need  no  more 
Than  what  I  linow,  yet  shall  the  oracle 
Give  rest  to  the  minds  of  others  ;  such  as  he, 
Whose  ignorant  credulity  will  not 
Come  up  to  the  truth :  So  have  we  thought  it  good, 
From  our  free  person  she  should  be  confin'd  ; 
Lest  ihat  the  treacherj-  of  the  two,  fled  hence. 
Be  left  her  to  perform.     Cofne,  follow  us  ; 
We  are  to  speak  in  public  :  for  this  business 
Will  raise  us  all. 

Ant.  [Jside.]  To  laughter,  as  I  take  it. 
If  the  good  trutn  were  khown.  [Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E    n.—The  name.     The  outer  room  oj  « 
prison.    Enter  Paulina  and  attendants. 

Paul.  The  keeper  of  the  prison, — call  to  him ; 

[Exit  an  attendant. 
Let  him  have  knowledge  who  I  am. — Good  lady ! 
No  court  in  Europe  is  too  good  for  thee, 
What  dost  thou  then  in  prison  ? — Now,  good  sir, 

Jle-enter  attendant,  with  the  Keeper. 
You  know  me,  do  you  not  ? 

Keep.  For  a  worthy  lady, 

And  one  whom  much  I  honour. 

Paid.  »  Pray  you,  then, 

Conduct  me  to  the  queen. 

Keep.  I  may  not,  madam ;  to  the  contrary 
I  have  express  commandment. 

Paul.                                         Here's  adq, 
To  lock  up  honesty  and  honour  from 
The  access  of  gentle  visitors ! Is  it  lawful. 


(5)  Proof. 


(6)  Of  abilities  more  than  suflicieRU 
2  N 


^ 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


^ct  IT. 


Pray  you,  to  see  her  women  ?  any  of  them  ? 
Emilia  ? 

Keep.  So  please  you,  madam,  to  put 
Apart  these  your  attendants,  I  shall  bring 
Emilia  forth. 

Paul.  I  pray  now,  call  her. 

Withdraw  yourselves.  [Exeitiit  attend. 

Keep.  And,  madam, 

I  must  be  present  at  your  conference. 

Paul.  Well,  be  it  so,  pr'ythee.        [Exit  Keeper. 
Here's  such  ado  to  make  no  stain  a  stain. 
As  passes  colouring. 

Re-enter  Keeper,  tcUh  Emilia. 

Dear  gentlewoman,  how  fares  our  gracious  lady  ? 

Emil.  As  %vell  as  one  so  great,  and  so  forlorn. 
May  hold  together :  On  her  frights,  and  griefs, 
(Which  never  tender  lady  hath  borne  ijrcater,) 
She  is,  something  before  her  time,  deliver'd. 

Paul.  A  boy  ? 

Emil.  A  dauf^hter ;  and  a  goodly  babe, 

Lusty,  and  like  to  live :  the  queen  receives 
Much  comfort  in't:  says.  My  pom- prisoner, 
I  am  innocent  as  you. 

Paul.  I  dare  be  sworn  : 

These  dangerous  unsafe  lunes>  o'the  king !  be- 

shrew  them ! 
He  must  be  told  on't,  and  he  shall :  the  office 
Becomes  a  woman  best ;  I'll  take  it  upon  me : 
If  I  prove  honey-mouthed,  let  my  tongue  blister ; 
And  never  to  my  red-look'd  anger  be 
The  trumpet  any  more : — Pray  you,  Emilia, 
Commend  my  best  obedience  to  the  queen ; 
If  she  dares  trust  me  with  her  little  babe, 
I'll  show't  the  kinc,  and  undertake  to  be 
Her  advocate  to  th'  loudest :  We  do  not  know 
How  he  may  soften  at  the  si<jht  o'thc  child ; 
The  silence  often  of  pure  innocence 
Persuades,  when  speaking  fails. 

Emil.  Most  worthy  madam, 

Your  honour,  and  your  goodness,  is  so  evident. 
That  your  free  undertaking  cannot  miss 
A  thriving  issue  ;  there  is  no  ladv  living, 
So  meet  for  this  great  errand  :  Please  your  lady- 
ship 
To  visit  the  next  room,  I'll  presently 
Acquaint  the  queen  of  your  most  noble  offer  ; 
Who,  but  to-day,  hammer'd  of  this  design  ; 
But  durst  not  tempt  a  minister  of  honour, 
Lest  she  should  be  denied. 

Paul.  Tell  her,  Emilia, 

I'll  use  that  tongue  I  have  :  if  wit  flow  from  it. 
As  boldness  from  my  bosom,  let  it  not  be  doubted 
I  shall  do  good. 

Emil.  Now  be  you  blest  for  it ! 

I'll  to  the  queen  :   Please  you,  come  something 
nearer. 

Keep.  Madam,  iPt  please  the  queen  to  send  the 
babe, 
I  know  not  what  I  shall  incur,  to  pass  it. 
Having  no  warrant. 

Paul.  You  need  not  fear  it,  sir : 

The  child  was  prisoner  to  the  v.omb ;  and  is, 
By  law  and  process  of  great  nature,  thence 
Free'd  and  enfranchis'd :  net  a  party  to 
The  anger  of  the  king ;  nor  guilty  of. 
If  any  be,  the  trespass  of  the  queen. 

Keep.  I  do  believe  it. 

Paxil.  Do  not  you  fear :  upon 

Mine  honour  I  will  stand  'twixt  you  and  danger. 

[Exeunt. 

(i)  Frenzies.      (2)  Mark  and  aim.      (3)  .\lone. 


SCEJsTE  III.— The  same.  J  room  in  the  palace. 
Enter  Lcontes,  Antigonus,  Lords,  ana  other 
attendants. 

Leon.  Nor  night,  nor  day,  no  rest:  It  is  but 
weakness 
To  bear  the  matter  thus ;  mere  weakness,  if 
The  cause  were  not  in  being  ; — part  o'the  cause. 
She,  the  adultress  ; — for  the  harlot  king 
Is  quite  beyond  mine  arm,  out  of  the  blank 
And  level^  of  my  brain,  plot-proof:  but  she 
I  can  hook  to  me  :  Say,  that  she  were  gone, 
Given  to  the  fire,  a  moiety  of  my  rest 
Might  come  to  me  again. Who's  there  ? 

1  ^tten.  My  lord  ? 

[Mvaiicing. 

Leon.  How  does  the  boy  ? 

1  Jlttcn.  He  took  good  rest  to-night ; 

'Tis  hop'd,  his  sickness  is  discharg'd. 

Leon.  To  see. 

His  nobleness  ! 

Conceiving  the  dishonour  of  his  mother. 
He  straight  deelin'd,  droop'd,  took  it  deeply ; 
Fasten'd  and  fix'd  tlie  shame  on't  in  himself; 
Threw  off  his  spirit,  his  appetite,  his  sleep, 
And   downright  languish'd. — Leave  me  solely:* 

—go, 
See  hov,-  he  fares.  [Eodl  (Utend.l — Fie,  fie  !  no 

thought  of  him  ; — 
The  very  thought  of  my  revenges  that  way 
Recoil  upon  me  :  in  himself  too  mighty; 
And  in  his  parties,  his  alliance, — Let  him  be, 
Until  a  time  may  serve  :  for  present  vengeance, 
Take  it  on  her.     Camillo  and  Polixenes 
Laugh  at  me  ;  make  their  pastime  at  my  sorrow : 
They  should  not  laugh,  if  I  could  reach  them ;  nor 
Shall  she,  within  my  power. 

Enter  Paulina,  voilh  a  child, 

I  Lard.  You  must  not  enter. 

Paul.  Nay,  rather,  good  my  lords,  be  second 
to  rne : 
Fear  you  his  tyrannous  passion  more,  alas. 
Than  the  queen's  life  ?  a  gracious  innocent  soul , 
More  free,  than  he  is  jealous. 

>^nt.  That's  enough. 

1  ^Iten.  Madam,  he  hath  not  slept  to-night ; 
commanded 
None  should  come  at  him. 

Paid.  _  Not  so  hot,  good  sir ; 

I  come  to  bring  him  sleep.    'Tis  such  as  you, — 
That  creep  like  .shadows  by  him,  and  do  sigh 
At  each  his  needless  heavings, — such  as  you 
Nourish  the  cause  of  his  awaking :  I 
Do  come  with  words  as  med'cinal  as  true  ; 
Honest,  as  either ;  to  purge  him  of  that  humour, 
That  presses  him  from  sleep. 

Leon.  WTiat  noise  there,  ho  ? 

Paid.  No  noise,  my  lord ;  but  needful  conference, 
About  some  gossips  for  your  highness. 

Leo?i.  How  ? 

Away  ■(vith  that  audacious  lady  :  Antigonus, 

I  charg'd  thee,  that  she  should  not  come  about  me ; 

I  knew  she  would. 

Jlnt.  I  told  her  so,  my  lord, 

On  your  displeasure's  peril,  and  on  mine. 
She  should  not  visit  you. 

Leon.  What,  canst  not  rule  her  ? 

Paid.  From  all  dishonesty,  he  can :  in  this, 
(Unless  he  take  the  course  that  you  have  done. 
Commit  me,  for  committing  honour,)  trust  it, 
He  shall  not  rule  me. 

'int.  Lo  you  now ;  you  hear ! 

When  she  will  take  the  rein,  I  let  her  run ; 


Ibcene  III. 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


283 


But  she'll  not  etumble. 

Paul.  Good  my  liege,  I  come,— 

And,  I  beseech  you,  hear  me,  who  profess 
Myself  your  loyal  servant,  your  physician, 
Your  most  obcHient  counsellor  ;  yet  that  dare 
Less  appear  so,  in  comforting  your  evils,' 
Than  such  as  most  seem  yours  : — I  say,  I  come 
From  your  good  queen. 

Leon.  Good  qacen ! 

Paul.  Good  queen,  my  lord,  good  queen  :  I  say, 
grood  queen  ; 
And  would  by  combat  make  her  good,  so  were  I 
A  man,  the  worst-  about  you. 

Lton.  Force  her  hence. 

Paul.  Let  Yam  that  makes  but  trifles  of  his  eyes, 
First  hand  me:  on  mine  own  accord,  I'll  off; 
But,  first,  I'll  do  my  errand. — The  goo;J  queen, 
For  she  is  good,  hath  brought  you  forth  a  daughter ; 
Here  'tis ;  commends  it  to  your  blessing. 

[Laying  dotcn  the  child. 

Leon.  Out! 

A  mankind'  witch  !  Hence  with  her,  out  o'door : 
A  most  intelhgcncing  bawd ! 

Paul.  Not  so : 

I  am  as  ignorant  in  that,  as  you 
In  so  entitling  me :  and  no  less  honest 
Than  you  are  mad ;  which  is  enough,  I'll  warrant, 
As  this  world  goes,  to  pass  for  honest. 

Leon.  Traitors! 

Will  you  not  push  her  out?  Give  her  the  bastard  : — 
Thou  dotard,  [To  Antigouus.]  thou  art  woman- 

tir'd,*  unroosted 
By  thy  dame  Partlet  here, — take  up  the  bastard ; 
Tak'tup,  I  say ;  giv't  to  thy  crone.' 

Paul.  '  For  ever 

Unvenerable  be  thy  hands,  if  thou 
Tak'st  up  the  princess,  by  that  forced^  baseness 
Which  he  has  put  upon't ! 

Leon.  He  dreads  his  wife. 

Paul.  So  I  would  you  did ;  then,  'twere  past  all 
doubt. 
You'd  call  your  children  ypurs. 

Leon.  A  nest  of  traitors ! 

.4n/.  I  am  none,  by  this  good  light. 

Paul.  Nor  I ;  nor  any. 

But  one,  that's  here ;  and  that's  himself:  for  he 
The  sacred  honour  of  himself,  his  queen's. 
His  hopeful  son's,  his  babe's,  betrays  to  slander. 
Whose  sting  is  sharper  than  the  sword's ;  and  will 
not 

iFor,  as  the  case  now  stands,  it  is  a  curse 
Ic  cannot  be  compell'd  to't,)  once  remove 
The  root  of  his  opinion,  which  is  rotten. 
As  ever  oak,  or  stone,  was  sound. 

lAon.  A  callat,' 

Of  boundless  tongue :  who  late  hath  beat  her  hus- 
band, 
And  now  baits  me ! — This  brat  is  none  of  mine ; 
It  is  the  issue  of  PolLxenes  : 
Hence  with  it ;  and,  together  with  the  dam, 
Commit  them  to  the  fire. 

Paul.  It  is  yours ; 

And,  might  we  lay  the  old  proverb  to  your  charge. 
So  like  you,  'tis  the  worse. — Behold,  my  lords. 
Although  the  print  be  little,  the  whole  matter 
And  copy  of  the  father :  eye,  nose,  lip. 
The  trick  of  his  frown,  his  forehead ;  nay,  the  valley. 
The  pretty  dimples  of  his  chin,  and  cheek ;  liis 
smiles ; 

(1 )  Abetting  your  ill  courses.        (2)  Lowest. 

is)  Masculine. 
41  Pecked  by  a  woman ;  hen-pe&ked. 
(5)  Worn-out  old  woman. 


Tlie  very  mould  and  frame  of  baud,  nail,  finger  :— 
And  thou,  good  -goddess  nature,  which  host  made  it 
So  like  to  him  that  got  it,  if  thou  hast 
The  ordering  of  the  mind  too,  'mongst  all  colours 
No  yellow"  in't ;  lest  she  suspect,  as  he  does. 
Her  children  not  her  husband's ! 

Leon.  A  gross  hag ! — 

And,  lozel,*  thou  art  worthy  to  be  hang'd. 
That  wilt  not  stay  her  tongue. 

..Int.  Hang  all  the  husbands 

That  cannot  do  that  feat,  you'll  leave  yourself 
Hardly  one  subject. 

Leon.  Once  more,  take  her  hence. 

Pmd.  A  most  unworthy  and  unnatural  lord 
Can  do  no  more. 

Leon.  I'll  have  thco  burn'd. 

Paid.  I  care  not: 

It  is  a  heretic,  that  makes  the  fire. 
Not  she,  which  burns  in't.  I'll  not  call  you  tyrant ; 
But  this  most  cruel  usage  of  your  queen 
(Not  able  to  produce  more  accusation 
Than  your  ov.n  weak-hing'd  fancy,)  something 

savours 
Of  tyranny,  and  will  ignoble  make  you, 
Yeaj  scandalous  to  the  world. 

Leon.  On  your  allegiance, 

Out  of  the  chamber  with  her.  Were  I  a  tyrant. 
Where  Mere  her  life  ?  she  durst  not  call  me  so. 
If  she  did  loiov,'  me  one.    Away  with  her. 

Paul.  I  pray  you,  do  net  push  me ;  I'll  be  gone. 
Look  to  vour  babe,  my  lord ;  'tis  yours :  Jove  send 

her 

A  better  guiding  spirit! — UTiat  need  these  hands? — 
You  that  are  thus  so  tender  o'er  his  follies. 
Will  never  do  liim  good,  not  one  of  you. 
So,  so : — Farewell ;  we  are  gone.  [Exit. 

Leon.  Thou,  traitor,  hast  set  on  thy  wife  to  this. — 
My  child?  away  with't  !^ven  thou,  that  hast 
A  heart  so  tender  o'er  it,  take  it  hence. 
And  see  it  instantly  consum'd  with  fire  ; 
Even  thou,  and  none  but  thou.  Take  it  up  straight : 
Within  this  hour  bring  me  word  'tis  done, 
(And  by  good  testimony,)  or  I'll  seize  thy  life. 
With  what  thou  else  call'st  thine  :  If  thou  refuse, 
And  wilt  encounter  with  my  wrath,  say  so ; 
The  bastard  brains  with  these  my  proper  hands 
Shall  I  dash  out.    Go,  take  it  to  the  fire ; 
For  thou  setl'st  on  thy  wile. 

^Int.  I  did  not,  sir : 

These  lords,  my  noble  fellows,  if  they  please, 
Can  clear  me  in't. 

1  T^ord.  We  can ;  my  royal  liege, 

He  is  not  guilty  of  her  coming  hither. 

Leon.  You  are  liars  all. 

1  Lord.  'Beseech  your  highness,  give  us  better 
credit : 
We  have  always  truly  scrv'd  you  ;  and  beseech 
So  to  esteem  of  us :  And  on  our  knees  we  beg 
(As  recompense  of  our  dear  services. 
Past  and  to  come,)  that  you  do  change  thb  pur- 
pose; 

^Vhieh,  being  so  horrible,  so  bloody,  must 
Lead  on  to  some  foul  issue :  We  all  kneel. 

Leon .  I  am  a  feather  for  each  wind  that  blows  r    ; 
Shall  I  live  on,  to  see  this  bastard  kneel 
And  call  me  father?  Better  burn  it  now. 
Than  curse  it  then.    But  be  it ;  let  it  live : 
It  shall  not  neither. — You,  sir,  come  you  hither ; 

[To  Antigonus. 
You,  that  have  been  so  tenderly  officious 

(6)  Forced  is  false ;  uttered  with  violence  to  truth 

(7)  Trull.        (8)  The  colour  of  jealousy. 

(9)  Worthless  fellow.  i*, 


I 


2S4 


WIPITER'S  TALE. 


»9e<  ///. 


With  lady  Margery,  your  midwife^  there, 
Tp  save  this  bastard's  life : — for  'tis  a  bastard, 
So  sure  as  this  beard's  grey, — what  will  you  ad- 
venture 
To  save  this  brat's  life  ? 

^nt.  Any  thing,  my  lord, 

That  my  ability  may  undergo. 
And  nobleness  impose :  at  least,  thus  much  ; 
I'll  pawn  the  little  blood  which  I  have  left. 
To  save  the  innocent :  any  thing  possible. 

Leon.  It  shall  be  possible :  Swear  by  this  sword,' 
Thou  wilt  perform  my  bidding. 

Jlnt.  I  will,  my  lord. 

Leon.  Marlc^  and  perform  it;  (seest thou?)  for 
the  fail 
Of  any  point  in't  shall  not  only  be 
Death  to  thyself,  but  to  thy  lewd-tongu'd  wife  ; 
Whom,  for  this  time,  we  pardon.    We  enjoin  thee. 
As  thou  art  liegeman  to  us,  that  thou  carry 
This  female  bastard  hence  ;  and  that  thou  bear  it 
To  some  remote  and  desert  place,  quite  out 
Of  our  dominions  ;  and  that  there  thou  leave  it. 
Without  more  mercy,  to  its  own  protection. 
And  favour  of  the  climate.  As  by  strange  fortune 
It  came  to  us,  I  do  in  justice  charge  thee, — 
On  thy  soul's  peril,  and  thy  body's  torture, — 
That  thou  commend  it  strangely  to  some  place,^ 
Where  chance  maj'  nurse,  or  end  it:  Take  it  up. 

Jlnt.  I  swear  to  do  this,  though  a  present  death 
Had  been  more  merciful. — Come  on,  poor  babe  : 
Some  powerful  spirit  instruct  the  kites  and  ravens. 
To  be  tiiy  nurses  !  Wolves,  and  bears,  they  say. 
Casting  their  savageness  aside,  have  done 
Like  offices  of  pity. — Sir,  be  prosperous 
In  more  than  this  deed  doth  require  !  and  blessing. 
Against  this  cruelty,  fight  on  thy  side. — 
Poor  thing,  condemn'd  to  loss !   [Ex.  with  the  child. 

Leon.  No,  I'll  not  rear 

Another's  issue. 

1  Atten.  Please  your  highness,  posls. 

From  those  you  sent  to  the  oracle,  are  come 
An  hour  since :  Cleomenes  and  Dion, 
Beinw  well  arriv'd  from  Delphos,  are  both  landed, 
Hasting  to  the  court. 

1  Lord.  So  please  you,  sir,  tbcir  speed 

Hath  been  beyond  account. 

Leon.  Twenty-three  days 

They  have  been  absent :  'Tis  good  speed  ;  forotels. 
The  great  Apollo  suddenly  will  have 
The  truth  of  this  appear.    Prepare  you,  lords  ; 
Summon  a  session,  that  we  may  arraign 
Our  most  disloyal  lady  :  for,  as  she  hath 
Been  publicly  accus'd,  so  sliall  she  have 
A  just  and  open  trial.    While  she  lives. 
My  heart  will  be  a  burden  to  nie.    Leave  me ; 
And  think  upon  my  bidding.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  III. 

SCEJ^E  /. — The  same.    Ji  street  in  some  Toion. 
Enter  Cleomenes  and  Dion. 

Cleo.  The  climate's  delicate ;  the  air  most  sweet ; 
Fertile  the  isle  ;  the  temple  much  surpassing 
The  common  praise  it  bears. 

Dion.  I  shall  report. 

For  most  it  caught  me,  the  celestial  habits 
(Methinks,  I  so" should  term  them,)  and  the  reve- 
rence 

(1)  It  was  anciently  a  practice  to  swear  by  the 
cross  at  the  hilt  of  a  sword. 
(t)  i.  e.  Comnut  it  to  some  place  as  a  stranger. 


Of  the  grave  wearers.    O,  the  sacrifice ! 
How  ceremonious,  solemn,  and  unearthly 
It  was  i'the  offering ! 

Cleo.  Butj  of  all,  the  burst 

And  the  ear-deafening  voice  o'the  oracle, 
Kin  to  Jove's  thunder,  so  surpris'd  my  sense, 
That  I  was  nothing. 

Dion.  If  the  event  o'the  journey 

Prove  as  successful  to  the  queen, — O,  be't  so  ! — 
As  it  hath  been  to  us,  rare,  pleasant,  speedy, 
Tlic  time  is  worth  the  use  on't.^" 

Cleo.  Great  Apollo, 

Turn  all  to  the  best !     These  proclamations, 
So  forcing  faults  upon  Hcrmione, 
I  little  like. 

Dio7i.  The  violent  carriage  of  it 

Will  cleiar,  or  end  the  business  :  When  the  oracle, 
(Thus  by  Apollo's  great  divine  seal'd  up,) 
Shall  the  contents  discover,  something  rare. 

Even  then  will  rush  to  knowledge. Go,  fresh 

horses ; — 
And  gracious  be  the  issue ! 

SCEJfE  IL—The  same.  A  court  of  jv slice. 
Leontes,  Lords,  and  OiTiccrs,  appear  properly 
seated. 

Leon.  This  sessions  (to  our  great  grief,  we  pro  ■ 
nounce,) 
Even  pushes  'gainst  our  heart :  The  party  tried, 
The  daughter  of  a  king  ;  our  wife  ;  and  one 
Of  us  too  much  bclov'd. — Let  us  be  clear'd 
Of  being  tyrannous,  since  we  so  openly 
Proceed  in  justice  ;  which  shall  have  due  course, 

Even*  to  the  guilt,  or  the  purgation. 

Produce  the  prisoner. 

Offi.  It  is  his  highness'  pleasure,  that  the  queen 
Appear  in  person  here  in  court. — Silence ! 

Hermione  is  bronght  in,  guarded;  Paulina  and 
Ladies,  aitending. 

Leon.  Rend  the  indictment. 

Offi.  Hermione,  queen  to  the  worthy  Leonfes, 
king  of  Sicilia,  tiiou  art  here  accused  and  ar- 
aisrned  of  high  treason,  in  committing  adiUtery 
with  Polixenes,  king  q/' Bohemia  ;  and  conspiring 
with  Camillo,  to  take  away  the  life  of  our  sovereign 
lord  the  king,  thy  royal  husband;  the  pretence^ 
xohereof  being  by  circinnstances  partly  laid  open, 
thou,  Hermione,  contrary  to  the  faith  and  alle- 
giance of  a  true  subject,  didst  counsel  and  aid 
them,  for  their  better  safety,  to  fly  away  by  night. 

Her.  Since  what  I  am  to  say,  must  oe  out  that 
Which  contradicts  my  accusation  ;  and 
The  testimony  on  my  part,  no  other 
But  what  comes  from  myself;  it  shall  scarce  boot 

me 
To  say,  J^ot  guilty :  mine  integrity, 
Being  counted  falsehood,*  shall,  as  I  espres?  ft, 
Be  so  receiv'd.     But  thus, — If  powers  divine 
Behold  our  human  actions  (as  they  do,) 
I  doubt  not  then,  but  innocence  shall  make 
False  accusation  blush,  and  tyranny 
Tremble  at  patience. — You,  my  lord,  best  knew 
(Who  least  will  seem  to  do  so,)  my  past  life 
H.ath  been  as  continent,  as  chaste,  as  true, 
As  I  am  now  unhappy ;  which  is  more 
Than  history  can  pattern,  though  devis'd, 
And  play'd,  to  take  spectators ;  For  behold  me,— 
A  fellow  of  the  royal  bed,  which  owe' 

(S)  i.  e.  Our  journey  has  recompensed  us  the 
time  we  spent  in  it. 
(4)  Equal.     (5)  Scheme  laid.     (6)  Treachery. 
(7)  Own,  possess. 


SeeHt  tti 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


SM 


A  moiety  of  the  throne,  a  great  king's  daughter, 

The  mother  to  a  hopeful  prince, — here  standing 

To  prate  and  talk  for  life,  and  honour,  'fore 

Who  please  to  come  and  hear.    For  life,  I  prize  it 

As  1  wci^h  grief,  which  I  would  spare  :  for  honour, 

'Tis  a  derivative  from  me  to  mine, 

And  only  that  I  stand  for.     I  appeal 

To  your  own  conscience,  sir,  before  Polixenes 

Came  to  your  court,  how  I  was  in  your  grace, 

How  merited  to  be  so ;  since  he  came, 

With  what  encounter  so  uncurrent  I 

Have  strain'd,  to  appear  thus :  if  one  jot  beyond 

The  bound  of  honour ;  or,  in  act,  or  will. 

That  way  inclining ;  harden'd  be  the  hearts 

Of  all  that  hear  me,  and  my  near'st  of  kin 

Cry,  Fie  upon  my  grave ! 

Leon,  I  ne'er  heard  yet, 

That  any  of  these  bolder  vices  wanted 
Less  impudence  to  gainsay  what  they  did, 
Than  to  perform  it  first. 

Her,  That's  true  enough ; 

Though  'tis  a  savinfr,  sir,  not  due  to  me. 

Leon,  You  will  not  own  it. 

Her,  More  than  mistress  of. 

Which  comes  to  me  in  name  of  fault,  I  must  not 
At  all  acknowledge.    For  Polixenes, 

iWith  whom  I  am  accus'd,)  I  do  confess, 
lov'd  him,  as  in  honour  he  requir'd  ; 
With  such  a  kind  of  love,  as  might  become 
A  lady  like  me  ;  with  a  love,  even  such, 
So,  and  no  other,  as  yourself  commanded: 
Which  not  to  have  done,  I  think,  had  been  in  me 
Both  disobedience  and  ingratitude. 
To  you,  and  toward  your  friend ;  whose  love  had 

spoke, 
Even  since  it  could  speak,  from  an  infant,  freely, 
That  it  was  yours.    Now,  for  conspiracy, 
I  know  not  how  it  tastes  ;  though  it  be  dish'd 
For  me  to  try  how ;  all  1  know  of  it 
Is,  that  Camillo  was  an  honest  man  ; 
Aik3,  why  he  left  your  court,  the  gods  themselves. 
Wotting  no  more  "than  I,  are  ignorant. 

Leon,  You  knew  of  his  departure,  as  you  know 
What  you  have  undcrta'en  to  do  in  his  absence. 

Her.  Sir, 
You  speak  a  language  that  I  understand  not : 
My  life  stands  in  the  level'  of  your  dreams. 
Which  I'll  lay  down. 

Leon,  Your  actions  are  my  dreams ; 

You  had  a  bastard  by  Polixenes, 
And  I  but  dream'd  it: — As  wu  were  past  all  shame, 
(Those  of  your  fact^  are  so',)  so  past  all  truth : 
Which  to  deny,  concerns  more  than  avails  : 
For  as 

Thy  brat  hath  been  cast  out,  like  to  itself. 
No  father  owning  it,  (which  is,  indeed. 
More  criminal  in  thee,  than  it,)  so  thou 
Shalt  feel  our  justice ;  in  whose  easiest  passage, 
L9ok  for  no  less  than  death. 

Her,  Sir,  spare  your  threats: 

The  bug,  which  you  would  fright  me  with,  I  seek. 
To  me  can  life  be  no  commodity : 
The  crown  and  comfort  of  my  life,  your  favour, 
I  do  give  lost ;  for  I  do  feel  it  sjone, 
But  know  not  how  it  went :  My  second  joy, 
And  first-fruits  of  my  body,  from  his  presence, 
I  am  barr'd,  like  one  infectious :  My  third  com- 
fort, 
Starr'd  most  unluckily,'  is  from  my  breast, 

nj  Is  within  the  reach. 

(2)  They  who  have  done  like  you. 

(3)  Ill-starred;   born   under   an    inauspicious 
planet 


The  innocent  milk  in  its  most  innocent  mouthy 
Haled  out  to  murder :  Myself  on  every  post 
Proclaim'd  a  strumpet ;  With  immodest  hatred 
To  child-bed  privilege  denied,  which  'longs 
To  women  of  all  fashion  : — Lastly,  hurried 
Here  to  this  place,  i'the  open  air,  before 
I  have  got  strength  of  limit.*    Now,  my  liege. 
Tell  me  what  blessings  I  have  here  alive, 
That  I  should  fear  to  die  ?  Therefore,  proceed. 

But  yet  hear  this  ;  mistake  me  not; No!  life, 

I  prize  it  not  a  straw : — but  for  mine  honour, 
(Which  I  would  free,)  if  I  shall  be  condemn'd 
Upon  surmises  ;  all  proofs  sleeping  else, 
But  What  your  jealousies  awake ;  I  tell  you, 
'Tis  rigour,  and  not  law.— Your  honours  all, 
I  do  refer  me  to  the  oracle  ; 
Apollo  be  my  judge. 

1  Lord.  This  your  request 

Is  altogether  just:  therefore,  bring  forth, 
And  in  Apollo's  name,  his  oracle. 

[Exeunt  certain  Officers. 

Her.  The  emperor  of  Russia  ivas  my  father : 
O,  that  he  were  alive,  and  here  beholding 
His  daughter's  trial !  that  he  did  but  see 
The  flatness  of  my  misery  ;  yet  with  eyes 
Of  pity,  not  revenge  ! 

Re-enter  Officers  with  Cleomenes  and  Dion. 

OJJi.  You  here  shall  swear  upon  this  sword  of 
justice. 
That  you,  Cleomenes  and  Dion,  have 
Been   both  at  Delphos;   and  from  thence  have 

brought 
This  seal'd-up  oracle,  by  the  hand  deliver'd 
Of  great  Apollo's  priest ;  and  that,  since  then, 
You  have  not  dar'd  to  break  the  holy  seal. 
Nor  read  tlie  secrets  in't. 

Cleo.  Dion.  All  this  we  swear. 

Leon.  Break  up  the  seals,  and  read. 

Offi.  [Reads.]  Hermione  is  chaste,  Polixenes 
blameless,  Camillo  a  tme  subject.  Leontes  a  jea- 
lous tyrant,  his  hmoce.nt  babe  truly  begotten ;  and 
the  king  shall  live  loithout  an  heir,  if  that,  which  is 
lost,  be  not  found. 

Lords,  Now  blessed  be  the  great  Apollo ! 

Her.  Praised ! 

Leon.  Hast  thou  read  truth  ? 

OJfi.  Ay,  my  lord  ;  even  so 

As  it  is  here  set  down. 

Leon.  There  is  no  trutli  at  all  i'the  oracle  : 
The  sessions  shall  proceed ;  this  is  mere  falsehood. 

Enter  a  Servant,  hastily. 
Serv.  My  lord  the  king,  the  king  ! 
Leon.        _  What  is  the  business  7 

Serv.  O  sir,  I  shall  be  hated  to  report  it : 
The  prince  your  son,  with  mere  conceit  and  fear 
Of  the  queen's  speed, ^  is  gone. 
Leon.  How  !  gone  ? 

Scrv.  Is  dead. 

Leon.  Apollo's  angry;   and  the  heavens  them- 
selves 
Do  strike  at  my  injustice.  [Hermione/ain^s.]  IIoW 
now  there  ? 
Paid.  This  news  is  mortal  tc  the  queen  :-^Look 
down. 
And  see  what  death  is  doing. 

Leon.  "     Take  her  hence : 

Her  heart  is  but  o'ercharg'd ;  she  will  recover.— 

(4)  i.  e.  The  degree  of  strength  which  it  is  cus- 
tomary to  acquire  before  women  are  suffered  to  go 
abroad  after  child-bearing. 

(5)  Of  the  event  of  the  queen's  trial. 


280 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


Jlct  Uh 


I  have  too  much  believ'd  mine  own  suspicion : — 
'Beseech  you,  tenderly  apply  to  her 
Some  remedies  for  life. — Apollo,  pardon 

[Exeunt  Paulina  and  Ladies,  with  Her. 
My  great  profaneness  'gainst  thine  oracle  ! — " 
I'll  reconcile  me  to  Polixenes  ; 
New  woo  my  queen  ;  recall  tnr.  good  Camillo ; 
Whom  I  proclaim  a  man  of  truth,  of  mercy  : 
For,  being  transported  by  my  jealousies 
To  bloody  thoughts  and  to  revenge,  ^  chose 
Camillo  for  the  minister,  to  poison 
My  friend  Polixenes  ;  which  had  been  done, 
But  that  the  good  mind  of  Camillo  tardied 
My  swift  command,  tliousrh  I  with  death,  and  with 
Reward,  did  threaten  and  encourage  him. 
Not  doing  it,  and  being  done ;  he,  most  humane, 
And  till'd  with  honour,  to  my  kingly  guest 
Unchisp'd  my  practice ;  quit  his  fortunes  here, 
AVhich  you  knew  great ;  and  to  the  cortauj  hazard 
Of  all  incerlaiuties  himself  commended,' 
No  richer  than  his  honour : — Hon-  he  glisters 
Thorough  my  rust !  and  ho-.v  his  piety 
Does  my  deeds  make  the  blacker ! 

Re-enter  Paulina. 

Paid.  Wo  the  while ! 

O,  cut  my  lace ;  lest  my  heart,  cracking  it. 
Break  too ! 

1  Lord.  What  fit  is  this,  p:ood  lady  ? 

Paid.  What  studied  torments,  tyrant,  hast  for  nic  ? 
What  wheels?  racks?  fires?  What  flaying?  boihuf, 
In  leads,  or  oils  ?  what  old,  or  newer  torture 
Must  I  receive  ;  whose  every  word  deserves 
To  taste  of  thy  most  worst  ?  Thy  tyranny 
Together  working  with  thy  jealousies, — ^' 
Fancies  too  weak  for  boys,  too  green  and  idle 
For  girls  of  nine  ! — 0,  think,  what  they  have  clone, 
And  then  run  mad,  indeed  ;  stark  mad  !  for  all 
Thy  by-^one  fooleries  were  but  spices  of  it. 
That  thou  betray'dst  Polixenes,  'twas  nothing ; 
That  did  but  show  thee,  of  a  fool,  inconstant, 
And  damnable  ungratefid  :  nor  was't  much. 
Thou  would'st  have  noison'd  crood  Camillo's  honour. 
To  have  him  kill  a  kins; ;  poor  trespasses. 
More  monstrous  standing  by :  whereof  I  reckon 
The  casting  forth  to  crows  thy  baby  daughter, 
To  be  or  none,  or  little ;  though  a  devil 
Would  have  shed  water  out  of  fire,*  ere  donc't : 
Nor  is't  directly  laid  to  thee,  the  death 
Of  the  j'oung  prince  ;  whose  honourable  thousrhts 
(Thoughts  high  for  one  so  tender,)  cleft  the  heart 
That  could  conceive,  a  gross  and  foolish  sire 
Blemish'd  his  gracious  dam  :  this  is  not,  no. 
Laid  to  thy  answer :  But  the  last, — 0,  lords. 
When  I  have  said,  cry,  wo ! — the  queen,  the  queen. 
The  sweetest,  dearest,  creatiu-e's  dead;  and  ven- 
geance for't 
Not  dropp'd  down  yet. 

1  Lord.  The  hicrher  powers  forbid  ! 

Paul.  I  say,  she's  dead;  I'll  swear't:  if  word, 
nor  oath. 
Prevail  not,  go  and  see  :  if  you  can  bring 
Tincture,  or  lustre,  in  her  lip,  her  eye. 
Heat  outwardlj',  or  breath  within,  I'll  serve  you 
As  I  would  do  the  gods. — But,  0  thou  tyrant ! 
Do  not  repent  these  things ;  for  they  are  heavier 
Than  all  tny  ivoes  can  stir :  therefore,  betake  thee 
To  nothing  but  despair.     A  thousand  knees 
Ten  thousand  years  too;ether,  naked,  fasting. 
Upon  a  barren  mountain,  and  still  winter 

fl)  Committed. 
2)  i,  e.  A  devil  would  have  shed  tears  of  pity, 
pre  he  would  have  perpetrated  such  an  action. 


In  storm  perpetual,  could  not  move  the  gods 
To  look  that  way  thou  wert. 

Leon.  Go  on,  go  on : 

Thou  canst  not  speak  too  much  ;  I  have  deserv'd 
All  tongues  to  talk  their  bitterest. 

1  Lcrd.  Say  no  more  ; 

Howe'er  the  business  goes,  you  have  made  fault 
I'the  boldness  of  your  speech. 

Paul.  I  am  sorry  for't ; 

All  fliults  I  make,  when  I  shall  come  to  know  them, 
I  do  repent:  Alas,  I  have  show'd  too  much 
The  rashness  of  a  woman :  he  is  touch'd 
To  the  noble  heart. — ^Vhat's  gone,  and  what's  past 

liclp, 
.Should  be  past  grief:  Do  not  receive  affliction 
At  my  petition,  I  beseech  you  ;  rather 
Let  ine  be  punish'd,  that  have  mhidcd  you 
Of  what  you  should  forget.    Now,  good  my  liege, 
Sir,  royal  sir,  forgive  a  fooiish  woman : 
The  love  I  bore  your  ijucen, — lo,  fool  again ! — 
I'll  speak  of  her  no  more,  nor  of  your  eliildren; 
!'jl  I'.ot  remember  vou  of  my  own  lord. 
Who  is  lost  too :  Take  your  patience  to  you, 
And  I'll  say  nothing. 

Leon.  Thou  didst  speak  but  well. 

When  most  the  truth ;  %\  hich  I  receive  much  better 
Thsn  to  be  pitied  of  thee.    Pr'ylhee,  bring  me 
To  the  dead  bodies  of  my  queen,  and  son : 
One  grave  shall  be  for  both ;  upon  them  shall 
The  causes  of  their  death  appear,  unto 
Our  sliame  perpetual :  Once  a  day  I'll  visit 
The  chapel  where  they  lie ;  and  tears,  shed  there. 
Shall  be  my  recreation :  So  long  as 
Nature  will  bear  up  with  this  exercise, 
So  long  I  daily  vow  to  use  it.     Come, 
And  lead  mc  to  these  sorrows.  [Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E  in. — Bohemia.    A  desert  country  near 
the  sea.     Enter  Autigonus,  with  the  child;  a?» 
a  Mariner. 

Ant.    Then   art  perfect'  then,    our  ship  hath 
touch'd  upon 
The  deserts  of  Bohemia  ? 

J^Iar.  Ay,  my  lord :  and  fear 

Wc  have  landed  in  ill  time  ;  the  skies  look  grimk, 
And  threaten  present  blusters.  In  my  conscience, 
The  heavens  with  that  we  have  in  hand  are  angry, 
And  frown  upon  us. 

Ant.    Their   sacred  wills   be  done! — Go,  get 
aboard  ; 
Look  to  thy  bark ;  I'll  not  be  long,  before 
I  call  upon  thee. 

J\Iay.  Make  your  best  haste  ;  and  go  not 

Too  far  i'fhs  land :  'tis  li!;e  to  be  loud  weather  ; 
Besides,  this  place  is  famous  for  the  creatures 
Of  prey  that  keep  upon't. 

Anl.  Go  thou  away : 

I'll  follow  instantly. 

j\Iar.  I  am  glad  at  heart 

To  be  so  rid  o'the  business.  [Exit, 

int.  Come,  poor  babe : 

I  have  heard  (but  not  believ'd,)  tlie  spirits  of  the  dead 

May  walk  again:  if  such  thing  be,  thy  mother 

Appear'd  to  me  last  nisht ;  for  ne'er  was  dream 

So  like  a  waking.     To  me  comes  a  creature. 

Sometimes  her  head  on  one  side,  some  another ; 

I  never  saw  a  vessel  of  like  sorrow. 

So  fill'd,  and  so  becominn- :  in  pure  white  robes. 

Like  very  sanctitv,  she  did  approach 

My  cabin  where  "I  lay  :  thrice  bow'd  before  me ; 

And,  gasping  to  begin  some  speech,  her  eyes 

Became  two  spouts :  the  fury  spent,  anon 


(S)  Well-asfured. 


SCWM  III. 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


387 


Did  this  break  from  her .  Good  Anti^onus, 

Since/ate,  against  thy  better  disposition, 

Hath  made  tny  person  for  the  throicer-out 

Of  my  poor  babe,  according  to  thine  oath, — 

Places  remote  enough  are  in  Bohemia, 

There  weep,  and  leave  it  crying  ;  and,  for  the  babe 

Is  counted  lost  for  ever,  Per'dita, 

/  pr'ythee,  calVt ;  for  this  ungentle  business, 

Put  on  thee  by  my  lord,  thou  iie''er  shall  see 

Thy  icife  Paulina  more  : — and  so,  witli  shrieks, 

She  melted  into  air.    Affrighted  much, 

I  did  in  time  collect  myself;  and  thought 

This  was  so,  and  no  slumber.    Dreams  are  toys : 

Yet,  for  this  once,  yea,  superstitioiisly, 

I  will  be  souar'd  by  tliis.    I  do  believe, 

Hermione  nath  surfer'd  death  ;  and  that 

Apollo  would,  this  being  indeed  the  issue 

Of  king  Polixenes,  it  should  here  be  laid, 

Eitlier  for  life,  or  death,  upon  the  earth 

Of  its  right  father. Blossom,  speed  tliee  well ! 

[Laying  down  the  child. 

There  lie ;  and  there  thy  charxicter : '  there  these ; 

[Laying  dmcn  a  bundle. 

Which  may,  if  fortune  please,  both  breed  thee, 

pretty, 
And  still  rest  thine. The  storm  begins : — Poor 

wretch. 
That,  for  thy  mother's  fault,  art  thus  expos'd 
To  loss,  and.  what  may  follow ! — Weep  I  cannot, 
But  my  heart  bleeds :  and  most  accurs'd  am  I, 
To  be  by  oath  enjoin'd  to  this. — Farewell ! 
The  day  frowns  more  and  more ;  ihou  art  like  to 

have 
A  lullaby  too  rough  :  I  never  saw 
The  heavens  so  dim  by  day. — A  savage  clamour  ? — 

Well  may  I  get  aboard ! This  is  the  chace  ; 

I  am  gone  for  ever.  [Exit,  pursued  by  a  bear. 

Enter  an  old  Shepherd. 
Shep.  I  would,  there  were  no  age  between  ten 
and  three-and-twentj' ;  or  that  youth  would  sleep 
out  the  rest :  for  there  is  nothing  in  the  between 
but  getting  wenches  with  child,  wronging  the  an- 
cientry,  stealing,  fighting. Hark  you  now! — 

Would  any  but  these  boiled  brains  of  nineteen,  and 
t»vo-aiid-twenty,  hunt  this  weather?  They  have 
scared  away  two  of  my  best  sheep ;  which,  I  fear, 
the  wolf  will  sooner  find,  than  the  master:  if  any 
where  I  have  them,  'tis  by  the  sea-side,  browzing 
on  ivy.  Good  luck,  an't  be  tiiy  will !  what  have  wc 
here?  [Taking  up  the  child.]  Mercy  on's,  a 
barne  ;*  a  very  pretty  barne !  A  boy,  or  a  cluld,^  I 
wonder  ?  A  pretty  one  ;  a  very  pretty  one :  Sure, 
some  scape  :  though  I  am  not  bookish,  yet  I  can 
read  waiting-gentlev.oman  in  the  scape.  This  has 
been  some  stair-work,  some  trunk-work,  some  be- 
hind-door-work :  they  were  warmer  that  cot  this, 
than  the  poor  thing  is  here.  I'll  take  it  up  for  pity  : 
yet  I'll  tarry  till  my  son  come ;  he  hollaed  but  even 
how.    Whoa,  ho  hoa ! 

Enter  Clown. 

Clo.  Hilloa,  loa! 

bhep.  What,  art  so  near?  If  thou'lt  see  a  thing 
10  talk  on  when  thou  art  dead  and  rotten,  come 
hither.    AVliat  ailest  thou,  man  ? 

Clo.  I  have  seen  two  such  sights,  by  sea,  and  by 
land  ; — but  I  am  not  to  say,  it  is  a  sea,  for  it  is  now 

(1)  The  writing  afterward  discovered  with  Per- 
dita. 

(2)  Child.     (3)  Female  infant     (4)  Swallowed, 
(o)  The  mantle  in  which  a  child  was  carried  to 

be  baptized. 


the  sky ;  betwixt  the  firmament  and  it,  you  eanaot 
thrust  a  bodkin's  point, 

Shep.  Why,  boy,. how  is  it? 

Clo.  I  would,  you  did  but  see  how  it  chafes,  how 
it  rages,  how  it  takes  up  the  shore !  but  that's  not 
to  the  point ;  O,  the  most  piteous  cry  of  the  poor 
souls  !  sometimes  to  see  'em,  and  not  to  see  'em  : 
now  the  ship  boring  the  moon  with  her  main-mast ; 
and  anon  swallowed  with  yest  and  froth,  as  you'd 
thrust  a  cork  into  a  hogshead.  And  then  for  the 
land  service, — To  see  how  the  bear  tore  out  his 
shoulder-bone  ;  how  he  cried  to  me  for  help,  and 

said,  his  name  was  Antigonus,  a  nobleman: But 

to  make  an  end  of  the  ship : — to  see  how  the  sea 
flap-dragon'd*  it : — but,  first,  how  the  poor  souls 
roared,  and  the  sea  mocked  them  ; — and  how  the 
poor  gentleman  roar'd,  and  the  bear  mocked  him, 
both  roaring  louder  than  the  sea,  or  weatlier. 

Shep.  'Name  of  mercy,  when  was  this,  boy? 

Clo.  Now,  now ;  I  have  not  winked  since  I  saw 
these  sights :  the  men  are  not  yet  cold  under  water, 
nor  the  bear  half  dined  on  the  gentleman ;  he's  at 
it  now. 

Shep.  Would  I  had  been  by,  to  have  helped  the 
old  man ! 

Clo.  I  would  you  had  been  by  the  ship-side,  to 
have  helped  her ;  there  your  charity  would  have 
lacked  footing.  [^side. 

Shep.  Heavy  matters !  heavy  matters !  but  look 
thee  here,  boy.  Now  bless  thyself;  thou  met'sl 
with  things  dying,  I  with  things  new  born.  Here's 
a  sight  for  thee ;  look  thee,  a  bearing-cloth*  for  a 
squire's  cliild !  Look  thee  here  :  take  up,  take  up, 
boy ;  open't.  So,  let's  see ;  It  was  told  me,  I 
should  be  rich  by  the  fairies :  this  is  some  change- 
linar :' — open't: 'What's  within,  boy? 

Clo.  You're  a  made  old  man  ;  if  the  sins  of  your 
vouth  arc  fordven  you,  you're  well  to  live.  Gold ' 
all  gold ! 

Shep.  This  is  fairy  gold,  boy,  and  'twill  prove  so : 
up  %vith  it,  keep  it  close ;  home,  home,  the  next' 
way.  We  are  lucky,  boy;  and  to  be  so  still  re- 
quires nothing  but  secrecy. — Let  my  sheep  go : 

Come,  good  boy,  the  next  way  home. 

Clo.  Go  you  the  next  way  with  your  findings  ; 
I'll  go  see  if  the  bear  be  gone  from  the  gentleman' 
and  how  much  he  hath  eaten  :  they  are  never  curst,* 
but  when  they  are  hungry':  if  there  be  any  of  him 
len,  I'll  bury  it. 

Shep.  That's  a  good  deed :  If  thou  may'st  dis- 
cern by  that  which  is  left  of  him,  what  he  is,  fetch 
me  to  the  sight  of  him. 

Clo.  Marry,  will  I ;  and  you  shall  help  to  put 
him  i'the  ground. 

Shep.  'Tis  a  luck7  day,  boy ;  and  we'll  do  good 
deeds  on'L  [Exeunt. 


ACT  IV. 


Enter  Time,  as  Chorus. 

Time.  I, — that  please  some,  try  all ;  both  joy, 
and  terror, 
Of  good  and  bad ;  that  make,  and  unfold  error,— 
Jfow  take  upon  me,  in  the  name  of  Time, 
To  use  my  wings.     Impute  it  not  a  crime. 
To  me,  or  my  swift  passage,  that  I  slide 
O'er  sixteen  years,  and  leave  the  growth  untried 

(6)  Some  child  left  behind  by  the  fairies,  in  the 
room  of  one  which  they  had  stolen. 

(7)  Nearest.        (8)  Mischievous, 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


^cilK 


Ortfiat  Tt'Wfe  gap ;'  since  it  is  in  my  power 

To  o'erthrow  law,  and  in  one  self-born  hour 

To  plant  and  o'erwhelm  custom  :  Let  me  pass 

The  same  I  am,  ere  ancient'st  order  was, 

Of  what  is  now  receiv'd  :  I  witness  to 

The  times  that  brought  them  in  ;  so  shall  I  do 

To  the  freshest  things  now  reigning ;  and  make  stale 

The  glistening  of  this  present,  as  my  tale 

Now  seems  to  it.     Your  patience  this  allomng, 

I  turn  my  elass  ;  and  give  my  scene  such  growing, 

As  you  hatl  slept  between.    Leontes  leaving 

The  effects  of  his  fond  jealousies  ;  so  grieving, 

That  he  shuts  up  himself;  imagine  me,^ 

Gentle  spectators,  that  I  now  may  be 

In  fair  Bohemia ;  and  remember  well, 

I  mention'd  a  son  o'  the  king's,  which  Florizel 

I  now  name  to  you  ;  and  with  speed  so  pace 

To  speak  of  Perdita,  now  grown  in  grace 

Equal  with  wond'ring :  What  of  her  ensues, 

I  list  not  prophesy  ;  but  let  Time's  news 

Be  known,  ^vhen  'tis  brought  forth : — a  shepherd's 

daughter, 
And  what  to  her  adheres,  which  follows  after, 
^      '    Is  the  argument' of  Time :  Of  this  allow,* 
i^        If  ever  you  have  spent  time  worse  ere  now; 
1*0      If  never  yet,  that  Time  himself  doth  say, 
•  i  He  wishes  earnestly,  you  never  may. 


[Exit. 

SCE^E  I. — The  same.  Jl  romn  in  the  palace  of 
Polixenes.    Enter  Polixenes  and  Camillo. 

Pol.  I  pray  thee,  good  Camillo,  be  no  more  im- 
portunate ;  'tis  a  sickness,  denying  thee  any  thing ; 
a  death,  to  grant  this. 

Cum.  It  is  fifteen  years,  since  I  sawmy  countiy; 
though  I  have,  for  the  most  part,  been  aired  abroad, 
I  desire  to  lay  my  bones  there.  Besides,  the  peni^ 
tent  king,  my  master^  hath  sent ,  for  me :  to  whose 
feeling  sorrows  I  might  be  some  allay,  or  I  o'er- 
ween^  to  think  so ;  which  is  another  spur  to  my 
departure. 

Fol.  As  thou  lovest  me,  Camillo,  wipe  not  out 
the  rest  of  thy  services,  by  leavin-T  me  now :  the 
need  I  have  of  thee,  thine  own  goodness  hath  made  ; 
better  not  to  have  had  thee,  than  thus  to  want 
thee:  thou,  having  made  me  businesses,  which 
none  without  thee  can  sufliciently  manage,  must 
either  stay  to  execute  them  tliyself,  or  take  aivay 
with  thee  the  very  services  thou  hast  done :  which 
if  1  have  not  enough  considered,  (as  too  much  I 
cannot,)  to  be  more  thankful  to  thee,  shall  be  my 
study ;  and  my  profit  therein,  the  heaping  fricnci- 
ships.'  Of  that  fatal  country,  Sicilja,  pr'ythee  speak 
no  more :  whose  very  naming  punislics  mc  with  the 
remembrance  of  that  penitxjnt,  as  thou  call'st  him, 
and  reconciled  king,  my  brother ;  v.hose  loss  of  his 
most  precious  queen,  and  children,  are  even  now 
to  be  afresh  lamented.  Say  to  me,  when  saw'st 
thou  the  prince  Florizel  my  son  ?  Kings  are  no  less 
unhappy,  their  issue  not  being  gratious,  than  they 
are  in  losing  them,  when  they  nave  approved  their 
virtues. 

Cam.  Sir,  it  is  three  days  since  I  saw  the  prince : 
What  his  happier  affairs  may  be,  are  to  me  un- 
known :  but  I  have,  missinglVj  noted,'  he  is  of  late 
much  retired  from  court ;  and  is  less  frequent  to  his 
princely  exercises,  than  formerly  he  hath  appeared. 

Pol.  I  have  considered  so  much,  Camillo ;  and 

(1)  t.  e.  Leave  unexamined  the  progress  of  the 
intermediate  time  which  filled  up  the  gap  in  Per- 
dita's  story. 

(2)  Imadne  for  me.    (3)  Subject.    (4)  Approve. 
(5)  Thimj  too  highly.        (6)  Friendly  offices. 
m  Observca  at  uitervals,       (S)  Talk. 


with  some  care  •  so  far,  that  I  have  eyes  under  my 
service,  which  look  upon  his  removedness :  from 
whom  I  have  this  intelligence ;  That  he  is  seldom 
from  the  house  of  a  most  homely  shepherd  ;  a  man, 
they  say,  that  from  very  nothing^  and  beyond  the 
imagination  of  his  neighbours,  is  grown  into  an 
unspeakable  estate. 

Cam.  I  have  heard,  sir,  of  such  a  man,  who  hath 
a  daughter  of  most  rare  note  :  the  report  of  her  is 
extended  more,  than  can  be  thought  to  begin  from 
such  a  cottage. 

Pol.  That's  likewise  part  of  my  intelligence. 
But,  I  fear  the  angle  that  plucks  our  son  thither. 
Thou  shalt  accompany  us  to  the  place  :  where  we 
will,  not  appearing  what  we  are,  have  some  ques- 
tion" with  the  shepherd  ;  from  whose  simplicity,  I 
think  it  not  uneasy  to  get  the  cause  of  my  son's 
resort  thither.  Pr'ythee,  be  my  present  partner  in 
this  business,  and  lay  aside  the  thoughts  of  Sicilia. 

Cam.  I  willingly  obey  your  command. 

Pol.  My  best  Camillo ! — We  must  disguise  our- 
selves. [Exeunt. 

SCEJ\''E  II. — The  same.    ^  road  near  the  Shep' 
herd's  collage.    Enter  Autolycus,  sin^ng. 

When  daffodils  be^n  to  peer, 

Wilhjlieigh  !  the  doxy  over  the  dale, — 
Why,  then  comes  in  the  sweet  o'  the  year  ; 

For  the  red  blood  reis:7is  in  the  winter's  pale.* 
The  lohite  sheet  bleachins;  on  the  hedge, —  ' 

With,  hey !  the  sweet  tirds,  O,  koic  they  sing  ! — 
Doth  set  my  pugging^°  tooth  on  edge  ; 

For  a  quart  of' ale  is  a  dish  for  a  King. 
The.  lark,  that  tirra-lirru  chaunts, — 

With,  hey  !  with,  hey !  the  thrush  and  the  jay  : — 
^Ire  .tnmmer-songs  foi'  me  and  my  aunts," 

While  we  lie  tumbling  in  the  hay. 

I  have  served  prince  Florizel,  and,  in  my  time,  wore 
three-pile  ;'-  but  now  I  am  out  of  service : 
But  shall  I  go  mourn  for  that,  my  dear  ? 

The  pate  moon  shines  by  night  : 
Jlnd  ichen  I  wander  here  and  there, 

I  then  do  most  go  right. 
If  linkers  may  have  leave  to  live, 

Jlnd  bear  the  sow-skin  budget; 
Then  my  account  I  well  may  give, 

.3nrf  in  the  stocks  avouch  it. 

My  traffic  is  sheets ;  ivhen  the  kite  builds,  look  to 
lesser  linen.  My  father  named  me,  Autolycus ; 
who,  being,  as  I  am,  littered  under  Mercury,  was 
likewise  a  snapper-uj)  of  unconsidered  trifles :  With 
die,  and  drab,  1  purehafed  this  caparison  ;  and  my 
revenue  is  the  silly  cheat :"  Gp,llows,  and  knock', 
are  too  powerful  on  the  hi?hVay :  beating,  and 
hanging,  are  terrors  to  me  ;  for  the  life  to  come,  I 
sleep  out  the  thought  of  it. — A  prize !  a  prize  ' 

Enter  Clown. 

Clo.  Let  me  see : — Every  'leven  wether — tods ;  '* 
every  tod  yields — pound  and  odd  shilling:  fifteen 
hundred  shorn, — W'hat  comes  the  wool  to  ? 

..Qut.  If  the  springe  hold,  the  cock's  mine.  L^side. 

Clo.  I  cannot  do't  without  counters.'' — Let  me 

(9)  i.  e.  The  spring  blood  reigns  over  the  parts 
lately  under  the  dominion  of  winter, 
no)  Thievish.  (11)  Doxies. 

(12)  Rich  velvet.  (13)  Picking  pocket*. 

(14)  Every  eleven  sheep  v.-ill  produce  a  tod  or 
twcnty-eiffht  poinds  of  wool. 

(15)  Circular  pieces  of  base  metal,  anciently 
used  by  the  illiterate,  to  adjust  their  reckonings. 


Stent  III. 


WlNTER^S  TALtl. 


see ;  what  I  am  to  buy  for  our  sheep-shearing  feast? 
•Three  pound  of  sugar ;  five  pound  of  currants  ; 

»-tce What  will  this  sister  of  mine  do  with  rice  ? 

But  my  father  hath  made  her  mistress  of  the  feast, 
and  she  lays  it  on.  She  hath  made  me  four-and- 
twenty  noseg'ays  for  the  shearers :  three  man  song- 
men'  all,  and  very  good  ones  ;  but  they  are  most 
of  them  means^  and  bases :  but  one  Puritan  amongst 
them,  and  he  sings  psalms  to  hornpipes.  I  must 
have  saffron,  to  colour  the  warden'  pies  ;  mace, — 
daies, — none  ;  that's  out  of  my  note  :  nutmegs, 
seven;  a  race  or  two  of  ginger ;  but  that  I  may 
beg  ;—four  pound  of  prunes,  and  as  many  of  rai- 
sins o'  the  sun. 

Jlul,  O,  that  ever  I  was  born  ! 

[Grovelling  on  the  ground. 

Clo.  V  the  name  of  me, — 

.^ut.  0,  help  me,  help  me  !  pluck  but  off  these 
rags  ;  and  then,  death,  death  ! 

Clo.  Alack,  poor  soul !  thou  hast  need  of  more 
rags  to  lay  on  thee,  rather  than  have  these  off. 

cJjitf.  O,  sir,  the  loathsomeness  of  them  offends 
me  more  than  the  stripes  I  have  received ;  which 
are  mighty  ones  and  millions. 

Clo.  Alas,  poor  man !  a  million  of  beating  may 
come  to  a  great  matter. 

Jlut.  I  am  robbed,  sir,  and  beaten ;  my  money 
and  apparel  ta'en  from  me,  and  these  detestable 
thinsjs  put  upon  me. 

Clo.  What,  by  a  horse-man,  or  a  foot-man  ? 

Jlut.  A  foot-man,  sweet  sir,  a  foot-man. 

Clo.  Indeed,  he  should  be  a  foot-man,  by  the 
garments  he  has  left  with  thee  ;  if  this  be  a  horse- 
man's coat,  it  hath  seen  very  hot  service.  Lend  me 
thy  hand,  I'll  help  thee;  come,  lend  me  thy  hand. 
[Helping  him  up. 

Jlut.  O  !  good  sir,  tenderly,  oh ! 

Clo.  Alas,  poor  soul. 

Jlut.  O,  good  sir,  soRly,  good  sir:  I  fear,  sir, 
my  shoulder-blade  is  out. 

Clo.  How  now !  canst  stand  ? 

^ut.  Softly,  dear  sir ;  [Picks  his  pockety  good 
sir,  softlv  :  you  ha'  done  me  a  charitable  office. 

Clo.  Dost  lack  any  money  ?  I  have  a  little 
money  for  thee. 

^ut.  No,  good  sweet  sir;  no,  I  beseech  you,  sir: 
I  have  a  kinsman  not  past  three-quarters  of  a  mile 
lience,  unto  ivhom  I  was  going ;  I  shall  there  have 
money,  or  any  thing  I  want :  Offer  me  no  money, 
I  pray  vou  ;  that  kills  my  heart. 

Clo.  What  manner  of  fellow  was  he  that  robbed 
you? 

Jlut,  A  fellow,  sir,  that  I  have  known  to  go 
about  with  trol-my-dames  ;*  I  knew  him  once  a 
servant  of  the  prince  j  I  cannot  tell,  good  sir,  for 
which  of  his  virtues  it  was,  but  he  was  certainly 
whipped  out  of  the  court. 

Clo.  His  vices,  you  would  say ;  there's  no  virtue 
whipped  out  of  the  court :  they  cherish  it,  to  make 
it  stay  there ;  and  yet  it  will  no  more  but  abide.* 

Jlut,  Vices  I  would  say,  sir.  I  know  this  man 
well :  he  hath  been  since  an  ape-bearer ;  then  a 
process-server,  a  bailiff;  then  he  compassed  a  mo- 
tion" of  the  prodigal  son,  and  married  a  tinker's 
wife  within  a  mile  where  my  land  and  living  lies  ; 
and,  having  flown  over  many  knavish  professions, 
he  settled  only  in  rogue :  some  call  him  Autolycus. 
Clo.  Out  upon  him  !  Prig,'  for  my  life,  prig :  he 
haunts  wakes,  fairs,  and  bear-baitings. 

(1)  Singers  of  catches  in  three  parts. 
(2i  Tenors.  (3)  A  species  of  pears. 

(4)  The  machine  used  in  the  game  of  pigeon- 
bQlee. 


^ut.  Very  true,  sir ;  he,  sir,  he ;  that's  the  rogue, 
that  put  me  into  this  apparel. 

Clo.  Not  a  more  cowardly  rogue  in  all  Bohemia : 
if  you  had  but  looked  big,  and  spit  at  him,  he'd 
have  run. 

Jlut.  I  must  confess  to  you,  sir,  I  am  no  fighter : 
I  am  false  of  heart  that  way ;  and  that  he  knew,  I 
warrant  him. 

Clo.  Ho^v  do  you  now  ? 

Jlut.  Sweet  sir,  much  better  than  I  was ;  I  can 
stand,  and  walk :  I  will  even  take  my  leave  of  you, 
and  pace  softly  towards  my  kinsman's. 

Clo.  Shall  I  bring  thee  on  the  way? 

Jlut.  No,  good-faced  sir ;  no,  sweet  sir. 

Clo.  Then  fare  thee  well ;  I  must  go  buy  spices 
for  our  sheep-shearing. 

.^iti.  Prosper  you,  sweet  sir! — [Exit  Clown.] 
Your  purse  is  not  hot  enough  to  purchase  your 
spice.  I'll  be  with  you  at  your  sheep-shearing  too  : 
If  I  make  not  this  cheat  bring  out  another,  and  the 
shearers  prove  sheep,  let  me  be  unrolled,  and  my 
name  put  in  the  book  of  virtue ! 


Jog  on,  jog  on,  the  foot-path  way, 
And  merrily  hent°  the  stile-a : 

Jl  merry  heart  goes  all  the  day, 
Your  sad  tires  in  a  mile-a. 


[Exit. 


SCEJ^E  III. — The  same.    A  shepherds  cottage. 
Efiter  Florizel  and  Perdita. 

Flo.  These  your  unusual  weeds  to  each  part  of  you 
Do  give  a  life  :  no  shepherdess ;  but  Flora, 
Peering  in  April's  front.  This  your  sheep-shearing 
Is  as  a  meeting  of  the  petty  goas, 
And  you  the  queen  on't. 

Per.  Sir,  my  gracious  lord. 

To  chide  at  your  extremes,'  it  not  "becomes  me ; 
O,  pardon,  that  I  name  them :  your  high  self, 
The  gracious  mark'"  o'  the  land,  you  have  obscur'd 
With  a  swain's  wearing  ;  and  me,  poor  lowly  maid. 
Most  goddess-like  prahk'd  up : "  But  that  our  feast 
In  every  mess  have  folly,  and  the  feeders 
Digest  it  with  a  custom,  I  should  blush. 
To  see  you  so  attired ;  sworn,  I  think, 
To  sho^v  myself  a  glass. 

Flo.  I  bless  the  time, 

When  my  good  falcon  made  her  flight  across 
Thv  father's  ground. 

Per.  Now  Jove  afford  you  cause ! 

To  me,  thedifference'*forges  dread;  your  greatness 
Hath  not  been  us'd  to  fear.    Even  now  I  tremble 
To  think,  your  father,  by  some  accident. 
Should  j)ass  this  way,  as  you  did :  O,  the  fates  ! 
How  w6uld  he  look,  to  see  his  work,  so  noble. 
Vilely  bound  up ?  What  would  he  say?  Or  how 
Should  I,  in  these  my  borrow'd  flaunts,  behold 
The  sternness  of  his  presence  ? 

Flo.  Apprehend 

Nothin|?  but  jollity.    The  gods  themselves. 
Humbling  their  deities  to  love,  have  taken 
The  shapes  of  beasts  upon  them :  Jupiter 
Became  a  bull,  and  bellow'd  ;  the  green  Neptune 
A  ram,  and  bleated  ;  and  the  fire-rob'd  god, 
Golden  Apollo,  a  poor  humble  swain. 
As  I  seem  now :  Their  transformations 
Were  never  for  a  piece  of  beauty  rarer ; 
Nor  in  a  way  so  chaste :  since  my  desires 
Run  not  before  mine  honour ;  nor  my  lusts 
Burn  hotter  than  my  faith. 

(5)  Sojourn.        (6)  Puppet-show.        (7)  Thief. 
(8)  Take  hold  of.  (9)  Excesses, 

no]  Object  of  all  men's  notice.  ■* 

I  (U )  Dressed  with  ostentation.  (IS)  t.  e.  Of  Bt«tion«, 
2  0 


890 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


Act  IV. 


Per.  0  but,  dear  sir, 

Your  resolution  cannot  hold,  when  'tis 
Oppos'd,  as  it  must  be,  by  the  power  o'lhe  king : 
One  of  these  two  must  be  necessities. 
Which  then  will  speak ;  that  you  must  change  this 

purpose, 
Or  I  my  life. 

FU).  Thou  dearest  Perdita, 

With  these  forc'd'  thoughts,  I  pr'ythee,  darken  not 
The  mirth  o'  the  feast :  Or  I'll  be  thine,  my. fair, 
Or  not  my  father's :  for  I  cannot  be 
Mine  own,  nor  any  thing  to  any,  if 
I  be  not  thine :  to  this  I  am  most  constant, 
Though  destiny  say,  Jfo.    Be  merry,  gentle ; 
Strangle  such  thoughts  as  these,  with  any  thing 
That   you  behold  the  while.     Your  guests  are 

coming : 
Lift  up  your  countenance ;  as  it  were  the  day 
or  celebration  of  that  nuptial,  which 
We  two  have  sworn  shall  come. 

Per.  0  lady  fortune, 

Stand  you  auspicious ! 

Enter  Shepherd,  toi/A  Polixenes,  and  Camillo,  dis- 
guised ;  Clown,  Mopsa,  Dorcas,  and  others. 

Flo.  See,  your  guests  approach : 

Address  yourself  to  entertain  them  sprightly. 
And  let's  be  red  with  mirth. 

Shep.  Fie,  daughter !   when  my  old  wife  liv'd, 
upon 
This  day,  she  was  both  pantler,  butler,  cook ; 
Both  dame  and  servant:  welcom'd  all ;  serv'd  all : 
Would  sing  her  song,  and  dance  her  turn :  now  here. 
At  upper  end  o'the  table,  now,  i'the  middle  ; 
On  his  shoulder,  and  his :  her  face  o'fire 
With  labour ;  and  the  thing  she  took  to  (juench  it. 
She  would  to  each  one  sip :  You  are  rctir'd. 
As  if  you  were  a  feasted  one,  and  not 
The  hostess  of  the  meeting :  Pray  you,  bid 
These  unknown  friends  to  us  welcome :  for  it  is 
A  way  to  make  us  better  friends,  more  known. 
Come,  quench  your  blushes :  and  present  yourself 
That  which  you  are,  mistress  o'  the  feast:  Come  on, 
And  bid  us  welcome  to  your  sheep-shearing. 
As  your  good  flock  shall  prosper. 

Per.  Welcome,  sir!  [To Pol. 

It  is  my  father's  will,  I  should  take  on  me 
The  hostess-ship  o'thc  day : — You're  welcome,  sir ! 

[To  Camillo. 
Give  me  those  flowers  there,  Dorcas. — Reverend 

sirs, 
For  you  there's  rosemary,  and  rue ;  these  keep 
Seeming,  and  savour,"  all  the  winter  long: 
Grace,  and  remembrance,  be  to  )-ou  both, 
And  welcome  to  our  shearing  ! 

Pol.  Shepherdess, 

(A  fair  one  arc  you,)  well  you  fit  our  ages 
With  flowers  of  winter. 

Per.  Sir,  the  year  growing  ancient, — 

Not  yet  on  summer's  death,  nor  on  the  birth 
Of  trembling  winter, — ^the  fairest  flowers  o'the 

season 
Are  our  carnations,  and  streak'd  gillyflowers^ 
Which  some  call  nature's  bastards:  of  that  kind 
Our  rustic  garden's  barren ;  and  I  care  not 
To  get  slips  of  them. 

Pol.  Wherefore,  gentle  maiden. 

Do  you  neglect  them  ? 

Per.  For'  I  have  heard  it  said, 

Thare  is  an  art,  which,  in  their  piedness,  shares 
With  great  creating  nature. 


{Si 


Far-fetched. 
Because  that. 


ii)  Likeness  and  smell. 
4)  A  t09l  to  set  pUnts. 


Pol.  Say,  there  be ; 

Yet  nature  is  made  better  by  no  mean, 
But  nature  makes  that  mean :  so,  o'er  that  art, 
Which,  you  say,  adds  to  nature,  is  an  art 
That  nature  mtikes.  You  see,  sweet  maid,  we  many 
A  gentler  scion  to  the  wildest  stock ; 
And  make  conceive  a  bark  of  baser  kind 
By  bud  of  nobler  race  ;  This  is  an  art 
Which  does  mend  nature, — change  it  ratlier :  but 
The  art  itself  is  nature. 

Per.  So  it  is. 

Pol.  Then  make  your  garden  rich  in  gillyflowers, 
And  do  not  call  them  bastards. 

Per.  I'll  not  put 

The  dibble*  in  earth  to  set  one  slip  of  them : 
No  more  than,  were  I  painted,  I  would  wish 
This  youth  should  say,  'twere  well ;   and  only 

therefore 
Desire  to  breed  by  me. — Here's  flowers  for  you ! 
Hot  lavender,  mints,  savory,  marjoram ; 
The  marigold,  that  goes  to  bed  with  the  sun, 
And  with  him  rises  weeping  •  these  are  flowers 
Of  middle  summer,  and,  I  think,  they  are  given 
To  men  of  middle  age :  You  are  very  welcome. 

Cam.  I  should  leave  grazing,  were  I  of  your  flock, 
And  only  live  by  gazing. 

Per.    .  Out,  alas! 

You'd  be  so  lean,  that  blasts  of  January 
Would  blow  you  through  and  through. — Now,  my 

fairest  friend, 
I  would  I  had  some  flowers  o'the  spring,  that  might 
Become  your  time  of  day ;  and  yours,  and  yours  ; 
Thai  wear  upon  your  virgin  branches  yet 
Your  maidenheads  growing : — 0  Proserpina, 
For  that  flowers  now,  that,  frighted,  thou  lett'stfall 
From  Dis's*  wagon !  daflbdils, 
That  come  before  the  swallow  dares,  and  take 
The  winds  of  March  with  beauty ;  violets,  dim, 
But  sweeter  than  the  lids  of  Juno's  eyes, 
Or  Cytherea's  breath  ;  pale  primroses. 
That  die  unmarried,  ere  they  can  behold 
Bright  Phoebus  in  his  strength,  a  malady 
Most  incident  to  maids ;  bold  oxlips,  and 
The  crown  imperial ;  lilies  of  all  kinds. 
The  flower-de-luce  being  one !  O,  these  I  lack, 
To  make  you  garlands  of;  and,  my  sweet  friend, 
To  strew  liim  o'er  and  o'er. 

Flo.  What  ?  like  a  corse  ? 

Per.  No,  like  a  bank,  for  love  to  lie  and  play  on ; 
Not  like  a  corse :  or  if, — not  to  be  buried. 
But  quiclc,*  and  in  mine  arms.    Come,  take  your 

flowers : 

Metliinks,  I  play  as  I  have  seen  them  do 
In  Whitsun'  pastorals :  sure,  this  robe  of  mine 
Does  change  my  disposition. 

Flo.  What  you  do, 

Still  betters  what  is  done.  When  you  speak,  sweet, 
I'd  have  you  do  it  ever :  when  you  sing, 
I'd  have  you  buy  and  sell  so  ;  so  give  alms ; 
Pray  so ;  and,  for  the  ordering  your  affairs. 
To  sing  them  too :  When  you  do  dance,  I  wisli  you 
A  wave  o'the  sea,  that  you  might  ever  do 
Nothing  but  that;  move  still,  still  so,  and  own 
No  other  function :  Each  your  doing. 
So  singular  in  each  particular. 
Crowns  what  you  are  doing  in  the  present  deeds, 
That  all  your  acts  are  queens. 

Per.  O  Doricles, 

Your  praises  are  too  large :  but  that  your  youth, 
And  the  true  blood,  which  fairly  peeps  through  it, 
Do  plainly  give  you  out  an  unstam'd  shepherd  : 
With  wisdom  I  might  fear,  my  Doricles, 


(5)  Pluto's. 


(6)  Liring, 


Scene  ///. 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


291 


You  woo'd  me  the  false  way. 

Flo.  I  think  you  have 

As  little  skill  to  fear,  as  I  have  purpose 

Toputyouto't. But,  come  ;  our  dance,  I  pray: 

Your  hand,  iny  Pcrdita :  so  turtles  pair, 
That  never  mean  to  part. 

Per.  I'll  swear  for  'em. 

Pol.  This  is  the  prettiest  low-born  lass,  that  ever 
Ran  on  the  green-sward:'  nothuig  she  does,  or 

seems. 
But  smacks  of  something  greater  than  herself; 
Too  noble  for  this  place. 

Cam.  He  tells  her  something-, 
That  makes  her  blood  look  out:  Good  sooth,  she  is 
The  queen  of  curds  and  cream. 

Clo.  '  Come  on,  strike  up. 

Dor.    Mopsa  must  be  your  mistress :  marry, 
garlic, 
To  mend  her  kissin;;  with. — 

J\Iop.  Now,  in  wood  time  ! 

Clo.  Not  a  ivord,  a  word ;  we  stand  upon  our 
manners. — 
Come,  strike  up. 

Here  a  dance  of  shepherds  and  shepherdesses. 

Pol.  Pray,  good  shepherd,  what 
Fair  swain  is  this,  which  dances  with  your  daughter? 

Shep.    They  call  him  Doricles,  and  he  boasts 
himself 
To  have  a  worthy  feeding  :'^  but  I  have  it 
Upon  his  own  report,  and  I  believe  it ; 
He  looks   like  sooth  :^    He  says,  he  loves  my 

daughter ; 
I  think  so  too  ;  for  never  gaz'd  the  moon 
Upon  the  water,  as  he'll  stand,  and  read, 
As  'twere,  my  daughter's  eyes  :  and,  to  be  plain, 
I  think  there  is  not  half  a  kiss  to  choose. 
Who  loves  another  best. 

Pol.  She  dances  featly.* 

Shep.  So  she  does  any  thing ;  though  I  report  it, 
That  should  be  silent :  if  young  Doricles 
Do  light  upon  her,  she  shall  bring  him  that 
Which  he  not  dreams  of. 

Enter  a  Servant. 

Serv.  O  master,  if  you  did  but  hear  the  pedler 
at  the  door,  you  would  never  dance  a?ain  aRer  a 
tabor  and  pipe:  no,  the  bagpipe  could  not  move 
you:  he  sings  several  tunes,  faster  than  you'll  tell 
money ;  he  utters  them  as  he  had  eaten  ballads, 
and  all  men's  ears  grew  to  his  tunes. 

Clo.  He  could  never  come  better :  he  shall  come 
in  :  I  love  a  ballad  but  even  too  well :  if  it  be  dole- 
ful matter,  merrily  set  down,  or  a  very  pleasant 
thing  indeed,  and  sung  lamentably. 

Serv.  He  hath  songs,  for  man  or  woman,  of  all 
sizes:  no  milliner  can  so  fit  his  customers  with 
gloves  :  he  has  the  prettiest  love-songs  for  maids ; 
so  without  bawdry,  which  is  strancre  ;  with  such  de- 
licate burdens  of  dildos  and  fadings ;  jump  her 
and  thump  her ;  and  where  some  siretch-mouth'd 
rascal  would,  as  it  were,  mean  mischief,  and  break 
a  foul  gap  into  the  matter,  he  makes  the  maid  to 
answer.  Whoop,  do  ir.e  no  harm,  good  man;  puts 
him  off,  slights  him,  with  Whoop,  do  me  Jio  hann, 
good  man. 

Pol.  This  is  a  brave  fellow. 

{!)  Green  turf. 

(2)  A  valuable  tract  of  pasturage. 

(S)  Truth.  (4)  Neatly. 

(5)  Plain  goods.        (6)  Worsted  .galloon. 

(7)  A  kind  of  tape.        (8)  The  cuffs. 

(9)  The  work  about  the  bosom. 


Clo.  Believe  me,  thou  talkest  of  an  admirable 
conceited  fellow.  Has  he  any  unbraided  wares  ?' 
Serv.  He  hath  ribands  of  all  the  colours  i'the 
rainbow ;  points,  more  than  all  the  lawyers  in  Bo- 
hemia can  learnedly  handle,  though  they  come  to 
him  by  the  gross  j  inkles,^  caddises,'  cambrics, 
lawns :  %vhv,  he  snigs  them  over,  as  they  were 
gods  or  goddesses  ;  you  would  think  a  smock  were 
a  she-angel ;  he  so  chants  to  the  sleeve-hand,'  and 
the  work  about  the  square  on't.^ 

Clo.  Pr'ythee,  bring  him  in ;  and  let  him  ap- 
proach singing. 

Per.  Forewarn  him,  that  he  use  no  scurrilous 
words  in  his  tunes. 

Clo.  You  liave  of  tliesc  pcdlers,  that  have  more 
in  'em  than  you'd  think,  sister. 
Per.  Ay,  good  brother,  or  go  about  to  think. 
Enter  Autolycus,  singing. 
Lawn,  as  tohite  as  driven  snow  ; 
Cyprus,  black  as  e'er  was  crow  ; 
Gloves,  as  sioeet  as  damask  roses; 
Masks  for  faces,  and  for  noses  ; 
Bugle  bracelet,  necklace-amber. 
Perfume  for  a  ladifs  chamber:^" 
Golden  qumfs,  and  stomachers, 
For  my  lads  to  give  their  dears  ; 
Pins  and  poking-sticks  of  steel. 
What  maids  lack  from  head  to  heel : 
Come,  buy  of  me,  come;  come  buy,  come  buy; 
Buy,  lads,  or  else  your  lasses  cry  ; 
Come,  buy,  ^c. 
Clo.    If  I  were  not  in  love  with  Mopsa,  thou 
should'st  take  no  money  of  me ;  but  being  enthrall'd 
as  I  am,  it  will  also  be  the  bondage  of  certain 
ribands  and  gloves. 

Mop.  I  was  promis'd  them  against  the  feast ; 
but  they  come  not  too  late  now. 

Dor.  H(\  hath  promised  you  more  than  that,  or 
there  be  liars. 

Jilop.  He  hath  paid  you  all  he  promised  you: 
may  be  he  has  paid  you  more ;  which  will  shame 
you  to  give  him  again. 

Clo.  Is  there  no  manners  left  among  maids  ?  will 
they  wear  their  plackets,  where  they  should  bear 
their  faces  ?  Is  there  not  milking-time,  when  you 
are  going  to-bed,  or  kiln-hole,"  to  whistle  off  these 
secrets;  but  vou  must  be  tittle-tattling  before  all 
our  guests?  'Tis  well  they  are  whispering:  Cla- 
mour your  tongues,'*  and  not  a  word  more. 

Mop.  I  have  done.  Come,  you  promised  nie  a 
tawdry  lace,"  and  a  pair  of  sweet  gloves. 

Clo.  Have  I  not  told  thee,  how  I  was  cozened 
by  the  way,  and  lost  all  my  money  ? 

^ut.  And,  indeed,  sir,  there  are  cozeners  abroad ; 
therefore  it  behoves  men  to  be  wary. 

Clo.  Fear  not  thou,  man,  thou  shaltlose  nothing 
here. 

Jlut.  I  hope  so,  sir ;  for  I  have  about  me  many 
parcels  of  change. 

Clo.  What  hast  here  ?  ballads  ? 
Mop.  Pray  now  buy  some :  I  love  a  ballad  in 
print,  a'-life  ;  for  then  we  are  sure  they  are  true. 

Aut.  Here's  one  to  a  very  doleful  tune.  How  a 
usurer's  wife  was  brought  to-bed  of  twenty  money- 
bags at  a  burden  ;  and  hov/  she  longed  to  eat  ad- 
ders' heads,  and  toads  carbonadoed. 

(10)  Amber,  of  which  necklaces  were  made  fit 
to  perfume  a  lady's  chamber. 

(11)  Fire-place  for  drying  malt;  still  a  noted 
gossiping-place. 

(12^  Ring  a  dumb  peal. 

(13)  A  lace  to  wear  about  the  head  or  iraist^ 


292 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


^ci  ir. 


Mop.  Is  it  true,  think  you  ? 

w3u/.  Very  true  ;  and  but  a  month  old. 

Dor,  Bless  me  from  marrying  a  usurer ! 

.Aut.  Here's  the  midwife's  name  to't,  one  mis- 
tress Taleporter  ;  and  five  or  six  honest  wives'  that 
were  present:  Why  should  I  carry  lies  abroad? 

.Mop.  Pray  you  now,  buy  it. 

Clo.  Come  on,  lay  it  by :  And  let's  first  see  more 
ballads  ;  we'll  buy  the  other  things  anon. 

,iut.  Here's  another  ballad,  ol'  a  fish,  that  ap- 
peared upon  the  coast,  on  Wednesday  the  fourscore 
of  April,  forty  thousand  fathom  above  water,  and 
.sung  thii)  ballad  against  the  hard  hearts  of  maids : 
it  was  thought  she  was  a  woman,  and  was  turned 
into  a  cold  fish,  for  she  would  not  exchange  flesh 
with  one  that  loved  her :  The  ballad  is  very  pitiful, 
and  as  true. 

Dor.  Is  it  trjie  too,  think  you  ? 

^ut.  Five  justices'  hands  at  it ;  and  witnesses, 
more  than  my  pack  will  hold. 

Clo.  Lay  it  by  too  :  Another. 

^ut.  This  is  a  merry  ballad  ;  but  a  very  pretty 
vne. 

Mop.  Let's  have  some  merry  ones. 

Jiut.  Why  this  is  a  passing  merry  one  ;  and  goes 
Ji  the  tune  of,  Two  maids  wooing  a  man :  there's 
scarce  a  maid  westward,  but  she  sings  it ;  'tis  in 
request,  I  can  tell  you. 

Mop.  We  can  both  sin)»  it ;  if  thou'llbearapart, 
thou  shalt  hear  ;  'tis  iu  three  parts. 

Dor.  We  had  the  tune  ou't  a  month  ago. 

wfut.  I  can  bear  my  part ;  you  must  Icnow,  'tis 
'.it  with  yon. 


my  occupation :  have  at  it 

SONG. 

A.  Get  you  hence,  for  I  must  go ; 
Where,  it  fits  not  you  to  know. 

D.  Whither?  U.  0,  whither?  D.   Whither? 
M.  It  becomes  thy  oath  full  well, 
Thou  to  7ne  thy  secrets  tell  : 

D.  Me  too,  let  me  go  thither. 
M.  Or  thoti  go^st  to  the  strange,  or  mill : 
D.  If  to  either,  thou  dost  ill. 

A.  Neither.  D.  What,  neither  ?  A.  J^either. 
D.  Thou  hast  sworn  my  love  to  be  ; 
M.  Tliou  hast  sworn  it  more  to  me  : 

Then,  whither  go'st  ?  say,  whither  ? 

Clo.  We'll  have  this  song  out  anon  by  ourselves : 
My  father  and  the  genllenipn  are  in  sad'  talk,  and 
we'll  not  trouble  them  :    Come,  bring  away  thy 
pack  aCccr  me.    Wenches,  I'll  buy  for  you  both  ;— 
Pedler,  let's  have  the  first  choice. — Follow  mf?,  g-irls. 
.dut.  And  you  shall  pay  well  for  'em.        [Jlside. 
Will  you  buy  any  tape, 
Or  lace  for  your  cape. 
My  dainty  duck,  my  dear-a  7 
Jiny  silk,  any  thread, 
Any  toys  for  your  head, 
Of  the  new''st,  and  fin''st,  finest  wear-a  ? 
Come  to  the  pedler  ; 
Money's  a  medler, 
That  doth  utter^  all  men'*  ware-a. 

[Exeimt  Clown,  Autolycus,  Dorcas,  and 
Mopsa.  ' 
Enter  a  Servant. 
Serv.  Master,  there  is  three  carters,  three  shep- 
herds, three  neat-herds,   three   swine-herds,  that 
hare  made  themselves  all  men  of  hair  ;^  they  call 

(!)  Serious.  (2)  Vend. 

(S)  Dressed  themselves  in  habits  imitating  hair. 

(4)  Satyrs.       (5)  Medley.       (6)  Foot-rule.    , 


'themselves  saltiers:*  and  they  have  a  dance  which 
ithe  wenches  say  b  a  gallimaufry'  of  gambols,  be- 
jcause  they  are  not  in't ;  but  they  themselves  are 
o'lhe  mind  (if  it  be  not  too  rough  for  some,  that 
know  little  but  bowling,)  it  will  please  plentifully. 

Shep,  Away !  we'll  none  on't ;  here  has  been 
too  much  humble  foolery  already ; — I  know,  sir, 
we  weary  you. 

Pol.  You  weary  those  that  refresh  us :  Pray  let's 
see  these  four  threes  of  herdsmen. 

Serv.  One  three  of  them,  by  tlieir  own  report, 
sir,  hath  danced  before  the  lung ;  and  not  the  worst 
of  the  three,  but  jumps  twelve  foot  and  a  half  by 
the  squire.' 

Shep.  Leave  your  prating ;  since  these  good  men 
are  pleased,  let  them  come  in  ;  but  quick^  now. 

Serv.  Why,  they  stay  at  door,  sir.  [£xt(. 

Re-enter  Servant,  tcith  twelve  rustics,  habited  like 
Satyrs.     They  dance,  and  theii  exeunt. 

Pol.  O,  father,  you'll  know  more  of  that  here- 
after.— 
Is  it  not  too  far  gone  ? — 'Tis  time  to  part  them. — 
He's  simple,  and  tells  much.  [Aside.] — How  now, 

fair  shepherd  ? 
Your  heart  is  full  of  something,  that  does  take 
Your  mind  from  feasting.  Sooth,  when  I  was  young, 
And  handed  love,  as  you  do,  I  was  wont 
iTo  load  my  she  with  knacks:  I  would  have  ran- 

saek'd 
The  pedler's  silken  treasury,  and  have  pour'd  it 
To  her  acceptance  ;  you  have  let  him  go. 
And  nothing  marted'  with  him :  if  your  lass 
Interpretation  should  abuse  ;  and  call  this 
Your  lack  of  love,  or  bounty  :  vou  were  straitpd  !' 
For  a  reply,  at  least,  if  you  mate  a  care 
01'  happy  holding  her. 

Flo.  Old  sir,  I  know 

She  prizes  not  such  trifles  as  these  are  : 
The  gifts,  she  looks  from  me,  are  pack'dand  lock'd 
Up  in  my  heart ;  which  I  have  given  already, 
But  not  deliver'd. — O,  hear  me  breathe  my  life 
Before  this  ancient  sir,  who,  it  should  seem. 
Hath  sometime  lov'd  :  I  take  thy  hand  ;  this  hand. 
As  soft  as  dove's  down,  and  as  white  as  it ; 
Or  Ethiopian's  tooth,  or  the  fann'd  snow. 
That's  bolted'  by  the  northern  blasts  twice  o'er. 

Pol.  W'hat  follows  this?— 
How  prettily  the  young  swain  seems  to  wash 
The  hand,  was  fair  before ! — I  have  put  you  out:— 
But  to  your  protestation  ;  let  me  hear 
What  you  profess. 

Flo.  Do,  and  be  witness  to't. 

Pol.  Aiid  this  my  neighbour  too  ? 

Flo.  And  he,  and  more 

Than  he,  and  men  ;  the  earth,  the  heavens,  and  all : 
That, — were  I  crown'd  the  most  imperial  monarch, 
Thereof  most  worthy  ;  were  I  the  fairest  youth 
That  ever  made  eye  swerve ;  had  force,  and  know- 
ledge. 
More  than  was  ever  man's, — I  would  not  prize  them, 
Without  her  love :  for  her,  employ  them  all ; 
Commend  them,  and  condemn  them,  to  her  service. 
Or  to  their  own  perdition, 

Pol.  Fairly  ofler'd. 

Cam.  This  shows  a  sound  affection. 

Shep.  But,  my  daughter, 

Say  you  the  like  to  him  ? 

Per.  I  cannot  speak 

So  well,  nothing  so  well ;  no,  nor  mean  better : 

(7)  Bought,  trafficked.     (8)  Put  to  difficulties. 
(9)  The  sieve  used  to  separate  flour  from  bran  in 
called  a  bolting-clotb.      ^ 


Scene  III. 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


isaii 


By  the  pattern  of  minft  own  thoughts  I  cut  out 
The  purity  of  his. 

Shep.  Take  hand?,  a  bar^in ; 

And,  iriends  unknown,  you  shall  bear  witness  to't: 
I  give  mj[  daughter  to  mm,  and  will  make 
Her  portion  equal  his. 

Ho.  O,  that  must  be 

I'the  virtue  of  your  daughter:  one  being  dead, 
I  shall  have  more  than  you  can  dream  of  yet ; 
Enough  then  for  your  wonder :  But,  come  on, 
Contract  us  'fore  these  witnesses. 

Skep.  Come,  your  hand ; 

And,  daughter,  vours. 

Pol.  Soft,  swain,  a  while,  'beseech  you ; 

Hare  you  a  father  ? 

Flo.  I  have:  But  what  of  him? 

Pol.  Knows  he  of  this  ? 

Flo.  He  neither  does,  nor  shall. 

Pol.  Methinks,  a  father 
Is,  at  the  nuptial  of  his  son,  a  guest 
That  best  becomes  the  table.  Pray  you,  once  more ; 
Is  not  your  father  grown  incapable 
Of  reasonable  affairs  ?  is  he  not  stupid 
With  age,  and  altering  rheums?  Can  he  speak? 

hear  ? 
Know  man  from  man?  dispute  his  own  estate?" 
Lies  he  not  bed-rid  ?  and  again  does  nothing. 
But  what  he  did  being  childish  ? 

Flo.  No,  good  sir ; 

He  has  his  health,  and  ampler  strength,  indeed, 
Than  most  have  of  his  age. 

Pol.  By  my  white  beard, 

You  offer  him,  if  this  be  so,  a  wrong 
Something  unlilial :  Reason,  my  son. 
Should  choose  himself  a  wife  ;  but  as  good  reason. 
The  father  (all  whose  joy  is  nothing  else 
But  fair  posterity,)  should  hold  some  counsel 
In  such  a  business. 

Flo.  I  yield  all  this  ; 

But,  for  some  other  reasons,  my  grave  sir, 
Which  'tis  not  fit  you  know,  I  not  acquaint 
Mv  father  of  this  business. 

Pol.  Let  him  know't. 

Flo.  He  shall  not. 

Pol.  Pr'j-thee,  let  him.- 

Flo.  No,  he  must  not. 

Shep.  Let  him,  my  son ;  he  shall  not  need  to  grieve 
At  knowing  of  thy  choice. 

Fb.  Come,  come,  he  must  not : — 

Mark  our  contract. 

Pol.                   Mark  your  divorce,  youn?  sir, 
[Discoverin'i^  himself. 
Whom  son  I  dare  not  call ;  thou  art  too  base 
To  be  acknowledg'd  :  Thou  a  sceptre's  heir. 
That  thus  affect'sta  shecp-hnok? — Thou  old  traitor, 
I  am  sorry,  that,  by  hanging  thee,  I  can  but 
Shorten  thy  life  one  week. — And  thou,  fresh  piece 
Of  excellent  witchcraft  ;  who,  of  force,  must  know 
The  royal  fool  thou  cop'et  with  ; 

Shfp.  O,  my  heart ! 

Pol.  I'll  have  Ihy  beauty  scratch'd  with  briers, 
and  made 
More  homely  than  thy  state. — For  thee,  fond  boy, — 
If  I  may  ever  know,  thou  dost  but  sigh, 
That  thou  no  more  shalt  see  this  knack,  (as  never 
I  mean  thou  shalt,)  we'll  bar  thee  from  succession ; 
Not  hold  thee  of  our  blood,  no,  not  our  kin. 
Far'  than  Deucalion  off: — Mark  thou  my  words  ; 
Follow  us  to  the  court. — Thou  churl,  for  this  time. 
Though  full  of  our  displeasure,  yet  we  free  Uiee 
From  the  dread  blow  of  it. — And  you,  enchant- 
ment— 

(1)  Talk  over  his  affairs.        (2)  Further. 


Worthy  enough  a  herdsman ;  yea,  him  too. 

That  makes  himself,  but  for  our  honour  therein. 

Unworthy  thee, — if  ever,  henceforth,  thou 

These  rural  latches^  to  his  entrance  open. 

Or  hoop  his  body  more  with  thy  embraces, 

I  will  devise  a  death  as  cruel  for  thee, 

As  thou  art  tender  to't.  ■  [Exit. 

Per.  Even  here  undone ! 

I  was  not  much  afeard :  for  once,  or  twice, 
I  was  about  to  speak ;  and  tell  him  plainly. 
The  self-same  sun,  that  shines  upon  his  court, 
Hides  not  his  visace  from  our  cottage,  but 
Looks  on  alike. — Will't  please  you,  sir,  be  ^one  ? 

tTo  Florizel. 
leseechyou, 
Of  jour  own  state  tike  care:  this  dream  of  mine, — 
Being  now  awake,  I'll  queen  it  no  inch  further, 
But  milk  my  ewes,  and  weep. 

Cam.  Why,  how  now,  father? 

Speak,  ere  thou  diest. 

Shep.  I  cannot  speak,  nor  think, 

Nor  dare  to  know  that  which  I  know. — 0,  sir, 

[To  Florizel. 
You  have  undone  a  man  of  fourscore  three. 
That  thought  to  fill  his  grave  in  quiet;  yea, 
To  die  upon  the  bed  my  father  died. 
To  lie  close  by  his  honest  bones  :  but  now 
Some  hangman  must  nut  on  my  shroud,  and  lay  me 
Where  no  priest  shovcls-in  dust. — 0  cursed  wretch  i 

[To  Perdita. 
That  knew'st  this  was  the  prince,  and  would'st 

adventure 
To  mingle  faith  with  him. — Undone !  undone ! 
If  I  might  die  within  this  hour,  I  have  liv'd 
To  die  when  I  desire.  [Exit. 

Flo.  Why  look  you  so  upon  me  ? 

I  am  but  sorry,  not  afoard  ;  delay'd. 
But  noiiiing  alter'd :  AVhat  I  was,  I  am : 
More  straining  on,  for  plucking  back;  not  following 
My  leash*  unwillingly. 

Cam.  Gracious  my  lord. 

You  know  your  father's  temper :  at  this  time 
He  will  allow  no  speech, — which,  I  do  guess, 
Vou  do  not  purpose  to  him  ; — and  as  hardly 
Will  he  endure  your  sight  as  j'et,  I  fear: 
Then,  til!  the  fury  of  his  highness  settle, 
Come  not  before  him. 

Flo.  I  not  purpose  11. 

I  think,  Camillo. 

Cam.  Even  he,  my  lord. 

Per,  How  often  have  I  told  you,  'twould  be  thus? 
How  often  said,  my  dignity  would  last 
But  till  'twere  known  ? 

Flo.  It  cannot  fail,  but  by 

The  violation  of  mv  faith  ;  And  then 
Let  Nature  crush  the  sides  o'the  earth  together, 
And  mar  the  seeds  within ! — Lift  up  thy  looks :— - 
From  my  succession  wipe  me,  father !  I 
Am  heir  to  my  affection. 

Cam.  '  Be  advis'd. 

Flo.  lam;  and  bv  my  fancy :'  if  my  reason 
Will  thereto  be  obedient,  I  have  reason  ; 
I  If  not,  my  senses,  better  pleas'd  with  madness, 
IDo  bid  it  welcome. 
I     Cam.  This  is  desperate,  sir. 

I  Flo.  So  call  it :  but  it  does  fulfil  mv  vow ; 

I I  needs  must  think  it  honest)'.  Camillo, 
;Not  for  Bohemia,  nor  the  pomp  that  may 
iBe  thereat  glean'd  ;  for  all  the  sun  sees,  or 

The  close  earth  wombs,  or  the  profound  seas  hide 

In  unknown  fathoms,  wUl  I  break  my  oath 

To  this  my  fair  belov'd :  Therefore,  I  pray  you, 

(3)  Doors.     (4)  A  leading  string.     (5)  Lore. 


294 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


Act  ir. 


As  you  have  e'er  been  my  father's  honour'd  friend, 
When  he  shall  miss  me,  (as,  in  faith,  I  mean  not 
To  see  him  anj  more,)  cast  your  good  counsels 
Upon  his  passion;  Let  myself  and  fortune 
Tug:  for  the  time  to  come.    This  you  may  know, 
And  so  deliver, — I  am  put  to  sea 
Witli  her,  ivhom  here  1  cannot  hold  on  sh'^re ; 
And,  most  opportune  to  our  need,  I  have 
A  vessel  rides  fast  bv,  but  not  prepar'd 
For  this  design.     What  course  I  mean  to  hold, 
Shall  nothing  benefit  your  knowledge,  nor 
Concern  me  the  reporting. 

(■am.  O,  my  lord, 

I  would  your  spirit  were  easier  lor  advice, 
Or  stronger  for  your  need. 

Ho.  Hark.  Perdita. {Takes  her  aside. 

I'll  hear  you  by  ana  by.  [To  Camillo. 

Cam.  He's  irrernovable, 

Resolv'd  for  flight :  Now  were  I  happy,  if 
His  going  I  could  frame  to  serve  my  turn  ; 
Save  him  from  danger,  do  him  love  and  honour ; 
Purchase  the  sight  again, of  dear  Sicilia, 
And  that  unhappy  king,  my  master,  whom 
I  so  much  thirst  to  see. 

Flo.  Now,  good  Camillo, 

I  am  so~  fraught  with  curious  business,  that 
I  leave  out  ceremony.  [Going-. 

Cam.  Sir,  T  think. 

You  have  heard  of  my  poor  services,  i'the  love 
That  I  have  borne  your  father  ? 

Flo.  _  Very  nobly 

Have  you  deserv'd  :  it  is  my  father's  music. 
To  speak  your  deeds  ;  not  little  of  his  care 
To  have  them  reeompens'd  as  thounrht  on. 

Cam.  Weil,  my  lord, 

If  you  may  please  to  think  I  love  the  king ; 
And,  through  him,  what  is  nearest  to  him,  which  is 
Your  gracious  self;  embrace  but  my  direction, 
(If  your  more  ponderous  and  settled  project 
May  sutler  alteration,)  on  mine  honour 
I'll  point  you  where  you  shall  have  such  receiving 
As  shall  become  your  highness ;  where  you  may 
Enjoy  your  mistress,  (from  the  whom,  I  sec, 
There's  no  disjunction  to  be  made,  but  by, 
As  heavens  forefcnd  !  your  ruin  :)  marry  her ; 
And  (with  my  best  endeavours,  in  your  absence,) 
Your  discontenting'  father  strive  to  qualify. 
And  bring  him  up  to  liking. 

Flo.  How,  Camillo, 

May  this,  almost  a  miracle,  be  done? 
That  I  may  call  thee  something  more  than  man, 
And,  after  that,  trust  to  thee. 

Cam.  Have  you  thought  on 

A  place  whereto  you'll  go  ? 

Flo.  _       Not  any  yet : 

But  as  the  unthought-on  accident-  is  guilty 
To  what  we  wildly  do  ;  so  we  profess 
Ourselves  to  be  the  slaves  of  chance,  and  flies 
Of  every  wind  that  blows. 

Cam.  Then  list  to  me : 

This  follows, — if  you  will  not  change  your  purpose. 
But  undergo  thisfiipht ; — Make  for  Sicilia  ; 
And  there  present  yourself,  and  your  fair  princess, 
(For  so,  I  see,  she  must  be,)  'fore  Leontes ; 
She  shall  be  habited,  as  it  becomes 
The  partner  of  yonr  bed.     Methinks,  I  see 
Leontes,  opening  his  free  arms,  and  weeping 
His  welcomes  forth :  asks  thee,  the  son,  forgiveness. 
As  'tivere  i'the  fat'ner's  person  :  kisses  the  hands 
Of  your  fresh  princess :  o'er  and  o'er  divides  him 

n)  For  discontented. 

(2J  This  unthought-on  accident  is  the  unexpect- 
ed discovery  made  by  Polixenes. 


'Twixt  his  unkindness  and  his  kindness  ;  the  one 
He  chides  to  hell,  and  bids  the  other  grow, 
Faster  than  thought,  or  time. 

Flo.  Worthy  Camillo, 

What  colour  for  ray  visitation  shall  I 
Hold  up  before  him  ? 

Cam.  Sent  by  the  king  your  father, 

To  greet  him,  and  to  give  him  comforts.     Sir, 
The  manner  of  your  bearing  towards  him,  with 
What  you,  .as  from  your  father,  sliall  deliver, 
Things  known  betwixt  us  three,  I'll  wriiejou  down : 
The  which  shall  point  you  forth  at  every  sitting,' 
What  you  must  say  ;'that  he  shall  not  perceive, 
But  that  you  have  your  father's  bosom  tliere. 
And  speak  his  very  heart. 

Flo.  I  am  bound  to  you : 

There  is  some  sap  in  this. 

Cam.  A  coufsc  more  premising 

Than  a  wild  dedication  of  yourselves 
To  unpath'd  waters,  undream'd  shores ;  most  cer- 
tain. 
To  miseries  enough  :  no  hope  lo  help  you  ; 
But,  p,s  you  shake  ofl"  one,  to  take  another : 
Nothing  so  certain  as  your  anchors  :  who 
Do  their  best  odice,  if  they  can  but  stay  you 
Where  you'll  be  loath  to  be  :   Besides,  you  know. 
Prosperity's  the  very  bond  of  love ; 
Whose  fresh  complexion  and  whose  heart  together 
Aillietion  alters. 

Per.  One  of  these  is  true: 

I  think,  affliction  may  subdue  the  cheek. 
But  not  take  in*  the  mind. 

Cam.  Yea,  say  you  so? 

There  shall  not,  at  your  father's  house,  these  seven 

years. 
Be  born  another  such. 

Flo.  My  good  Camillo, 

She  is  as  forward  of  her  breeding,  as 
I'tlie  rear  of  birth. 

Cara.  I  cannot  say,  'tis  pity 

She  hicks  instructions ;  for  she  seems  a  mistress 
To  most  that  teach. 

Per.  Your  pardon,  sir,  for  this  ; 

I'll  blush  you  thanks. 

Flo.  My  prettiest  Perdita. 

But,  O,  the  thorns  we  stand  upon  ! — Camillo, — 
Preserver  of  my  father,  now  of  me  ; 
The  medicine  of  our  house ! — how  shall  we  do  ? 
We  are  not  furnish'd  like  Bohemia's  son ; 
Nor  shall  appear  in  Sicily 

Cam.  _  My  lord, 

Fear  none  of  this  :  I  think,  you  know,  my  fortunes 
Do  all  lie  there :  it  shall  he  so  my  care 
To  have  you  royally  appointed,  as  if 
The  scene  you  play,  were  mine.    For  instance,  sir. 
That  you  may  know  you  shall  not  Avnnt, — one  word. 
[They  talk  aside. 

Enter  Autolycus. 
./Int.  Ha,  ha !  what  a  fool  honesty  is !  and  trust, 
his  sworn  brother,  a  very  simple  <.'cnt.leman !  I  have 
sold  all  my  trumpery  ;  "not  a  counterfeit  stone,  net 
a  riband,  glass,  pomander,*  brooch,  table-hook, 
ballad,  knife,  tape,  glove,  shoe-tie,  bracelet,  horn- 
ring,  to  keep  my  pack  from  fasting :  they  throng 
who  should  buy  llrst;  as  if  mv  trinkets  had  been 
hallowed,  and  brought  a  benediction  to  the  buyer : 
by  which  means,  I  saw  whose  purse  was  best  in 
picture ;  and,  what  I  saw,  to  iny  good  use,  I  re- 

Z)  The  council-days  were  called  the  sittings. 
4)  Conquer. 

(5)  A  little  ball  made  of  perfumes,  and  worn  to 
prevent  infection  in  time  of  plague. 


s 


Seine  HI. 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


295 


uembered.  My  cloivn  (who  wants  but  something 
to  be  a  reasonable  man,)  grew  so  in  love  with  the 
wenches'  son^,  that  he  would  not  stir  hjs  pettitoes, 
till  he  had  both  tunc  and  words ;  which  so  drew  the 
rest  of  the  herd  to  me,  that  all  their  other  senses 
stuck  in  ears .-  you  might  have  pinched  a  placket, 
it  was  senseless";  'twas  nothinsr,  to  greld  a  cod-piece 
of  a  purse  ;  I  would  have  tiled  keys  oflT,  that  hung 
in  chains :  no  hearincr,  no  feeling,  but  my  sir's  song, 
and  admiring  the  notliing  of  it.  Sp  that,  in  tliis  time 
of  lethargy,  I  picked  and  cut  most  of  their  festival 
purses  :  and  had  not  the  old  man  come  in  with  a 
whoobub  ajjainst'  his  dauphter  and  the  king's  son, 
and  scared  my  choughs'  from  the  chaff,  I  had  not 
left  a  purse  alive  in  the  whole  army. 

^Camillo,  Florizel,  and  Perdita,  come  fonoard. 

Cam.  Nay,  but  my  letters  by  this  means  being 
there 
So  soon  as  you  arrive,  shall  clear  that  doubt. 

Flo.  And  those  that  you'll  procure  from  king 
Leontes, — 

Cam.  Sail  satisfy  your  father. 

Per.  Happy  be  you ! 

All  that  you  speak,  shov.s  f:iir. 

Cam.  Who  have  we  here  ? 

[SeeiJig:  Autolycus. 
We'll  make  an  instrument  of  this ;  omit 
Nothing  may  give  us  aid. 

.^iiit.   If  they  have  overheard  me  now, why 

hanging.  [^'Iside. 

Cam.  How  noiv,  good  fellow?  Why  shakest 
thou  so  ?  Fear  not,  man ;  here's  no  harm  intended 
to  thee. 

»J»^  I  am  a  poor  fellow,  sir. 

Cam.  ^Vhy,  be  so  still ;  here's  nobody  will  steal 
that  from  thee:  Yet,  for  the  outside  of  thy  poverty, 
we  must  make  an  exchanjc :  therefore,  disease  thee 
instantly  (thou  must  think  there's  necessity  in't,) 
and  change  garments  with  tliis  gentleman :  Though 
the  pennyworth,  on  his  side,  be  the  worst,  yet  hold 
thee,  there's  some  boot.^* 

..int.  I  am  a  poor  fellow,  sir: — I  know  ye  v.ell 
enough.  -  f.isjt/e. 

Cam.  Nav,  pr'ythee,  despatch:  the  gentleman 
is  half  flayed^  aJpeady. 

dtit.  Arc  you  in  earnest,  sir  ? — I  smell  the  trick 
ofit.— 

Flo.  Despatch,  I  pr'yihee. 

Jhit.  Indeed,  I  have  had  earnest ;  but  I  cannot 
with  conscience  take  it. 

Cam,  Unbuckle,  unbuckle. — 

[Flo.  and  Aut.  exchange  garments. 
Fortunate  mistress, — let  my  prophecy 
Come  home  to  you ! — You  must  retire  yourself 
Into  some  covert :  take  your  sweetheart's  hat. 
And  pluck  it  o'er  your  brows :  mufile  your  face  ; 
Dismantle  you :  and  as  you  can,  disliken 
The  truth  of  your  own  seeming ;  that  you  may 
(For  I  do  fear  eyes  over  you,)  to  shipboard 
Get  undescricd. 

Per.  I  see  the  play  so  lies, 

That  I  must  bear  a  part. 

Cani,  No  remedy. — 

Have  you  done  there  ? 

Flo.  Should  I  now  meet  my  father, 

He  would  not  call  me  son. 

Cam.  Nav,  you  shall  have 

No  hat : — Come,  lady,  come. — Farewell,  my  friend. 

►in/.  Adieu,  sir. 

Flo.  O  Perdita,  what  have  we  twain  forgot  ? 
Fray  you,  a  word.  [They  converse  apart. 


Cam.  What  I  do  q£xt,  shall  b«,  to  tell  the  king 

Of  this  escape,  and  whither  they  are  bound ; 
Wherein  my  hope  is,  I  shall  so  prevail. 
To  force  him  after :  in  whose  company 
I  shall  review  Sicilia  ;  for  whose  sight 
I  have  a  woman's  longing. 

Flo.  Fortune  speed  us  !— 

Thus  we  set  on,  Camillo,  to  the  sea-side. 

Cam.  The  swifter  speed,  tlie  better. 

[Exetmt  Florizel,  Perdita,  and  Camillo. 

.9ut.  I  understand  the  business,  I  hear  it:  To 
have  an  open  ear,  a  quick  eye,  and  a  nimble  hand, 
is  necessary  for  a  cut-purse ;  a  good  nose  is  requi- 
site also,  to  smell  out  work  for  the  other  senses. 
i  see,  this  is  the  time  that  the  unjust  man  doth 
thrive.  What  an  exchange  had  this  been  without 
boot  ?  what  a  boot  is  here,  with  this  exchange  ? 
Sure  the  gods  do  this  year  connive  at  us,  and  we 
may  do  any  thing  extempore.  The  prince  himselt 
is  about  a  piece  of  iniquity ;  stealing  away  from 
his  father,  with  his  clog  at  his  heels :  If  I  thought 
it  were  not  a  piece  of  honesty  to  acquaint  the  kmg 
wilhal,  I  would  do't :  I  hold  it  the  more  knavery 
to  conceal  it :  and  therein  am  I  constant  to  my  pro- 
fession. 

Enter  Clown  and  Shepherd. 
Aside,  aside ; — here  is  more  matter  for  a  hot  brain : 
Every  lane's  end,  every  shop,  church,  session,  hang- 
ing, yields  a  careful  man  work. 

Clo.  See,  see ;  what  a  man  you  are  now !  there 
is  no  other  way,  but  to  tell  the  king  she's  a  change- 
ling, and  none  of  your  flesh  and  blood. 

Shep.  Nay,  but  hear  me. 

Clo.  Nay,  but  hear  me. 

SIup.  Go  to  then. 

Clo.  She  bein^  none  of  your  flesh  and  blood, 
your  flesh  and  blood  has  not  offended  the  king ; 
and,  so,  your  flesh  and  blood  is  not  to  be  punished 
by  him.  Show  those  things  you  found  about  her  ; 
those  secret  things;  all  but  what  she  has  with  her : 
This  being  done,  let  the  law  go  whistle ;  I  warrant 
you. 

Sltep.  I  will  tell  the  king  all,  every  word,  yea, 
and  his  son's  pranks  too  ;  who,  I  may  say,  is  no 
honest  man  neither  to  his  father,  nor  to  me,  to  go 


(1)  Birds. 
^3)  Stripoed. 


(2)  Something  over  and  ?hove. 
(4)  Bundle,  parcel. 


[.3sMie.jabout  to  make  me  the  king's  brother-in-law, 

Clo.  Indeed,  brother-in-law  was  the  furthest  off 
vou  could  have  been  to  him ;  and  then  your  blood 
had  been  the  dearer,  by  I  know  how  much  an  ounce. 

»3«t.  Very  wisely ;  puppies  !  [Jlside. 

Shep.  Well ;  let  us  to  the  king  ;  there  is  that  in 
this  fardel,*  v.ill  make  him  scratch  his  beard. 

.?Mf.  I  know  not  what  impediment  this  complaint 
may  be  to  the  flight  of  my  master. 

Clo.  'Pray  heartily  he  be  at  palace. 

^9ut.  Though  I  am  not  naturally  honest,  I  am  so 
sometimes  by  chance: — Let  me  pocket  up  my  ped- 
ler's  excrement.' — [Takes  off  his  false  beard.]  How 
now,  rustics  ?  whither  are  you  bound  ? 

Shep.  To  the  palace,  an  it  like  your  worship. 

^lut.  Your  affairs  there?  what?  with  whom? 
the  condition  of  that  fardel,  the  place  of  your 
dwelling,  your  names,  )our  ages,  of  v.hathavmg,* 
breeding,  and  any  thing  that  is  fitting  to  be  known, 
discover. 

Clo.  We  are  but  plain  fellows,  sir. 

.'hit.  A  lie ;  you  are  rough  and  hairy :  Let  me 
have  no  lying ;  it  becomes  none  but  tradesmen,  and 
they  often  give  us  soldiers  the  lie :  but  ive  pay  them 
for  it  with  stamped  coin,  not  stabbing  steel ;  there- 
fore they  do  not  give  us  the  lie. 


(5)  His  false  beard.         (6)  Estate,  property. 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


^cir. 


Clo.  Your  worship  had  like  to  hare  given  us  one, 
if  you  had  not  taken  yourselfcwith  the  manner.' 

Shep.  Are  you  a  courtier,  an't  like  you,  sir  ? 

jlut.  Whether  it  like  me,  or  no,  I  am  a  courtier. 
See'st  thou  not  the  air  of  the  court,  in  these  enfold- 
ings  V  hath  not  my  gait  in  it  the  measure  of  the 
court?' -receives  not  thy  nose  court-odour  from 
me  ?  reflect  I  not  on  thy  baseness,  court-contempt  ? 
Think'st  thou,  for  that  I  insinuate,  or  toze'  from 
thee  thy  business,  I  am  therefore  no  courtier  ?  I  am 
courtier,  cap-a-pe  ;  and  one  that  will  either  push 
on,  or  pluck  back,  thy  business  there :  whereupon 
I  command  thee  to  open  thy  affair. 

Shep.  My  business,  sir,  is  to  the  king. 

^ut.  What  advocate  hast  thou  to  him  ? 

Shep.  I  know  not,  an't  like  you. 

Clo.  Advocate's  the  court-word  for  a  pheasant ; 
Bay,  you  have  none. 

Shep.  N  one,  sir ;  I  have  no  pheasant,  cock  nor  hen. 

^ut.  How  bless'd  are  we,  that  are  not  simple 
men! 
Yet  nature  might  have  made  me  as  these  are, 
Therefore  I'll  not  disdain. 

Clo.  This  cannot  be  but  a  great  courtier. 

Shep.  His  garments  are  rich,  but  he  wears  them 
not  handsomely. 

Clo.  He  seems  to  be  the  more  noble  in  being 
fantastical ;  a  great  man,  I'll  warrant ;  I  know  by 
the  picking  on's  teeth. 

^ut.  The  fardel  there?  what's  i'the  fardel? 
Wherefore  that  box  ? 

Shep.  Sir,  there  lies  such  secrets  in  this  fardel, 
and  box,  which  none  must  know  but  the  kin»;  and 
which  he  shall  know  within  this  hour,  if  I  may 
come  to  the  speech  of  him. 

^ut.  Age,  thou  hast  lost  thy  labour. 

Shep.  Why,  sir? 

^ut.  The  kin^  is  not  at  the  palace ;  he  is  gone 
aboard  a  new  ship  to  purge  melancholy,  and  air 
himself:  For,  if  thou  be'st  capable  of  things  serious, 
thou  must  know,  the  king  is  full  of  grief. 

Shep.  So  'tis  said,  sir ;  about  his  son,  that  should 
have  married  a  shepnerd's  daughter. 

^ut.  If  that  shepherd  be  not  in  hand-fast,  let 
him  fly ;  the  curses  he  shall  have,  the  tortures  he 
shall  feel,  will  break  the  back  of  man,  the  heart  of 
monster. 

Clo.  Think  you  so,  sir  ? 

^ut.  Not  he  alone  shall  suffer  what  wit  can  make 
heavy,  and  vengeance  bitter;  but  those  that  are 
germane*  to  him,  though  removed  fifty  times,  shall 
all  come  under  the  hangman :  which  though  it  be 
great  pity,  yet  it  is  necessary.  An  old  sheep-%vhis- 
tling  rogue,  a  ram-tender,  to  offer  to  have  his  daugh- 
ter come  into  grace !  Some  say,  he  shall  be  stoned ; 
but  that  death  is  too  soft  for  him,  say  I :  Draw  our 
throne  into  a  sheep-cote !  all  deaths  are  too  few, 
the  sharpest  too  easy. 

Clo.  Has  the  old  man  e'er  a  son,  sir,  do  you 
hear,  an't  like  you,  sir  ? 

Jlut.  He  has  a  son,  who  shall  be  flayed  alive ; 
then,  'nointed  over  with  honev.  set  on  the  head  of 
a  wasp's  nest ;  then  stand,  till  he  be  three-quarters 
and  a  dram  dead :  then  recovered  again  with  aqua- 
•vitse,  or  some  other  hot  infusion :  then,  raw  as  he 
is,  and  in  the  hottest  day  prognostication  proclaims,' 
shall  be  set  against  a  brick  wall,  the  sun  looking 
with  a  southward  eye  upon  him ;  where  he  is  to  be- 
hold him,  with  flies  blown  to  death.  But  what  talk 
we  of  these  traitorly  rascals,  whose  miseries  are  to 
b«  smiled  at,  their  oflTences  being  so  capital  ?   Tell 

1 )  In  the  fact.  (2)  The  stately  tread  of  courtiers. 
iS)  Ciyole  or  force.  (4)  Related. 


me  ffor  you  seem  to  be  honest  plain  men,)  what 
you  nave  to  the  king :  being  something  gently  con- 
sidered,* I'll  bring  you  where  he  is  aboard,  tender 
your  persons  to  his  presence,  whisper  him  m  your 
behalfs  ;  and,  if  it  be  in  man,  besides  the  king  to 
effect  your  suits,  here  is  man  shall  do  it. 

Clo.  He  seems  to  be  of  great  authority ;  close 
with  him,  give  him  gold ;  and  though  authority  be 
a  stubborn  bear,  yet  he  is  oft  led  by  the  nose  with 
gold :  show  the  inside  of  your  purse  to  the  outside 
of  his  hand,  and  no  more  ado :  Remember  stoned, 
and  flayed  alive. 

Shep.  An't  please  you,  sir.  to  undertake  the  bu- 
siness for  us,  here  is  that  gold  I  have :  I'll  make  it 
as  much  more ;  and  leave  this  young  man  in  pawn, 
till  I  bring  it  you. 

^ut.  After  I  have  done  what  I  promised  ? 

Shep.  A}',  sir. 

^liU.  Well,  give  me  the  moiety :  — ^Are  you  a  party 
in  this  business  ? 

Clo.  In  some  sort,  sir :  but  though  my  case  be  a 
pitiful  one,  I  hope  I  shall  not  be  flayed  out  of  it. 

•Hut.  0,  that's  the  case  of  the  shepherd's  son : — 
Hang  him,  he'll  be  made  an  example. 

Clo.  Comfort,  good  comfort:  we  must  to  the 
king,  and  show  our  strange  sights  ;  he  must  know, 
'tis  none  of  your  daughter,  nor  my  sister ;  we  are 
gone  else.  Sir,  I  will  give  you  as  much  as  this  old 
man  does,  when  the  business  is  performed  ;  and  re- 
main, as  he  says,  your  pawn,  till  it  be  brought  you. 

^ut.  1  will  trust  you.  Walk  before  toward  the 
sea-side ;  go  on  the  right  hand ;  I  will  but  look 
upon  the  hedge,  and  follow  you. 

Clo.  We  are  blessed  in  this  man,  as  I  may  say, 
even  blessed. 

Shep.  Let's  before,  as  he  bids  us :  he  was  pro- 
vided to  do  us  good.       [Exeunt  Shep.  and  Clown. 

>dut.  If  I  had  a  mind  to  be  honest.  I  see,  fortune 
would  not  suffer  me ;  she  drops  booties  in  my 
mouth.  I  am  courted  now  with  a  double  occasion ; 
gold,  and  a  means  to  do  the  prince  my  master  good ; 
which,  who  knows  how  that  may  turn  back  to  my 
advancement  ?  I  will  bring  these  two  moles,  these 
blind  ones,  aboard  him :  if  he  think  it  fit  to  shore 
them  again,  and  that  the  complaint  thev  have  to  the 
king  concerns  him  nothing,  let  him  call  me  rogue, 
for  being  so  far  officious  ;  for  I  am  proof  against 
that  title,  and  vthat  else  shame  belongs  to't :  To 
him  will  I  present  them,  there  may  be  matter  in  it. 

[ExU. 


ACT  V. 


(» 


SCEJ^E  J.— Sicilia.  .4  room  in  the  palace  oj 
Leontes.  Enter  Leontes,  Cleomenes,  Dion,  Pau- 
lina, and  others. 

Cleo.  Sir,  you  have  done  enough,  and  have  per- 
form'd 
A  saint-like  sorrow :  no  fault  could  you  make. 
Which  you  have  not  redeem'd  ;  indeed,  paid  down 
More  penitence,  than  done  trespass :  At  the  last 
Do,  as  the  heavens  have  done  ;  forget  your  evil  •' 
With  them,  forgive  yourself. 

Leon.  Whilst  I  remember 

Her,  and  her  virtues,  I  cannot  forget 
My  blemishes  in  them  ;  and  so  still  think  of 
The  wrong  I  did  myself:  which  was  so  much, 
That  heirless  it  hath  made  my  kingdom  ;  and 
Destroy'd  the  sAveet'st  companion,  tliat  e'er  man 
Bred  his  hopes  out  of. 

(5)  The  hottest  day  foretold  in  the  almanac. 

(6)  Being  handsomely  bribed. 


Se«n</. 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


Paul.  True,  too  true,  my  lord : 

If,  one  by  one,  you  wedded  all  ihe  world, 
Or,  from  the  all  that  are,  took  something  prood, 
To  make  a  perfect  woman  ;  she,  you  kill'd, 
Would  be  unparallel'd. 

Leon.  I  think  so.    Kill'd  ? 

She  I  kill'd  ?   I  did  so  :  but  thou  strik'st  me 
Sorely,  to  say  I  did  ;  it  is  as  bitter       , 
Upon  thy  tongue,  as  in  my  thought :   Now,  good 

now, 
Sav  so  but  seldom. 

Cieo.  Not  at  all,  good  lady : 

You  might   have  spoken  a  thousand  things  that 

would 
Have  done  the  time  more  benefit,  and  grac'd 
Your  kindness  better. 

Paid.  You  are  one  of  those, 

Would  have  him  wed  again. 

Dion.  If  you  would  not  so, 

You  pity  not  the  state,  nor  the  remembrance 
Of  his  most  sovereign  dame  ;  consider  little, 
What  dangers,  by  his  hitrhness'  fail  of  issue. 
May  drop  upon  His  kingdom,  and  devour 
Incertain  lookers-on.    What  were  more  holy, 
Than  to  rejoice,  the  former  queen  is  well  ? ' 
What  holier,  than, — for  royalty's  repair, 
For  present  comfort  and  for  future  good, — 
To  bless  the  bed  of  majesty  again 
With  a  sweet  fellow  to't  ? 

Paul.  There  is  none  worthy, 

Respecting  her  that's  gone.     Besides,  the  gods 
Will  have  fulfill'd  their  secret  purposes  : 
For  has  not  the  divine  Apollo  said, 
Is't  not  the  tenor  of  his  oracle, 
That  king  Leontes  shall  not  have  an  heir, 
Till  his  lost  child  be  found  ?  which,  that  it  shall, 
Is  all  as  monstrous  to  our  human  reason. 
As  my  .\nliganus  to  break  his  grave. 
And  come  again  to  me  ;  who,  on  my  life. 
Did  perish  with  the  infant.    'Tis  your  counsel, 
My  lord  should  to  the  heavens  be  contrary, 

Oppose  against  their  will. Care  not  for  issue  ; 

[To  Leonte:?. 
The  crown  will  find  an  heir :  Great  Alexander 
Ijcft  his  to  the  worthiest ;  so  his  successor 
Was  like  to  be  the  best, 

Leon.                            Good  Paulina, — 
Who  has  the  memory  of  Hermione, 
I  know,  in  honour, — O,  that  ever  1 
Had  squar'd  me  to  thy  counsel  I — then,  even  now, 
I  might  have  look'd  upon  my  queen's  full  eyes  ; 
Have  taken  treasure  from  her  lips, 

Paul.  And  left  them 

More  rich,  for  what  they  yielded. 

Leon.  Thou  speak'st  truth. 

No  more  such  wives ;  therefore,  no  wife :  one  worse. 
And  better  us'd,  would  make  her  sainted  spirit 
Aeain  possess  her  corpse  ;  and,  on  this  stage 
(Where  we  offenders  now  appear,)  soul-vcx'd, 
Begin,  »3nd  why  to  me  ? 

Paid.  Had  she  such  poiver. 

She  had  just  cause. 

Leon.  She  had  ;  and  would  incense^  me 

To  murder  her  I  married. 

Paid.  I  should  so : 

Were  I  the  ghost  that  walk'd,  I'd  bid  yoa  mark 
Her  eye  ;  and  tell  me,  for  what  dull  part  in't 
You  chose  her :  then  I'd  shriek,  that  even  yourear« 
Should  riH'  to  hear  me ;  and  the  words  that  follow'd 
Should  be,  Remeniber  mine, 

Leon,  Stars,  very  stars, 


(1)  At  rest,  dead. 
(3)  Split. 


(2)  Instigate. 
(4)  Meet. 


And  all  eyea  else  dead  coals !— fear  tnon  no  wift, 
I'll  have  no  wife,  Paulina. 

Patd,  Will  your  swear 

Never  to  marry,  but  by  my  free  leave  ? 

Leon,  Never,  Paulina;  so  be  bless'd  my  spirit ! 

Paul.  Then,  good  my  lords,  bear  witness  to  hia 
oath. 

Cleo.  You  tempt  lum  over-much. 

Paid.  Unless  another, 

As  like  Hermione  as  is  her  picture, 
Affront*  his  eye. 

Cleo,  "       Good  madam, — 

Paul,  I  have  done. 

Yet,  if  my  lord  will  marry, — if  you  will,  sir, 
No  remedy,  but  you  will ;  give  me  the  oflace 
1o  choose  you  a  queen  :  she  shall  not  be  so  young 
As  was  your  former  ;  but  she  shall  be  such, 
.\s,  waik'd   your  first  queen's   ghost,    it  should 

take  joy 
To  see  her  in  your  arms. 

Leon,  My  true  Paulina, 

We  shall  not  marry,  till  thou  bidd'st  us. 

Pmd.  That 

Shall  be,  when  your  first  queen's  again  in  breath  ; 
Never  till  then. 

Enter  a  Gentleman. 

Gent,  One  tliat  gives  out  himself  prince  Florizel, 
Son  of  Polixenes,  with  his  princess, '(she 
The  fairest  I  have  yet  beheld,)  desires  access 
To  your  high  presence. 

Leon.  What  with  him  ?  he  comes  not 

Like  to  his  father's  greatness :  his  approach. 
So  out  of  circumstance,  and  sudden,  tells  us, 
'TIS  not  a  visitation  fram'd,  but  forc'd 
By  need,  and  accident.    What  train  ? 

Gent,  But  few. 

And  those  but  mean. 

Leon,  His  pruices?,  say  you,  with  him  ? 

Gmt,  Ay ;  the  most  peerless  piece  of  earth,  I 
think. 
That  e'er  the  sun  shone  bright  on. 

Paid,  0  Hermione, 

As  every  present  time  doth  boast  itself 
Above  a  better,  gone  ;  so  must  thy  grave 
Give  way  to  Avhat's  seen  now.    Sir,  you  yourself 
Have  said,  and  writ  so,  (but  your  writing  now 
Is  colder  than  that  theme,')  She  had  not  been, 
^''or  Kos  not  to  be  equalPd ; — thus  vour  verse 
Flow'd  with  her  beauty  once  ;  'tis  shrewdly  ebb'd. 
To  say,  you  have  seen  a  better. 

Gent,  Pardon,  madam : 

The  one  I  have  almost  forgot ;  (your  pardon,) 
The  other,  when  she  has  obtain'd  your  eye, 
Will  have  your  tongue  too.  This  is  such  a  creature, 
Would  she  begin  a  sect,  might  quench  the  zeal 
Of  all  professors  else  ;  make  proselytes 
Of  who  she  but  bid  follow. 

Patd,     ^  How  ?  not  women  ? 

Gent.  Women  will  love  her,  that  she  is  a  woman 
More  worth  than  any  man  ;  men,  that  she  is 
The  rarest  of  all  women. 

Leon,  Go,  Cleomenes ;  ♦ 

Yourself,  assisted  with  your  honour'd  friends, 
Bring  them  to  our  embracement. — Still  'tis  strange, 
[Exerml  Cleomenes,  Lords,  and  Gentlemen. 
He  thus  should  steal  upon  us. 

Pavl.  Had  our  prince 

(Jewel  of  children.)  seen  this  hour,  he  had  pair'd 
Well  with  this  lord  ;  there  was  not  full  a  month 
Between  their  births. 

(5)  J.  e.  Than  the  corse  of  Hermione,  the  sab  , 
ject  of  your  writing. 

2  P 


298 


WINTER'S  TALE, 


Jet  V. 


Ltwi.               Pr'ythee,  no  more :  thou  know'til 
He  dies  to  me  again,  when  talk'd  of:  sure, 
When  I  shall  see  this  gentleman,  tlij  speeches 
Will  bring  me  to  consider  that,  which  may 
Unfurnish  me  of  reason. — They  are  come. 

Re-enter  Cleomenes,  xcith  Florizel,  Perdita,  and 
attendants. 

Your  mother  was  most  true  to  wedlock,  prince ; 
For  she  did  print  your  royal  fatlier  off^ 
Conceiving  you :  Were  I  but  twenty-one, 
Your  father's  image  is  so  hit  in  you. 
His  very  air,  that  I  should  call  you  brother, 
As  I  dia  him  ;  and  speak  of  something,  wildly 
By  us  perform'd  before.     Most  dearly  Avelcome  ! 
And  your  fair  princess,  goddess  ! — O,  alas ! 
I  lost  a  couple,  that  'twixt  heaven  and  earth 
Might  thus  have  stood,  begetting  wonder,  as 
You,  gracious  couple,  do !  and  then  I  lost 
(AH  mine  own  folly.)  the  society. 
Amity  too,  of  your  brave  father ;  whom. 
Though  bearing  misery,  I  desire  my  life 
Once  more  to  look  upon. 

Flo.  By  his  command 

Have  I  here  touch'd  Sicilia  ;  and  from  him 
Gi>e  you  all  greetings,  that  a  king,  at  friend. 
Can  send  his  brother  :  and,  but  inSrmity 
(Which  waits  upon  worn  time,)  hath  something 

seiz'd 
His  wish'd  ability,  he  had  himself 
The  lands  and  waters  'twixt  your  throne  and  liis 
Measur'd,  to  look  upon  you  ;  whom  he  loves 
(He  bade  me  say  so,)  more  than  all  the  sceptres. 
And  those  that  bear  them,  living. 

Leon.  0,  my  brother, 

(Good  gentleman  !)  the  wrongs  I  have  done  thee, 

stir 
Afresh  within  me  ;  and  these  thy  ofSces, 
So  rarely  kind,  are  as  interpreters 
Of  my  behind-hand  slackness  ! — Welcome  hither, 
As  is  the  spring  to  the  earth.     And  hath  he  too 
Expos'd  this  paragon  to  the  fearful  «sage 
(At  least,  ungentle,)  of  the  dreadful  Neptune, 
To  greet  a  man,  not  worth  her  pains  ;  much  less 
The  adventure  of  her  person  ? 

Flo.  Good  my  lord. 

She  came  from  Libya. 

Leon.  ^Vherc  the  warlike  Smalus, 

That  noble  honour'd  lord,  is  fcar'd,  and  lov'd  ? 

Flo.   Most  royal  sir,  from  thence;   from  him, 
whose  daughter 
His  tears  proclaim'd  his,  parting  with  her :  thence 
( A  prosperous  south- wind  friendly, )  we  have  cross'd, 
To  execute  the  charge  my  father  gave  me. 
For  visiting  your  highness :  My  best  train 
I  have  from  your  Sicilian  shores  dismiss'd ; 
Who  for  Bohemia  bend,  to  signify 
Not  only  my  success  in  Libya,  sir. 
But  my  arrival,  and  my  wife's,  in  safety 
Here,  where  we  are. 

Leon.  The  blessed  ^ods 

Purge  all  infection  from  our  air,  whilst  you 
Do  climate  here !  You  have  a  holy  father, 
A  graceful'  gentleman  ;  against  whose  person, 
So  sacred  as  it  is,  I  have  done  sin : 
For  which  the  heavens,  taking  angry  note. 
Have  left  me  issueless  ;  and  your  father's  bless'd 
(As  he  from  heaven  merits  it,)  with  you. 
Worthy  his  goodness.    What  might  I  have  been, 
Might!  a  son  and  daughter  now  have  look'd  on, 
Such  goodly  things  as  you  ? 

vl)  Full  of  grace  and  virtue. 

(2)  Seize,  arrest.       (3)  Conversation. 


Enter  a  Lord. 


Lm-d.  Most  noble  sir, 

That,  which  I  shall  report,  will  bear  no  credit, 
Were  not  the  proof  so  nigh.    Please  you,  great  sir, 
Bohemia  greets  you  from  himself,  by  me : 
Desires  you  to  attach^  his  son  ;  who  has 

iHis  dignity  and  duty  both  cast  off,) 
'led  from  his  father,  from  his  hopes,  and  with 
A  shepherd's  daughter. 

Leon.  Where's  Bohemia  ?  speak. 

Lord.  Here  in  the  city  ;  I  now  came  from  him. 
I  speak  amazedly ;  and  it  becomes 
My  marvel,  and  my  message.     To  your  court 
Whiles  he  was  hast'ning  (in  the  chase,  it  seems, 
Of  this  fair  couple,)  meets  he  on  the  way 
The  father  of  this  seeming  lady,  and 
Her  brother,  having  both  tJieir  country  quitted 
With  this  young  prince. 

Flo.  Camillo  has  betray'd  me  ; 

VMiose  honour,  and  ivhose  honesty,  till  now, 
Endur'd  all  weathers. 

Lord.  Lay't  so,  to  his  charge , 

He's  with  the  king  vour  father. 

Leo7i.  AVho?  Camillo? 

I^rd.  Camillo,  sir;  I  spake  with  him  ;  who  now 
Has  these  poor  men  in  question.^    Never  saw  I 
Wretches  so  quake  :  they  kneel,  they  kiss  the  earth ; 
Forswear  themselves  as  often  as  they  speak : 
Bohemia  stops  his  cars,  and  threatens  them 
With  divers  deaths  in  death. 

Per.  O,  my  poor  father ! — 

The  heaven  sets  spies  upon  us,  will  not  have 
Our  contract  celebrated. 

Leon.  You  are  married  ? 

Flo.  We  are  not,  sir,  nor  are  we  like  to  be  ; 
The  stars,  I  see,  will  kiss  the  valleys  first : — 
The  odds  for  high  and  low's  alike.* 

Leon.  My  lord, 

Is  this  the  daughter  of  a  king  ? 

Flo.  She  is, 

When  once  she  is  my  wife. 

Leon.  That  once,"  I  see,  by  your  good  father's 
speed, 
Will  come  on  very  slowly.    I  am  sorry, 
Most  sorry,  you  have  broken  from  his  liking, 
Where  you  were  tied  in  duty  :  and  as  sorry. 
Your  choice  is  not  so  rich  in  worth'  as  beauty, 
That  you  might  well  enjoy  her. 

Flo.  '  Dear,  look  up  : 

Though  fortune,  visible  an  enemy. 
Should  chase  us,  with  my  father ;  power  no  jot 
Hath  she,  to  chan!.'e  our  loves. — 'Beseech  you,  sir, 
Remember  since  you  ow'd  no  more  to  time 
Than  I  do  now :  with  thought  of  your  affections. 
Step  forth  mine  advocate  ;  at  your  request. 
My  father  will  grant  precious  things,  as  trifles. 

Leon.  Would  he  do  so,  I'd  beg  your  precious 
mistress. 
Which  he  counts  but  a  trifle. 

Pmd.  Sir,  my  liege. 

Your  eye  hath  too  much  youth  in't :  not  a  month 
'Fore  your  queen  died,  she  was  more  worth  such 

gazes 
Than  what  you  look  on  now. 

Leon.  I  thought  of  her. 

Even  in  these  looks  I  made. — But  your  petition 

fToFlorizeL 
Is  yet  unanswer'd  :  I  will  to  your  father  ; 
Your  honour  not  o'erthrown  by  your  desires, 
I  am  a  friend  to  them,  and  you :  upon  which  errand 
I  now  go  tov.'ard  him  ;  therefore,  follow  me, 

(4)  A  quibble  on  the  false  dice  so  called, 

(5)  Descent  or  wealth. 


Seetu  11. 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


299 


And  mark  what  way  I  makd:  Come,  eood  myiencounter,  which  lames  report  to  follow  it,  and  un- 
lord.  \Exnint.  I  does  description  to  do  it. 

2  Gent.  What,  pray  you,  became  of  Antigonus, 


En- 


SCE.VE  II.— The  same.    Before  the  palace 
ter  Autolycus  atid  a  Gentleman. 

^iul.  'Beseech  you,  sir,  were  you  present  at  this 
relation  ? 

1  Gent.  I  was  by  at  the  opening  of  the  fardel, 
heard  the  old  shepherd  deliver  the  manner  hoiy  he 
found  it :  whereupon,  after  a  little  amazedness,  we 
were  all  commanded  out  of  the  chamber  ;  only 
this,  methought  I  heard  the  shepherd  say,  he  found 
the  child. 

JliU.  I  would  most  gladly  know  the  issue  of  it. 

1  Gent.  I  make  a  broken  delivery  of  the  business : 
— But  the  changes  I  perceived  in  the  king,  and 
C.imillo,  were  very  notes  of  admiration  :  they 
8'jemcd  almost,  with  staring  on  one  another,  to  tear 
the  cases  of  their  eyes ;  tiiere  was  speech  in  their 
dumbness,  languas^e  in  their  very  treslurc  ;  they 
looked,  as  they  had  heard  of  a  world  ransomed,  or 
one  destroyed :  A  notable  passion  of  wonder  ap- 
peared hi  them :  but  the  wisest  beholder,  that  knew 
no  more  but  seeing,  could  not  say,  if  the  importance' 
were  joy,  or  sorrow :  but  in  the  extremity  of  the 
one,  it  must  needs  be. 

Enler  another  Gentleman. 

Here  comes  a  gentleman,  that,  happily,  knows  more: 
The  news,  Rogero  ? 

2  Gent.  Nothing  but  bonfires  :  The  oracle  is  ful- 
filled ;  the  king's  daughter  is  found  :  such  a  deal 
of  wonder  is  broken  out  within  this  hour,  that  bal- 
lad-makers cannot  be  able  to  express  it. 

Enter  a  third  Gentleman. 

Here  comes  the  lady  Paulina's  steward;  he  can 
deliver  vou  more. — How  jrocs  it  now,  sir?  this 
news,  which  is  called  true,  is  so  like  an  old  tale, 
that  the  veritv  of  it  is  in  strong  suspicion :  Has 
the  king  found  his  heir  ? 

3  Gent.  Most  true  ;  if  ever  truth  were  pregnant 
by  circumstance :  that,  which  vou  hear,  you'll 
swear  you  see,  there  is  such  unity  in  the  proofs. 
The  mantle  of  queen  Hermione : — her  jewel  about 
the  neck  of  it :  — the  letters  of  Antigonus,  found 
with  it,  which  they  know  to  be  his  character : — the 


that  carried  hence  the  child  ? 

3  Gent.  Like  an  old  tale  still ;  which  will  haTe 
matter  to  rehearse,  though  credit  be  asleep,  and 
not  an  ear  open :  He  was  torn  to  pieces  with  a 
bear :  this  avouches  the  shepherd's  son  ;  who  has 
not  only  his  innocence  (which  seems  much,)  to  jus- 
tify him,  but  a  handkerchief,  and  rings,  of  his,  that 
Paulina  knows. 

1  Gent.  AVhat  became  of  his  bark,  and  his  fol- 
lowers ? 

3  Gent.  Wrecked,  the  same  instant  of  their 
master's  death  j  and  in  the  view  of  the  shepherd  : 
so  that  all  the  instruments,  which  aided  to  expose 
the  child,  were  even  then  lost,  when  it  was  found. 
But,  O,  the  noble  combat,  that,  'twixt  joy  and  sor- 
row, was  fom5ht  in  Paulina !  She  had  one  eye  de- 
clined for  the  loss  of  her  husband  ;  another  elevated 
that  the  oracle  was  fulfilled  :  She  lifted  the  prin- 
[cess  from  the  earth ;  and  so  locks  her  in  embracing, 
as  if  !.he  would  pin  her  to  her  heart,  that  she  might 
no  more  be  in  danger  of  losing. 

1  Gent.  The  dignity  of  this  act  was  worth  the 
audience  of  kings  and  princes ;  for  by  such  was  it 
acted. 

3  Gent.  One  of  the  prettiest  touches  of  all,  and 
that  which  angled  for  mine  eyes  (caught  the  water, 
though  not  the  fish,)  was,  when  at  the  relation  of 
the  queen's  death,  with  the  manner  how  she  came 
to  it,  (bravely  confessed,  and  lamented  by  the  king,) 
how  attcntiveness  wounded  his  daughter :  till,  from 
one  sign  of  dolour  to  another,  she  did,  with  an 
(das  !  1  would  fain  say,  bleed  tears  ;  for,  I  am  sure, 
my  heart  wept  blood.  W' ho  was  most  marble  there,* 
changed  colour ;  some  swooned,  all  sorrowed :  if 
all  the  world  could  have  seen  it,  the  wo  had  been 
universal. 

1  Gent.  Are  they  returned  to  the  court  ? 

3  Gent.  No:  the  princess  hearing  of  her  mother's 
statue,  which  is  in  the  keeping  of  Paulina, — a  piece 
many  years  in  doing,  and  now  newly  performed  by 
that  rare  Italian  master,  Julio  Romano  ;  who,  had 
he  himself  eternity,  and  could  nut  breath  into  his 
work,  would  beguile  Nature  of  her  custom,  so  per- 
fectly he  is  her  ape :  he  so  near  to  Hermione  hath 
done  Hermione,  that,  they  say,  one  would  speak  to 


majesty  of  the  creature,  in  resemblance  of  theiher,  ar.d  stand  in  hope  of  answer:  thither,  with  all 
mother; — the  affection^  of  nobleness,  which  naturelgreediness  of  afiection,  are  lliey  gone  ;  and  there 
shows  above  her  breeding, — and  many  other  evi- 1  they  intend  to  sup. 

dences,  proclaim  her,  with  all  certainty,  to  be  the  2  Gent.  I  thought,  she  had  some  great  matter 
king's  daughter.  Did  you  see  the  meeting  of  the  there  in  hand;  for  she  hath  privately,  twice  or 
two  kings?  '  I  thrice  a  day,  ever  since  the  death  of  Hermione. 

2  Gent.  No.  j  visited  that  removed"  house.     Shall  we  thither,  ana 

3  Gent.  Then  have  you  lost  a  sin-ht,  which  waslwith  our  company  piece  the  rejoicing? 

to  be  seen,  cannot  be  spoken  of.    There  might  you  |     1  Gsnf.  Who  would  be  thence,  that  has  the  bene- 
have  beheld  one  jov  crown  another;    so,  and  inifit  of  access?   every  wink  of  an  eye,  some  new 
such  manner,  that,  ft  seemed,  sorrow  wept  to  take  grace  will  be  born:  our  absence  makes  as  unthrifty 
leave  of  them ;  for  their  joy  waded  in  tears.  There  i  to  om*  knowledge.    Let's  alon^ 
was  casting  up  of  eyes,  holding  up  of  hands;  with  [Ezwji/ Gentlemen, 

countenance  of  such  distraction,  that  thev  were  to  Ait.  Now,  had  I  not  the  dash  of  my  former  life 
be  known  by  garment,  not  by  favour.'  Our  king, 'in  me,  would  preferment  drop  on  my  head.  I 
being  ready  to  leap  out  of  himself  for  joy  of  his  |  brought  the  old  man  and  his  son  aboard  the  prince; 
found  daughter ;  as  if  that  joy  were  now  become jtold  him,  I  heard  liim  talk  of  a  fardel,  and  I  know 
a  loss,  cries,  O,  thy  mother,  thy  mother !  then  asks  not  what:  but  he  at  that  time,  over-fond  of  the 
Bohemia  forgiveness;  then  embraces  his  son-in- 1  shepherd's  daughter,  (so  he  then  took  her  to  be.) 
law;  then  again  worries  he  his  daujjhter,  with  j  who  began  to  be  much  sea-sick,  and  himself  little 
clipping*  her;  now  he  thanks  the  old  shepherd, | better,  extremity  of  weather  continuing,  this  mys- 
which  stands  by,  like  a  weather-beaten  conduit  ofjtery  remained  undiscovered.  But  'tis  all  one  to 
many  kings'  reigns.    I  never  heard  of  such  another!  me :  for  had  I  been  the  Cnder-out  of  this  secret,  it 


(1)  The  thing  imported. 

(2)  Disposition  or  quality. 


(3^  Countenance,  features.        (4)  Embracing. 
(5)  Most  petrified  v.ith  wonder.     (6)  Remote. 


aoo 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


MW, 


weuld  not  hare  relished  among  my  other  discredits. 

Enter  Shepherd  and  Clown. 
Here  come  those  I  have  done  good  to  against  mj 
will,  and  already  appearing  in  the  blossoms  of  their 
fortune. 

Skep.  Come,  boy ;  I  am  past  more  children ;  but 
thy  sons  and  daughters  will  be  all  gentlemen  born. 

Clo.  You  are  well  met,  sir :  You  denied  to  fight 
with  me  this  other  dav,  because  I  %vas  no  gentle- 
man bom :  See  you  these  clothes  ?  say,  you  see 
them  not,  and  think  me  still  no  gentleman  born : 
vou  were  best  say,  these  robes  are  not  gentlemen 
born.  Give  me  the  lie  ;  do ;  and  try  whether  I  am 
n6t  now  a  gentleman  born, 

^ut.  I  know,  you  are  now,  sir,  a  gentleman  born. 

Clo,  Aj',  and  nave  been  so  any  time  these  four 
hours. 

Shep.  And  so  have  I,  boy. 

Clo.  So  you  have : — but  I  was  a  gentleman  bom 
before  my  father  :  for  the  king's  son  took  me  by  the 
hand,  and  called  me,  brother ;  and  then  the  two 
kings  called  my  father,  brother  ;  and  then  the 
prince,  my  brother,  and  the  princess,  my  sister, 
called  my  father,  father ;  and  so  we  wept :  and 
there  was  the  first  gentleman-like  tears  that  ever 
we  shed. 

Shtp.  We  may  live,  son,  to  shed  many  more. 

Clo.  Ay  ;  or  else  'twere  hard  luck,  being  in  so 
preposterous  estate  as  we  are. 

»3M^  I  humbly  beseech  you,  sir,  to  pardon  me 
all  tlie  faults  I  have  committed  to  your  lyorship, 
and  to  give  me  your  good  report  to  the  prince  my 
master. 

Shep.  'Pr'ythee,  son,  do ;  for  we  must  be  gentle, 
now  we  are  gentlemen. 

Clo.  Thou  wilt  amend  tiiy  life  ? 

Jlut.  Ay,  an  it  like  your  good  worship. 
.  Clo,    Give  me  thy  hand  :  I    will  sAvear  to  the 
prince,  thou  art  as  honest  a  true  fellow  as  any  is  in 
Bohemia. 

Shep.  You  may  say  it,  but  not  swear  it. 

Clo.  Not  swear  it,  now  I  am  a  gentleman  ?  Let 
boors  and  franklins'  say  if,  I'll  sivear  it. 

Shep.  How  if  it  be  false,  son  ? 

Clo,  If  it  be  ne'er  so  false,  a  true  gentleman  mav 
swear  it  in  the  behalf  of  his  friend: — And  I'll 
swear  to  the  prince,  thou  art  a  tall*  fellow  of  thy 
hands,  and  that  thou  wilt  not  be  drunk ;  but  i 
know,  thou  art  no  tall-fellow  of  thy  hands,  and  that 
thou  wilt  be  drunk ;  but  I'll  swear  it:  and  I  would, 
thou  would'st  be  a  tall  fellow  of  thy  hands. 

i?m(.  I  will  prove  so,  sir,  to  my  i)ower. 

Clo,  Ay,  bv  any  means  prove  a  tall  fellow  :  if  I 
do  not  wontler,  now  thou  darest  venture  to  be 
drunk,  not  being  a  tall  fellow,  trust  me  not. — Hark ! 
the  kings  and  the  princes,  our  kindred,  are  going 
to  see  the  queen's  picture.  Come,  follow  us :  we'll 
be  thy  good  masters.  [Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E  III.— The  same.    Jl  room  in  Paulina's 
house.    Enter  Leontes,  Polixenes,  Florizel,  Per- 
dita,  Camillo,  Paulina,  Lords,  and  Jlttendants. 
Leon.  0  grave  and  good  Paulina,  the  great  com- 
fort 
Tiiat  I  have  had  of  tliee ! 

Paxil.  What,  sovereisrn  sir, 

I  did  not  well,  1  meant  well :  All  my  services. 
You  have  paid  home :  but  that  you  have  vouchsaf 'd 
With  your  cron-n'd  brother,  and  these  your  con- 
tracted 
Heirs  of  your  kingdoms,  my  poor  house  to  visit, 


(1)  Teoraen. 


(2)  Stout. 


It  is  a  surplus  of  your  grace,  which  aerer 
My  life  may  last  to  answer. 

Leon.  O  Paulina, 

We  honour  you  with  trouble :  But  we  came 
To  see  the  statue  of  onr  queen  :  your  gallery 
Have  we  pass'd  through,  not  without  much  content 
In  many,  singularities  ;  but  we  saw  not 
That  which  my  daughter  came  to  look  upon, 
The  statue  of  her  mother. 

Paid.  As  she  liv'd  peerless, 

So  her  dead  likeness,  I  do  well  believe, 
Excels  whatever  yet  you  look'd  upon. 
Or  hand  of  man  hath  done  ;  therefore  I  keep  it 
Lonely,  apart :  But  here  it  is :  prepare 
To  see  the  life  as  lively  mock'd,  as  ever 
Still  sleep  mock'd  death:  behold;  and  say, 'tis  well. 
[Paulina  undraws  a  curtain,  and  dis- 
covers a  statue. 
I  like  your  silence,  it  the  more  shows  off 
Your  wonder:  But  yet  speak ; — first,  you,  my  liege. 
Comes  it  not  something  near  ? 

Leon.  Her  natural  posture  !— 

Chide  me,  dear  stone ;  that  I  may  say,  mdeed. 
Thou  art  Hermione  :  or,  rather,  thou  art  she, 
In  thy  not  chiding ;  for  she  was  as  tender. 
As  infancy,  and  grace. — But  yet,  Paulina, 
Hermione  was  not  so  much  wrinkled ;  nothing 
So  aged,  as  this  seems. 

Pol.  0,  not  by  much. 

Paid.  So  much  the  more  our  carver's  excellence : 
Which  lets  £;o  by  some  sixteen  years,  and  makes  her 
.\s  she  liv'd  now. 

Leon.  As  now  she  might  have  done. 

So  much  to  my  good  comfort,  as  it  is 
Now  piercing  to  my  soul.    O,  thus  she  stood, 
FiVcn  with  such  life  of  majesty,  ^warm  life, 
As  now  it  coldly  stands,)  when  first  I  woo'd  her ! 
I  am  asham'd  :  Docs  not  the  stone  rebuke  me. 
For  being  more  stone  than  it  ? — O,  royal  piece, 
There's  magic  in  thy  majesty ;  ■\vhich  has 
My  evils  conjur'd  to  remembrance ;  and 
From  thy  admiring  daughter  took  the  spirits. 
Standing  like  stone  with  thee  ! 

Per.  And  give  me  leave ; 

And  do  not  say,  'tis  superstition,  that 
I  kneel,  and  then  implore  her  blessing. — Lady, 
Dear  queen,  that  ended  when  I  but  began, 
Give  me  that  hand  of  yours,  to  kiss. 

Paul.  0,  patience, 

The  statue  is  but  newly  fixed,  the  colour's 
Not  dry. 

Cam.  My  lord,  your  sorrow  was  too  sore  laid  on : 
Which  sLxteen  winters  cannot  blow  away, 
So  many  summers,  dry :  scarce  any  joy 
Did  ever  so  long  live ;  no  sorrow. 
But  kill'd  itself  much  sooner. 

Pol.  Dear  my  brother, 

Let  him,  that  ivas  the  cause  of  this,  have  power 
To  take  oH'so  much  grief  from  you,  as  he 
Will  piece  up  in  himself. 

Paid.  Indeed,  my  lord. 

If  I  had  thought,  the  sight  of  my  poor  image 
Would  thus  have  wrought^  you,  (for  the  stone  '» 

mine,) 
I'd  not  have  show'd  it. 

Leon.  Do  not  draw  the  curtain. 

Paul.  No  longer  shall  you  gaze  on't ;  lest  youi 
fancy 
May  think  aiion,  it  moves. 

Leon.  Let  be,  let  be. 

Would  I  were  dead,  hut  that  methinks  already— 
What  was  he,  that  did  make  it  ? — Sec,  my  lord, 


(3)  Worked,  agitated. 


Seme  III. 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


doi 


Would  you  not  deem,  it  breath'd  ?  and  that  those 

veins 
Did  verily  bear  blood  ? 

Pol.  Masterly  done  : 

The  very  life  seems  warm  upon  her  lip. 

Leon.  The  fixure  of  her  eye  has  motion  in't,' 
As*  we  are  mock'd  with  art. 

Paul.  I'll  draw  the  .curtain  ; 

My  lord's  almost  so  far  transported,  that 
He'll  think  anon,  it  lives. 

Leon.  O  sweet  Paulina, 

Make  me  to  think  so  twenty  vears  together ; 
No  settled  senses  of  the  world  can  match 
The  pleasure  of  that  madness.     Left  alone. 

Paiil,   I  am  sorry,  sir,  I  have  thus  far  stirr'd 
you :  but 
I  could  afflict  you  further. 

Leon.  Do,  Paulina ; 

For  this  affliction  has  a  taste  as  sweet 
As  any  cordial  comfort. — Still,  methinks, 
There  is  an  air  comes  fr»m  her :  What  iine  chisel 
Could  ever  yet  cut  breath  ?  Let  no  man  mock  me, 
For  I  will  kiss  her. 

Paul.  Good  my  lord,  forbear : 

The  ruddiness  upon  her  lip  is  wet ; 
You'll  mar  it,  if  you  kiss  it ;  stain  your  own 
W^ith  oily  paintinar :  Shall  I  draw  the  curtain  ? 

Leon.  No,  not  these  twenty  years. 

Per.  So  long  could  I 

Stand  by,  a  looker  on. 

Paul.  Either  forbear, 

Quit  presently  the  chapel ;  or  resolve  you 
For  more  amazement :  If  vou  can  behold  it, 
I'll  make  the  statue  move  indeed  ;  descend. 
And  take  you  by  the  hand :  but  then  you'll  think 
(Which  I  protest  a^nst,)  I  am  assisted 
By  wicked  powers. 

Leon.  What  you  can  make  her  do, 

I  am  content  to  look  on  :  what  to  speak, 
I  am  content  to  hear  ;  for  'tis  as  easy 
To  make  her  speak,  as  more. 

Paul.  It  is  requir'd, 

You  do  awake  your  faith:  Then,  all  stand  still ; 
Or  those,  that  think  it  is  unlawful  business 
I  am  about,  let  them  depart. 

Leon.  Proceed ; 

No  foot  shall  stir, 

Paul.  Music :  awake  her :  strike — 

'Tis  time ;  descend  ;  be  stone  no  more ;  approach ; 
Strike  all  that  look  upon  with  marvel.    Come  ; 
I'll  fill  your  grave  up :  stir ;  nay,  come  away ; 
Bequeath  to  death  your  numbness,  for  from  him 
Dear  life  redeems  you. — You  perceive,  she  stirs  : 

[Hermione  comes  doicnfrom  the  pedestal. 
Start  not:  her  actions  shall  be  holy,  as, 
You  hear,  my  spell  is  lawful :  do  not  shun  her, 
Until  you  see  her  die  again  ;  for  then 
You  kill  her  double  :  Nay,  present  your  hand  : 
When  she  was  young,  you  woo'd  her ;  now,  in  aee, 
Is  she  become  the  suitor. 

Leon.  0,  she's  warm !  [Embracing  her. 

If  this  be  maaic,  let  it  be  an  art 
Lawful  as  eating. 

(1)  i.  e.  Though  her  eye  be  fixed,  it  seems  to  have 
motion  in  it. 

(2)  As  if. 


Pol.  She  embraces  him. 

Cam.  She  hangs  about  his  neck ; 
If  she  pertain  to  life,  let  her  speak  too. 

Pol.  Ay,  and  make't  manifest  where  she  has 
liv'd. 
Or,  how  stol'n  from  the  dead. 

Paid.  That  she  is  living, 

AVere  it  but  told  you,  should  be  hooted  at 
Like  an  old  tale ;  but  it  appears,  she  lives. 
Though  yet  she  speak  not.    Mark  a  little  while. — 
Please  you  to  interpose,  fair  madam ;  kneel, 
And  prav  vour  mother's  blessing. — Turn,   good 

lady; 
Our  Perdita  is  found. 

[Prese7i/t»»^  Per.  toho  kneels  to  Her. 

Her.  You  gods,  look  down, 

And  from  your  sacred  vials  pour  your  graces 
Upon  my  daughter's  head ! — Tell  me,  mine  own, 
Uhere  bast  thou  been  preserv'd?  where  liv'd? 

how  found 
Thy  father's  court  ?  for  thou  shalt  hear,  that  I, — 
Knowing  by  Paulina,  that  the  oracle 
Gave  hope  thou  wast  in  being, — ^have  preserv'd 
Myself,  to  see  the  issue. 

Paul.  There's  time  enough  for  that ; 

Lest  they  desire,  upon  this  push  to  trouble 
Your  joys  ivith  like  relation. — Go  together. 
You  precious  winners^  all ;  your  exultation 
Partake*  to  every  one.    I,  an  old  turtle. 
Will  wing  me  to  some  wither'd  bough  ;  and  there 
My  mate,  that's  never  to  be  found  again, 
Lament  till  I  am  lost. 

Leoji.  O  peace,  Paulina ; 

Thou  should'st  a  husband  tate  by  my  consent, 
As  I  by  thine,  a  wife :  this  is  a  match. 
And  made  between's  by  vows.    Thou  hast  found 

mine ; 
But  how,  is  to  be  question'd  :  for  I  saw  her, 
As  I  thought,  dead ;  and  have,  in  vain,  said  many 
A  prayer  upon  her  grave  :  I'll  not  seek  far 
(For  him,  I  partly  know  his  mind,)  to  find  thee 
An  honourable  husband: — Come.  Camillo, 
And  take  her  by  the  hand:  whose  worth,  and 

honesty, 
Is  richly  noted  j  and  here  justified 
By  us,  a  pair  of  kin^s. — Let's  from  this  place. — 
What  ? — Look  upon  my  brother : — both  your  par- 
dons, 
That  e'er  I  put  between  your  holy  looks 
My  ill  suspicion. — This  vour  son-in-law, 
Aiid  son  unto  the  king,  (whom  heavens  directing,) 
Is  troth-plight  to  your  daughter. — Good  Paulina, 
Lead  us  from  hence  ;  where  we  may  leisurely 
Each  one  demand,  and  answer  to  his  part 
Perform'd  in  this  wide  gap  of  time,  since  first 
We  were  dissevcr'd :  Hastily  lead  away.       [Ext. 


This  play,  as  Dr.  Warburton  justly  observes,  is, 
with  all  its  absurdities,  very  entertaining.  The 
character  of  Autolycus  is  naturally  conceived,  and 
strongly  represented. 

JOHNSON. 

(3)  You  who  by  this  discovery  have  gained  what 
you  desired. 

(4)  Participate. 


302    ) 


COMEDT  OF  ERRORS. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


Solinus,  diike  ofEphesus. 
Mgeon,  a  merchant  of  Syraciise. 

f  hoin  brolhrrs,  and  sons 
Antipholus  of  Ephestm,  )  to  .SEg:eon  and  JEjni- 
Antipholus  of  Hyi-acuse,  J     lia,    but  n«fc)iotc«   to 

f     eacli  oilier. 
T»,„.,>;«  „<•  r„i......     ( troin  brothers,  and  atten- 

Dromio  of  Syracuse,  ^     ^,jc/,„,^, 

Balthazar,  o  inerchant. 
Angelo,  a  gold»mith. 


A  mercliant,  friend  to  Jlntipholus  of  Syracuse, 
Pinch,  a  schoolmaster,  and  a  conjurer. 

jEmilia,  wife  to  JEgeon,  an  abbess  at  Epkesui. 
Adriana,  wife  to  Jlntipholus  ofEphesus. 
Luciiina,  her  sister. 
Luce,  iter  servant. 
/I  courtezan. 

Gaoler,  ojicers,  and  other  attendants. 
Scene,  Ephesus. 


CT  I. 

SCEXE  I.—Jl  hall  in  the  Duke's  Palace.    Enter 
Duke,  iEgeon,  Gaoler,  officer,  and  other  attend- 

(OltS. 


JEgeo7i. 

Jl  ROCEED,  Solinus,  to  procure  my  fall, 
And,  by  the  doom  of  death,*  end  woes  and  all. 

Duke.  Merchant  of  Svracusa,  plead  no  more  ; 
I  am  not  partial,  to  infringe  our  laws : 
The  enmity  and  discord,  which  of  late 
Sprung  from  the  rancorous  outrace  of  your  duke 
To  merchants,  our  well-dealing  countrymen, — 
\Vho,  wantinj;  guilders'  to  redeem  their  lives, 
Haveseal'd  his  rigorous  statutes  with  llieirbloods, — 
Excludes  all  pity  from  our  threat'ning  looks. 
For,  since  the  mortal  and  intestine  jars 
'Twixt  thy  seditious  countrymen  and  us, 
It  hath  in  solemn  synods  been  decreed. 
Both  by  the  Syracusans  and  ourselves, 
To  admit  no  traffic  to  our  adverse  towns : 
Nay,  more. 

If  any,  born  at  Ephesus,  be  seen 
At  any  Syracusan  marts*  and  fairs  ; 
Again,  if  any  Syracusan  born 
Come  to  the  Day  ofEphesus,  he  dies. 
His  goods  confiscate  to  the  duke's  dispose  : 
Unless  a  thousand  marks  be  levied. 
To  quit  the  penalty,  and  to  ransom  him. 
Thy  substance,  valued  at  the  highest  rate. 
Cannot  amount  unto  a  hundred  marks  ; 
Therefore,  by  law  thou  art  condemn'd  to  die. 

.^ge.  Yet  this  my  comfort;  when  your  words 
arc  done, 
Mv  woes  end  likewise  with  the  cvenintr  sun. 

7)uke.  Well,  Syracusan,  say,  in  brief,  the  cause 
Why  thou  depariedst  from  thy  native  home  ; 
And  for  what  cause  thou  cam'st  to  Ephesus. 

>^ge.  A  heavier  task  could  not  have  been  im- 
pos'd. 
Than  I  to  speak  my  griefs  unspeakable  : 
Yet,  that  the  world  may  witness,  that  my  end 
Was  wrought  by  nature,'  not  by  vile  offence, 
I'll  utter  wnat  my  sorrow  gives  me  leave. 
In  Syracusa  was  I  bom ;  and  wed 


(1)  Nameofaeoin. 


(2)  Markete. 


Unto  a  ■woman,  happy  but  for  me. 

And  by  me  too,  had  not  our  hap  been  bad. 

With  lier  I  liv'd  in  joy ;  our  wealth  increas'd, 

By  prosperous  voyaaes  I  oflen  made 

To  Epidamnum,  till  my  factor's  death  ; 

And  he  (great  care  of  croods  at  random  left) 

Drew  me  from  kind  emoracements  of  my  spouse  ■ 

From  whom  my  absence  was  not  six  months  old, 

Befoie  herself  (almost  at  fainting,  under 

The  pleasing  punishment  that  women  bear,) 

Had  made  provision  for  her  following  me. 

And  soon,  and  safe,  arrived  where  I  was. 

There  she  had  not  been  long,  but  she  became 

A  joyful  mother  of  two  goodly  sons ; 

And,  which  was  strange,  the  one  so  like  the  other. 

As  could  not  be  dislinguish'd  but  by  names. 

That  very  hour,  and  in  the  self-same  inn, 

A  poor  mean  woman  was  delivered 

Of  such  a  burden,  male  twins,  both  alike  : 

Those,  for  their  parents  were  exceeding  poor, 

I  bought,  and  brought  up  to  attend  my  sons. 

My  wife,  not  meanly  proud  of  two  such  boys, 

Made  daily  motions  for  our  home  return : 

Unwilling  I  agreed  ;  alas,  too  soon. 

We  came  aboard : 

A  league  from  Epidamnum  had  we  sail'd, 

Before  the  always-wind-obeying  deep 

Gave  any  tragic  instance  of  our  harm  : 

But  longer  did  we  not  retain  much  hope  ; 

For  what  obscured  light  the  heavens  did  ^ant 

Did  but  convey  unto  our  fearful  minds 

A  doubtful  warrant  of  immediate  death  ; 

Which,  though  myself  would  gladly  have  embrac'd, 

Yet  the  incessant  weepings  of  my  wife. 

Weeping  before  for  wnat  she  saw  must  come. 

And  piteous  plainings  of  the  pretty  babes. 

That  mourn'a  for  fashion,  ignorant  what  to  fear, 

Forc'd  me  to  seek  delays  for  them  and  me. 

And  this  it  ivas, — for  other  means  was  none. — 

The  sailors  souj^ht  for  safety  by  our  boat. 

And  left  the  ship,  then  sinking  ripe,  to  us : 

My  wife,  more  careful  for  the  latter  born. 

Had  fasten'd  him  unto  a  small  spare  mast. 

Such  as  sea-faring  men  provide  for  storms  ; 

To  him  one  of  the  other  twins  was  bound. 

Whilst  1  had  been  like  heedful  of  the  other. 

The  children  thus  dispos'd,  my  wife  and  I, 

(3)  Natural  affection. 


Seme  11. 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


308 


Fixing  our  eyes  on  whom  our  cire  was  fix'd, 
Fastea'd  ourselves  at  either  end  the  mast ; 
And  floating  straight,  obedient  to  the  stream, 
Were  carried  towards  Corinth,  as  we  thought 
At  length  the  sun,  gazing  upon  the  earth, 
Dispers'd  those  vapours  that  offended  us  ; 
And,  by  tlie  benefit  of  his  wish'd  light, 
Tlie  seas  wax'd  calm,  and  we  discovered 
Two  ships  from  far  making  aniain  to  us, 
Of  Corinth  that,  of  Epidaurus  this : 
But  ere  they  came, — O,  let  me  say  no  more  ! 
Gather  the  sequel  by  that  went  before. 

Duke.  Nay,  forward,  old  man,  do  not  break  ofi 
so; 
For  we  may  pity,  though  not  pardon  thee. 

JEge.  O,  had  the  gods  done  so,  I  had  not  now 
Worthily  term'd  them  merciless  to  us ! 
For,  ere  the  ships  could  meet  by  twice  five  leagues, 
We  were  encounter'd  by  a  mighty  rock  ; 
Which  being  violently  borne  upon. 
Our  helpful  ship  was  splitted  in  the  midst, 
So  that,  in  this  unjust  divorce  of  us. 
Fortune  had  left  to  both  of  us  alike 
What  to  delight  in,  what  to  sorrow  for. 
Her  part,  poor  soul !  seeming  as  burdened 
With  lesser  weight,  but  not  with  lesser  wo, 
Was  carried  with  more  speed  before  the  wind ; 
And  in  our  sight  they  three  were  taken  up 
By  fishermen  of  Corinth,  as  we  thought. 
At  length,  another  ship  had  seized  on  us  ; 
And,  knowing  whom  it  was  their  hap  to  save. 
Gave  helpful  welcome  to  their  shipwreck'd  guests ; 
And  would  have  reft'  the  fishers  of  tlieir  prey, 
Had  not  their  bark  been  very  slow  of  sail. 
And  therefore  homeward  did  they  bend  their  course. 
Thus  have  you  heard  me  scvcr'd  from  my  bliss ; 
That  by  misfortunes  was  my  life  proloiig'd, 
To  tell  sad  stories  of  my  own  mishaps. 

Diike.  And,  for  the  sake  of  them  thou  sorrowest 
for. 
Do  me  the  favour  to  dilate  at  full 
What  hath  befall'n  of  them,  and  thee,  till  now. 

^^ge.  My  youngest  boy,  and  yet  my  eldest  care, 
At  eighteen  years  became  inquisitive 
After  his  brother  ;  and  imp6rtun'd  me. 
That  his  attendant,  (for  his  case  was  lilce, 
Reft  of  his  brother,  but  retain'd  his  name,) 
Might  bear  him  company  ia  the  quest  of  him  : 
Whom  whilst  I  labour'd  of  a  love  to  see, 
I  hazarded  the  loss  of  whom  I  lov'd. 
Fire  summers  have  I  spent  in  furthest  Greece, 
Roaming  clean-  through  the  bounds  of  Asia, 
And,  coasting  homeward,  came  to  Ephesus  ; 
Hopeless  to  find,  yet  loth  to  leave  unsought, 
Or  that,  or  any  place  that  harbours  men. 
But  here  must  end  the  story  of  my  life  ; 
And  happy  were  I  in  my  timely  death. 
Could  all  my  travels  warrant  nie  thev  live. 

Duke.  Hapless  ^geon,  ^viiom  the  fates  have 
mark'd 
To  bear  the  extremity  of  dire  mishap ! 
Now,  trust  me,  were  it  not  against  our  laws. 
Against  my  crown,  my  oath,  my  dignity. 
Which  princes,  would  they,  may  not  disannul. 
My  soul  should  sue  an  advocate  for  thee. 
But,  though  thou  art  adjudged  to  the  death, 
And  passed  sentence  may  not  be  recall'd, 
But  to  our  honour's  great  disparagement. 
Yet  will  I  favour  thee  in  what  1  can  : 
Therefore,  merchant,  I'll  limit  thee  this  day, 
■  To  seek  thy  help  by  beneficial  help : 


(1)  Deprirefl. 
(3)  Go. 


(f)  Clear,  completely. 
(4)  The'eign  of  their  hotel. 


(Try  all  the  friends  thou  hast  in  Epnesus ; 
iBeg  thou,  or  borrow,  to  make  up  the  sum, 
I  And  live ;  if  not,  then  thou  art  aoom'd  to  dk:— 
Gaoler,  take  him  to  thy  custody. 
Gaol.  I  will,  my  lord. 

jEge.  Hopeless,  and  helpless,  dolh.«:geon  wend,» 
But  to  procrastinate  his  lifeless  end.  [Exeunt. 

SCE.YE  II.— .i  public  place.    £u<fr  AnUpholus 
and  Dromio  oj  ISijracuse,  and  a  Merchant. 

Mer.  Therefore,  give  out  you  are  of  Epidamnum, 
Lest  that  your  goods  too  soon  be  confiscate. 
This  very  day,  a  Syracusan  merchant 
Is  apprehencfed  for  arrival  here  ; 
And,  not  beuig  able  to  buy  out  his  life, 
According  to  the  statute  of  the  town, 
Dies  ere  tlie  weary  sun  set  in  the  west. 
There  is  your  money  that  I  had  to  keep. 

Ant.  S.  Go  bear  it  to  the  Centaur,*  where  we  host, 
And  stay  there,  Dromio,  till  I  come  to  thee. 
Within  this  hour  it  will  be  dinner-time : 
Till  that,  I'll  view  the  manners  of  the  town. 
Peruse  the  traders,  gaze  upon  the  buildings, 
And  then  return,  and  sleep  within  mine  inn ; 
For  with  long  travel  I  am  stiff  and  weary. 
Get  thee  awav. 

Dro.  S.  Many  a  man  would  take  you  at  your 
word. 
And  go  indeed,  having  so  good  a  mean. 

[Exit  Dro.  S. 

Ant.  S.  A  trusty  villain,'  sir ;  that  very  oft. 
When  I  am  dull  with  care  and  melancholy. 
Lightens  my  humour  ivith  his  merry  jests. 
What,  will  you  walk  with  me  about  the  town, 
And  then  go  to  my  inn,  and  dine  with  me  ? 

Mer.  I  am  invited,  air,  to  certain  merchants, 
Of  whom  I  hope  to  make  much  benefit ; 
I  crave  your  pardon.     Soon,  at  five  o'clock. 
Please  you,  I'll  meet  with  you  upon  the  mart," 
And  afterwards  consort  you  till  bed-time ; 
My  present  business  calls  me  from  you  now. 

Ant.  S.  Farewell  till  then :  I  will  go  lose  myself. 
And  wander  up  and  down,  to  view  the  city. 

Mer.  Sir,  I  commend  you  to  your  own  content. 
[Exit  Merchant. 

Ant.  S.   He  that  commends  me  to  mine  own 
content. 
Commends  me  to  the  thing  I  cannot  get. 
I  to  the  world  am  like  a  drop  of  water, 
That  in  the  ocean  seeks  another  drop  ; 
Who,  falling  there  to  find  his  fellow  forth. 
Unseen,  inquisitive,  confounds  himself: 
So  I,  to  find  a  mother,  and  a  brother, 
In  quest  of  them,  unhappy,  lose  myself. 

Enter  Dromio  o/ Ephesus. 
Here  comes  the  almanac  of  my  true  dale. — 
What  now?  Ho%v  chance,  thou  art  return'd  so  soon  7 

Dro.  E.  Returu'd  so  soon !   rather  approach'd 
too  late : 
The  capo!i  burns,  the  pig  falls  from  the  spit  ; 
The  clock  hath  strucken  twelve  upon  the  bell. 
My  mistress  made  it  one  upon  my  cheek : 
She  is  so  hot  because  the  meat  is  cold  ; 
The  meat  is  cold,  because  you  come  not  home ; 
You  come  not  home,  because  you  have  no  stomach ; 
You  have  no  stomach,  having  broke  your  fast ; 
But  we,  that  know  what  'tis  to  fast  and  pray. 
Are  penitent  for  your  default  to-day. 

Ant.  S.  Stop  in  your  wind,  sir;  tell  me  this,  1 
pray; 
Where  have  you  left  the  money  that  I  gave  you  ? 

(6)  i,  «,  Servant.        (6)  Exchange,  market-place, 


m 


COMEDY  OP  ERRORS. 


^et  n. 


Dro.  E.  0, — six-pence,  that  I  had  o'  Wednesday 
last. 
To  pay  the  saddler  for  my  mistress'  crupper  ;— 
The  saddler  had  it,  sir,  I  Kept  it  not. 

^nt.  S.  I  am  not  in  a  sportive  humour  now : 
Tell  me,  and  dally  not,  where  is  the  money  ? 
We  being  strangers  here,  how  dar'st  thou  trust 
So  great  a  charge  from  thine  own  custody  ? 

Dro.  E.  I  pray  you,  jest,  sir,  as  you  sit  at  dinner : 
I  from  my  mistress  come  to  you  in  post ; 
If  I  return,  I  shall  be  post  indeed  : 
For  she  will  score  your  fault  upon  my  pate. 
Methinks,  your  maw,  like  mine,  should  be  your 

clock. 
And  strike  you  home  without  a  messenger. 

Ant.  S.  Come,  Dromio,  come,  these  jests  are 
out  of  season ; 
Reserve  them  till  a  merrier  hour  than  this : 
Where  is  the  gold  I  gave  in  charge  to  thee  ? 

Dro.  E.  To  me,  sir  ?  why  you  gave  no  gold  to  me 

Ant.  S.   Come  on,  sir  knave,  have  done  your 
foolishness. 
And  tell  me,  how  thou  hast  dispos'd  thy  charge. 

Dro.  E.  My  charge  was  but  to  fetch  you  from 
the  mart 
Home  to  your  house,  the  Phcenis,  sir,  to  dinner ; 
My  mistress,  and  her  sister,  stay  for  you. 

Ant.  S.  Now,  as  I  am  a  Christian,  answer  mc, 
In  what  safe  place  you  have  bestow'd  my  monej' ; 
Or  I  shall  break  that  merry  sconce'  of  yours, 
That  stands  on  tricks  when  I  am  undispos'd : 
Where  is  the  thousand  marks  thou  hadst  of  mc  ? 

Dro.  E.   I  have  some  marks  of  yours  upon  my 
pate,  ' 

Some  of  mv  mistress'  marks  upon  my  shoulders. 
But  not  a  thousand  marks  between  you  both. — 
If  I  should  pay  your  worship  those  again. 
Perchance,  vou  will  not  bear  them  patiently. 

Ant,  S.    Thy  mistress'  marks!   what  mistress, 
slave,  hast  thou  ? 

Dro.  E.   Your  worship's  wife,  my  mistress  at 
the  Phcenis ; 
She  that  doth  fast,  till  you  come  home  to  dinner, 
And  prays,  that  you  will  hie  you  home  to  dinner. 

Ant.  S.  What,  wilt  thou  float  me  thus  unto  my 
face, 
Being  forbid  ?  There,  take  you  that,  sir  knave. 

Dro.  E.  What  mean  you,  sir  ?  for  God's  sake, 
hold  your  hands ; 
Nay,  an  you  will  not,  sir,  I'll  take  my  heels. 

[Exit  Dromio  E. 
■  Ant.  5.  Upon  my  life,  by  some  device  or  other, 
The  villain  is  o'er-rauaht-  of  all  my  money. 
They  sar,  this  town  is  full  of  cozenage ; 
As,  nimDle  jugglers,  that  deceive  the  eye. 
Dark-working  sorcerers,  that  change  the  mind, 
Soul-killing  witches,  that  deform  the  body ; 
Disguised  cheaters,  pratin?  mountebanks. 
And  many  such  like  liberties  of  sin: 
If  it  prove  so,  I  will  be  gone  the  sooner. 
I'll  to  the  Centaur,  to  go  seek  this  slave  ; 
I  greatly  fear,  my  money  is  not  safe.  [Exit. 


ACT  II. 

SCEJ^TE  I.— A  public  place.    Enter  Adriana, 

and  Luciana. 
Adr.  Neither  my  husband,  nor  the  slave  return'd. 
That  in  such  haste  I  sent  to  seek  his  master ! 
Sure,  Luciana,  it  is  two  o'clock. 


(l}Hcad. 


(2)  Over-reached, 


Luc.  Perhaps,  some  merchant  hath  invited  him, 
And  from  the  mart  he's  somewhere  gone  to  dinner. 
Good  sister,  let  us  dine,  and  never  fret : 
A  man  is  master  of  his  liberty : 
Time  is  their  master ;  and,  when  they  see  time, 
They'll  go,  or  come :  If  so,  be  patient,  sister. 

Adr.  Why  should  their  liberty  than  ours  be  more  ? 

Luc.  Because  their  business  still  lies  out  o'door. 

Adr.  Look,  ^vhen  I  serve  him  so,  he  takes  it  ill. 

Luc.  0,  know,  he  is  the  bridle  of  your  will. 

Adi^  There's  none,  but  asses,  will  be  bridled  so. 

Luc.  Why,  headstrong  liberty  is  lash'd  with  wo. 
There's  notning,  situate  under  heaven's  eye. 
But  hath  his  bound,  in  earth,  in  sea,  ui  sky : 
The  beasts,  the  fishes,  and  the  winged  fowls. 
Are  their  males'  subjects,  and  at  their  controls  • 
Men,  mare  divine,  and  masters  of  all  these. 
Lords  of  the  wide  world,  and  wild  wat'ry  seas, 
Indued  with  intellectual  sense  and  souls. 
Of  more  pre-eminence  than  fish  and  fowls, 
Are  masters  to  their  females,  and  their  lords : 
Then  let  your  will  attend  on  their  accords. 

Adr.  This  servitude  makes  you  to  keep  unwed, 

Luc.  Not  this,  but  troubles  of  the  marriage  bed. 

Adr.  But,  were  you  wedded,  you  would  bear 
some  sway. 

Luc.  Ere  I  learn  love,  I'll  practise  to  obey. 

Adr.   How  if  your  husband  start  some  other- 
ivhere  ? 

Luc.  Till  he  come  home  again,  I  would  forbear. 

Adr.  Patience  unmov'd,  no  marvel  though  she 
pause ; 
They  can  "be  meek,  that  have  no  other  cause. 
A  wretched  soul,  bruis'd  with  adversity, 
We  bid  be  quiet,  when  we  hear  it  crv  : 
But  were  we  burthen'd  with  like  wei'ght  of  pain. 
As  much,  or  mere,  we  should  ourselves  complain : 
So  thou,  that  hast  no  unkind  mate  to  grieve  thee. 
With  urging  helpless  patience  %vou Wst  relieve  me : 
But,  if  thou  live  to  see  like  right  bereft. 
This  fool-begg'd  patience  in  thee  will  be  left. 

Luc.  Well,  I  ivill  marry  one  day,  but  to  try ; — 
Here  comes  your  man,  nov.-  is  your  husband  nigh. 

Untfr  Dromio  q/"Ephesus. 

Adr.  Say,  is  your  tardy  master  now  at  hand  ? 

Dro.  E.  Nay,  he  is  at  tivo  hands  with  me,  and 
that  my  tiFO  ears  can  witness. 

Adr.  Say,  didst  thou  speak  with  him  ?  know'st 
thuu  his  mind  ? 

Dro.  E.  Av,  ay,  he  told  his  mind  upon  mine  ear : 
Beshrew  his  hand,  I  scarce  could  understand  it. 

Luc.  Spake  he  so  doubtfully,  thou  couldst  not 
feel  his  meaning  ? 

Dro.  E.  Nay,  he  struck  so  plainly,  I  could  too 
well  feel  his  blows  ;  and  withal  so  doubtfully,  that 
I  could  scarce  understand  them.^" 

Adr.  But  say,  I  pr'ythee,  is  he  coming  home? 
It  seems,  he>hath  great  care  to  please  his  wife. 

Dro.  E.  Why,  mistress,  sure  my  master  is  horn- 
mad. 

Adr.  Horn-mad,  thou  villain  ? 

Dro.  E.   I  mean  not  cuckold-mad ;  but,  sure, 
he's  stark  mad: 
WTien  I  dcsir'd  him  to  come  home  to  dinner, 
He  ask'd  me  for  a  thousand  marks  in  gold  : 
^Tis  di7iner-time,  quoth  I ;  Jily  <rold,  quoth  he: 
Your  meat  doth  bum,  quoth  I ;  J^Iy  gold,  quoth  he : 
Will  you  come  home  ?  quoth  I ;  My  gold,  quoth  he : 
Where  is  the  thousand  marks  I  gave  thee,  viUain  ? 
The  pig,  quoth  I,  is  burti'd;  My  gold,  quoth  he : 
My  mistress,  sir,  quoth  I ;  Hang  vp  thy  mistress  / 

(3)  t.  e.  Scarce  stand  imder  them. 


aeeMtl. 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


908 


I  Jfcnotc  n«(  thy  mistress';  out  on  thy  mistress ! 

Luc.  Quoth  who  ? 

Dro.  E.  Quoth  my  master : 
I  kntne,  quoth  he,  no  house,  no  wife,  no  mistress  ; — 
So  that  ray  errand,  due  unto  my  tongue, 
I  thank  him,  I  bear  home  upon  my  shoulders  ; 
For,  in  conclusion,  he  did  beat  me  there. 

Adr.  Go  back  again,  thou  slave,  and  fetch  him 
home. 

Dro.  E.   Go  back  again,  and  be  new  beaten 
home? 
For  God's  sake,  send  some  other  messenger. 

Mr.  Back,  slave,  or  I  will  break  thy  pate  across. 

Dro.  E.  And  he  will  bless  that  cross  with  other 
beating : 
Between  you,  f  shall  have  a  holy  head. 

^idr.  Hence,  prating  peasant ;  fetch  thy  master 
home. 

Dro.  E.  Am  I  so  round  with  you,  as  you  with  me, 
That  like  a  football  you  do  spurn  me  thus  ? 
You  spurn  me  hence,  and  he  will  spurn  me  hither : 
If  I  last  in  this  service,  you  must  case  me  in  leather. 

[Exit. 

Lite.  Fie,  how  impatience  low'reth  in  your  face ! 

Mr.  His  company  must  do  his  minions  grace, 
Whilst  I  at  home,  starve  for  a  merry  look. 
Hath  homely  a^re  the  alluring  beauty  took 
From  my  poor  cheek  ?  then  fie  hath  wasted  it : 
Are  my  discourses  dull  ?  barren  my  wit  ? 
If  voluble  and  sharp  discourse  be  marr'd, 
Unkindness  blunts  it,  more  than  marble  hard. 
Do  their  pay  vestments  his  affections  bait  ? 
That's  not  my  fault,  he's  master  of  my  state : 
\\Tiat  ruins  are  in  me  that  can  be  found 
By  him  not  ruin'd  ?  then  is  he  the  around 
Of  my  defeatures  : '  My  decaj'ed  fair* 
A  sunny  look  of  his  would  soon  repair : 
But,  too  unruly  deer,  he  breaks  the  pale. 
And  feeds  from  home  ;  poor  I  am  but  his  stale.* 

Liic.  Self-arming  jealousy  ! — fie,  beat  it  hence. 

Jldr.  Unfeeling  tools  can  with  such  wrongs  dis- 
pense. 
I  know  his  eye  doth  homage  otherwhere ; 
Or  else,  what  lets*  it  but  he  would  be  here? 
Sister,  you  know  he  promis'd  me  a  chain  ; — 
Would  that  alone,  alone  he  would  detain, 
So  he  would  keep  fair  quarter  with  his  bed  ! 
I  see,  the  iewel,  best  enamelled, 
Will  lose  his  beauty ;  and  though  jrold  'bides  still, 
That  others  touch,  yet  often  touchmg  will 
Wear  gold  :  and  so  no  man,  that  hath  a  name, 
But  falsehood  and  corruption  doth  it  shame. 
Since  that  my  beauty  cannot  please  his  eye, 
I'll  weep  what's  left  away,  and  weeping  die. 

Luc.  How  many  fond  fools  serve  mad  jealousy ! 

[Exeuiit, 

SCEJfE  II.— The  same.    Enter  Antipholus  of 
Syracuse. 

^nt.  S.  The  gold,  I  gave  to  Dromio,  is  laid  up 
Safe  at  the  Centaur ;  and  the  heedful  slave 
Is  wander'd  forth,  in  care  to  seek  me  out. 
By  computation,  and  mine  host's  report^ 
I  could  not  speak  with  Dromio,  since  at  first 
I  sent  him  from  the  mart :  See,  here  he  comes. 

Enter  Dromio  of  Syracuse. 

How  now,  sir  ?  is  your  merry  humour  alter'd  ? 
As  you  love  strokes,  so  jest  with  me  again. 
You  know  no  Centaur  ?  you  receiv'd  no  gold  ? 

n)  Alteration  of  features.     (2)  Fair,  for  fairness. 
(S)  Stalking-horse,  (4)  Hinders. 

(5)  i,  e.  Intrude  on  them  when  you  pleaae. 


Your  mistress  sent  to  hare  me  home  to  dinner? 
My  house  was  at  the  Phoenix  ?  Wast  thou  mad, 
That  thus  so  madly  thou  didst  answer  me  ? 

Dro.  S.  What  answer,  sir  ?  when  spake  I  such 
a  word  ? 

»afni.  S.  Even  now,  even  here,  not  half  an  hour 
since. 

Dro.  S.    I  did  not  see  you  since  you  sent  me 
hence, 
Home  to  the  Centaur,  with  the  gold  you  gave  me. 

inf.  S.  Villain,  thou  didst  deny  the  gold's  re- 
ceipt ; 

And  told'st  me  of  a  mistress  and  a  dinner ; 
For  which,  I  hope,  thou  felt'st  I  was  displeas'd. 

Dro.  S.  I  am  glad  to  see  you  in  this  merry  vein : 
What  means  this  jest  ?  I  pray  you,  master,  tell  iiae. 

^nt.  S.  Yea,  dost  thou  jeer,  and  flout  me  in  the 
teeth? 
Think'st  thou,  I  jest  ?  Hold,  take  thou  that,  and 
thaL  [Beati7ig  him. 

Dro.  S.   Hold,  sir,  for  God's  sake :   now  your 
jest  is  earnest : 
Upon  what  bargain  do  you  give  it  me  ? 

Ant.  S.  Because  that  I  familiarly  sometimes 
Do  use  you  for  my  fool,  and  chat  mth  you,  • 
Your  sa'uciness  will  jest  upon  my  love, 
And  make  a  common  of  my  serious  hours.' 
When  the  sun  shines,  let  foolish  gnats  make  sport, 
But  creep  in  crannies,  %vhen  he  hides  his  beams. 
If  you  will  jest  with  me,  know  my  aspect,' 
And  fashion  your  demeanour  to  my  looks, 
Or  I  will  beat  this  method  in  your  sconce. 

Dro.  S.  Sconce,  call  you  it?  so  you  i^^ould  leave 
battering,  1  had  rather  have  it  a  head :  an  you 
use  these  blows  long,  I  must  get  a  sconce  for  my 
head,  and  insconce'  it  too  ;  or  else  I  shall  seek  my 
wit  in  my  shoulders.  But,  I  pray,  sir,  why  am  1 
beaten  ? 

.int.  S.  Dost  thou  not  know? 

Dro.  S.  Nothine,  sir ;  but  that  I  am  beaten. 

Jlnt.  S.  Shall  I  tell  you  why  ? 

D-o.  S.  A}',  sir,  and  wherefore ;  for,  they  say, 
every  why  hath  a  wherefore. 

Ant.  S.  Why,  first, — for  flouting  me ;  and  then, 
wherefore, — 
For  urging  it  the  second  time  to  me. 

Do.  S.  Was  there  ever  any  man  thus  beaten 
out  of  season, 
WTien,  in  the  why,  and  the  wherefore,  is  neither 

rhyme  nor  reason  ? — 
Well,  sir,  t  thank  vou. 

Ant.  S.  Thank  me,  sir?  for  what? 

Dro.  S.  Marry,  sir,  for  this  something  that  you 
gave  me  for  nothing. 

Ant.  S.  I'll  make  you  amends  next,  to  give  you 
nothing  for  something.  But  say,  sir,  is  it  dinner- 
time ? 

Do.  S.  No,  sir ;  I  think,  the  meat  wants  that  I 
have. 

Ant.  S.  In  good  time,  sir,  what's  that? 

Dro.  S.  Basting. 

Ant.  S.  WeW,  sir,  then  'twill  be  dry. 

Dro.  S.  If  it  be,  sir,  I  pray  you  eat  none  of  it. 

Ant.  S.  Your  reason  ? 

Dro.  S.  Lest  it  make  you  choleric,  and  purchase 
me  another  dry  basting. 

Ant.  S.  Well,  sir.  Team  to  jest  in  good  time ; 
There's  a  time  for  all  things. 

Dro.  S.  I  durst  have  denied  that,  before  joti 
were  so  choleric. 

Ant.  S.  By  what  rule,  sir? 

i6J  Study  my  countenance. 
7)  A  sconce  was  a  fortific«ti«ii. 

8Q 


306 


COMEDY  OF  ERUORS. 


Jiettt, 


Dro.  S.  Marry,  sir,  hy  a  rule  as  plain  as  the 
plain  bald  pate  of  father  Time  himself. 

Ant.  S.  Let's  hear  it. 

Dro.  S.  There's  no  time  for  a  man  to  recover 
his  hair,  that  grows  bald  by  nature. 

Ant,  S.  May  he  not  do  it  by  fine  and  recovery  ? 

Dro.  S.  Yes,  to  pay  a  fine  for  a  peruke,  and  re- 
cover the  lost  hair  of  another  man. 

Ant.  S.  Why  is  time  such  a  niggard  of  hair, 
being,  as  it  is,  so  plentiful  an  excrement  ? 

Dro.  S.  Because  it  is  a  blessing  that  he  bestows 
on  beasts :  and  what  he  hath  scanted  men  in  hair, 
he  hath  given  them  in  wit. 

Ant.  S.  Why,  but  there's  many  a  man  hath  more 
hair  than  wit. 

Dro.  S.  Not  a  man  of  those,  but  he  hath  the  wit 
to  lose  his  hair. 

Ant.  S.  Why,  thou  didst  conclude  hairy  men 
plain  dealers  without  wit. 

Dro.  S.  The  plainer  dealer,  the  sooner  lost :  Yet 
he  loseth  it  in  a  kind  of  jollity. 

Ant.  S.  For  what  reason  ? 

Dro.  S.  For  two ;  and  sound  ones  too. 

Ant.  S.  Nay,  not  sound,  I  pray  you» 

Dro.  S.  Sure  ones  then. 

Ant.  S.  Nay,  not  sure,  in  a  thing  falsing. 

Dro.  S.  Certain  ones  then. 

Ant.  S.  Name  them. 

Dro.  S.  The  one,  to  save  the  money  that  he 
spends  in  tiring;  the  other,  that  at  dinner  they 
should  not  drop  in  his  porridge. 

Ant.  S.  You  would  all  this  time  have  proved 
there  is  no  time  for  all  things. 

Dro.  S.  Marry,  and  did,  sir ;  namely,  no  time 
to  recover  hair  lost  by  nature. 

Ant.  S.  But  your  reason  was  not  substantial, 
why  there  is  no  time  to  recover. 

Dro.  S.  Thus  I  mend  it :  Time  himself  is  bald, 
and  therefore,  to  tlie  world's  end,  will  have  bald 
followers. 

Ant.  S.  I  knew,  'twould  be  a  bald  conclusion : 
But  soft !  who  wafts'  us  yonder  ? 

Enter  Adriana  and  Luciana.        I 

Adr.   Ay,  ay,  Antipholus,  look   strange,   and 

frown ; 
Some  other  mistress  hath  thy  sweet  aspects, 
I  am  not  Adriana,  nor  thy  wife. 
The  time  was  once,  when  thou  unurg'd  would'st 

vow. 
That  never  words  were  music  to  thine  ear,  ", 
That  never  object  pleasing  in  thine  eye. 
That  never  touch  well-welcome  to  thy  nand, 
That  never  meat  sweet-savour'd  in  thy  taste. 
Unless  I  spake,  look'd,  touch'd,  or  carv'd  to  thee. 
How  comes  it  now,  my  husband,  oh,  how  comes  it. 
That  thou  art  then  estranged  from  thyself? 
Thyself  I  call  it,  being  strange  to  me, 
That,  undividable,  incorporate, 
Am  better  than  thy  dear  self's  better  part. 
Ah,  do  not  tear  away  thyself  from  me ; 
For  know,  my  love,  as  easy  may'st  thoH  fall 
A  drop  of  %vater  in  the  brealiing  gulf. 
And  take  unmingled  thence  that  drop  again, 
Without  addition,  or  diminishing. 
As  take  from  me  thyself,  and  not  me  too. 
How  dearly  would  it  touch  thee  to  the  quick, 
Should'st  tnou  but  hear  I  were  licentious ; . 
And  that  this  body,  consecrate  to  thee, 
By  ruffian  lust  should  be  contaminate ! 
Would'st  thou  not  spit  at  me,  and  spurn  at  me. 
And  hurl  the  name  of  husband  in  my  face, 


(1)  Beckonst 


(2)  Unfertile. 


And  tear  the  stain'd  skin  off  my  harlot  brow, 

And  from  my  false  hand  cut  the  weddin"' ring, 

And  break  it  with  a  deep-divorcing  vow  1 

I  know  thou  canst ;  and  therefore,  see,  thoa  do  it. 

I  am  possess'd  with  an  adulterate  blot : 

My  blood  is  mingled  with  the  crime  of  lust : 

For,  if  we  two  be  one,  and  thou  play  false, 

I  do  digest  the  poison  of  thy  flesh. 

Being  strumpeted  by  thy  contagion. 

Keep  then  fair  league  and  truce  with  thy  true  bed ; 

I  live  dis-stain'd,  thou  undishonoured. 

Ant.  S.  Plead  you  to  me,  fair  dame  ?  I  know 
you  not  : 
In  Ephesus  T  am  but  two  hours  old. 
As  strange  unto  your  town,  as  to  your  talk ; 
Who,  every  word  by  all  my  wit  being  scann'd, 
Want  wit  in  all  one  word  to  understand. 

Luc.   Fie,  brother !   how  the  world  is  chang'd 
with  you ! 
When  were  you  wont  to  use  my  sister  thus  ? 
She  sent  for  you  by  Dromio  home  to  dinner. 

Ant.  S.  By  Dromio? 

Dro.  S.  By  me? 

Adr.  By  thee :  and  this  thou  did'st  return  from 
him, — 
That  he  did  buflet  thee,  and,  in  his  blows, 
Deny'd  my  house  for  his,  me  for  his  wife. 

Ant.  S.  Did  you  converse,  sir,  with  this  gentle- 
woman ? 
What  is  the  course  and  drift  of  your  compact? 

Dro.  S.  I,  sir  ?  I  never  saw  her  till  this  time. 

Ant.  b.  \  illain,  thou  liest ;  for  even  her  very 
words 
Didst  thou  deliver  to  me  on  the  mart. 

Dro.  S.  I  never  spake  witli  her  in  all  my  life. 

Ant.  &'.  How  can  she  thus  then  call  us  by  our 
names. 
Unless  it  be  by  inspiration  ? 

Adr.  How  ill  agrees  it  with  your  gravity, 
To  counterfeit  thus  grossly  with  your  slave. 
Abetting  him  to  thwart  me  in  my  mood  ! 
Be  it  my  wrong,  you  are  from  me  exempt, 
But  wrong  not  that  wrong  with  a  more  contempt. 
Come,  I  will  fasten  on  this  sleeve  of  thine  : 
Thou  art  an  elm,  my  husband,  I  a  vine ; 
Whose  weakness,  married  to  thy  stronger  state, 
Makes  me  ivith  thy  strength  to  communicate  ; 
If  aught  possess  thee  from  me,  it  is  dross. 
Usurping  ivy,  briar,  or  idle-  moss  ; 
Who,  all  for  want  of  pruning,  with  intrusion 
Infect  thy  sap,  and  live  on  thy  confusion. 

Ant.  S.  To  me  she  speaks ;  she  moves  me  for 
her  theme : 
What,  was  I  married  to* her  in  my  dream? 
Or  sleep  I  now,  and  think  1  hear  all  this  ? 
What  error  drives  our  eyes  and  ears  amiss  ? 
Until  I  know  this  sure  uncertainty, 
I'll  entertain  the  offer'd  fallacy. 

Luc.  Dromio,  go  bid  the  servants  spread  for 
dinner. 

Dro.  S.  O,  for  my  beads !  I  cross  me  for  a  sinner. 
This  is  the  fairy  land ; — O,  spite  of  spites ! — 
We  talk  with  goblins,  owls,  and  elvish  sprites  ; 
If  we  obey  them  not,  this  will  ensue. 
They'll  suck  our  breath,  or  pinch  us  black  and  blue. 

Lmc.  Why  prat'st  thou  to  thyself,  and  answer'st 
not? 
Dromio,  thou  drone,  thou  snail,  thou  slug,  thou  sot ! 

Dro.  S.  I  am  transform'd,  master,  am  not  I  ? 

Ant.  S.  I  think,  thou  art,  in  mind,  and  so  am  I. 

Dro.  S.  Nay,  master,  both  in  mind,  and  in  my 
shape. 

Ant.  S.  Thou  hast  thine  own  form. 

Jho.  S.  No,  I  am  an  ape, 


Seme  I. 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


307 


Imc.  If  thou  art  chang'd  to  aught,  'tis  to  an  ass 

Dro.  S.  'Tis  true ;  she  rides  me,  and  I  long  for 
grass. 
'Tis  so,  1  am  an  ass  ;  else  it  could  never  be, 
But  1  should  know  her  as  well  as  she  knows  me 

Mr.  Come,  come,  no  longer  will  I  be  a  fool, 
To  put  the  finger  in  the  eye  and  weep. 
Whilst  man,  and  master,  laugh  my  woes  to  scorn. — 
Come,  sir,  to  dinner;  Dromio,  keep  the  gate  : — 
Husband,  I'll  dine  above  with  you  to-day. 
And  shrive'  you  of  a  thousand  idle  pranks  : 
Sirrah,  if  any  ask  you  for  your  master, 
Say,  he  dines  forth,  and  let  no  creature  enter. — 
Come,  sister: — Dromio,  play  the  porter  well. 

./int.  S.  Am  I  in  earth,  in  heaven,  or  in  hell  ? 
Sleeping,  or  waking  ?  mad,  or  well-advis'd  ? 
Known  unto  these,  and  to  myself  disguis'd ! 
PU  say  as  they  say,  and  persdver  so, 
And  in  this  mist  at  all  adventures  go. 

Dro.  S.  Master,  shall  I  be  porter  at  the  gate  ? 

^dr.  Ay ;  and  let  none  enter,  lest  I  break  your 
pate. 

Luc.  Come,  come,  Antipholus,  we  dine  too  late. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  III. 

SCE^^E  I.— The  same.  Enter  Antipholus  of 
Ephesus,  Dromio  o/Ephesus,  Angelo,  and  Bal- 
thazar. 

*9nt.  E.  Good  signior  Angelo,  you  must  excuse 
us  all ; 
My  wife  is  shrewish,  when  I  keep  not  hours  : 
Say,  that  I  lin^rer'd  with  you  at  your  shop. 
To  see  the  making  of  her  carkanet,^ 
And  that  to-morrow  you  will  bring  it  home. 
But  here's  a  villain,  that  would  face  me  down 
He  met  me  on  the  mart ;  and  that  I  be-at  him, 
And  charg'd  him  with  a  thousand  marks  in  gold  ; 
And  that  I  did  deny  my  wife  and  house : — 
Thou  drunkard,  thou,  what  didst  thou  mean  by 
this  / 
Dro.  E.  Say  what  you  will,  sir,  but  I  know  what 
I  know: 
That  you  beat  me  at  the  mart,  I  have  your  hand  to 

show : 
If  the  skin  were  parchment,  and  the  blows  you 

gave  were  ink, 
Your  own  hand-writing  would  tell  you  what  I  think. 
JInt.  E.  I  think,  thou  art  an  ass. 
Dro.  E.  Marry,  so  it  doth  appear 

By  the  wrongs  I  suffer,  and  the  blows  I  bear. 
I  should  kick,  being  kick'd ;  and,  being  at  that  pass. 
You  would  keep  from  my  heels,  and  beware  of  an 
ass. 

^nt.  E.  You  are  sad,  signior  Balthazar :  'Pray 
God,  our  cheer 
.  May  answer  my  good  will,  and  your  good  welcome 
here. 
Bal.  I  hold  your  dainties  cheap,  sir,  and  your 

welcome  dear. 
Jint,  E.  O,  signior  Balthazar,  either  at  flesh  or 
fish, 
A  table  full  of  welcome  makes  scarce  one  dainty 
dish. 
Bal.   Good  meat,  sir,  is  common  ;    that  every 

churl  affords. 
.int.  E.  And  welcome  more  common;  for  that's 
nothing  but  words. 

il)  Absolve.    (2)  A  necklace  strung  with  pearls. 
3)  Dishes  of  meat.    (4)  Blockhead.    (5)  Fool. 


Bal.  Small  cheer,  and  great  welcome,  makes  a 

merry  feast. 
..int.   E.    Ay,  to  a  niggardly  host,  and  more 

sparing  guest : 
But  though  my  cates'  be  mean,  take  them  in  good 

part ; 
Better  cheer  may  you  have,  but  not  with  better 

hearL 
But,  soft:  my  door  is  lock'd  ;  Go  bid  them  let  us  in. 
Dro.  E.  Maud,  Bridget,  Marian,  Cicely,  Gil- 
lian, Jen' ! 
Dro.  S.  [Within.]  Mome,*  malt-horse,  capon, 

coxcomb,  idiot-  patch!' 
Either  get  thee  from  tne  door,  or  sit  down  at  the 

hatch : 
Dost  thou  conjure  for  wenches,  that  thou  call'stfor 

such  store. 
When  one  is  one  too  many  ?  Go,  get  thee  from  the 

door. 
Dro.  E.  What  patch  is  made  our  porter?  My 

master  stays  in  the  street. 
Dro.  S.  Let  him  walk  from  whence  he  came, 

lest  he  catch  cold  on's  feet. 
.9nt.  E.  Who  talks  within  there  ?  ho,  open  the 

door. 
Dro.  S.  Right,  sir,  I'll  tell  you  when,  an  you'll 

tell  me  whercf6re. 
Alt.  E.  Wherefore  ?  for  my  dinner ;  I  have  not 

din'd  to-day. 
Dro.  S.  Nor  to-day  here  you  must  not ;  come 

again,  when  you  may. 
.int.  E.yVhut  art  thou,  that  keep'st  me  out  from 

the  house  I  owe  ?° 
Dro.  S.  The  porter  for  this  time,  sir,  and  my 

name  is  Dromio. 
Dro.  E.  0  villain,  thou  hast  stolen  both  mine  of- 
fice and  my  name ; 
The  one   ne'er  got  me  credit,  the  other  mickle 

blame. 
If  thou  had'st  been  Dromio  to-day  in  my  place, 
Thou  would'st  have  chang'd  thy  face  for  a  name, 

or  thy  name  for  an  ass. 
Luce.  [iri//itii.l  What  a  coil'  is  there  ?  Dromio, 

who  are  those  at  the  pate  ? 
Dro.  E.  Let  my  master  in.  Luce. 
Luce.  Faith,  no ;  he  comes  too  late ; 

And  so  tell  your  master. 

■Dro.  E.  O  Lord,  I  must  laugh : — 

Have  at  you  with  a  proverb. — Shall  I  set  in  my 

staff? 
Luce.  Have  at  you  with  another :  that's, — ^Vhen  ? 

can  you  tell  ? 
Dro.  S.  If  thy  name  be  call'd  Luce,  Luce,  thou 

hast  answer'd  him  well. 
Jlnt.  E.  Do  you  hear,  you  minion  ?  you'll  let  us 

in,  I  hope  ? 
Luce.  I  thought  to  have  ask'd  you. 
Dro.  S.  And  you  said,  no. 

Dro.  E.  So,  come,  help  ;  well  struck  ;  there 

was  blow  for  blow. 
Ant.  E.  Thou  bageage,  let  me  in. 
Luce.  Can  you  tell  for  whose  sake  ? 

Dro.  E.  Master,  knock  the  door  hard. 
Luce.  Let  him  knock  till  it  ache. 

Jint.  E.  You'll  cr}-  for  this,  minion,  if  I  beat  the 

door  down. 
Luce.  What  needs  all  that,  and  a  pair  of  stocks 

in  the  town  ? 
Adr.     [Within.]  AVho  is  that  at  the  door,  that 

keeps  all  this  noise  ? 
Dro.  S.  By  my  troth,  your  town  is  troubled  with 

unruly  boys. 

(6)  I  own,  am  owner  of,     (7)  Bustle,  tumult. 


m 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


^etiA 


Ant.  E.  Are  you  there,  wiffe  ?  tou  mi^ht  have 

come  before. 
Mr.  Your  wife,  sir  knave  ?  go,  get  you  from 

the  door. 
Dro.  E.  If  you  went  in  pain,  master,  this"  knave 

would  go  sore. 
>.fing.  Here  is  neither  cheer,  sir,  nor  welcome  ; 

we  would  fain  have  either. 
Bal.  In  dcbatinjT  which  was  best,  we  siiall  part' 

with  neither. 
Dro.  E.  They  stand  at  the  door,  master ;  bid 

them  %velcome  hither. 
Ant.  E.  There  is  something  in  the  wind,  that  we 

cannot  get  in. 
Dro.  E.  You  would  say  so,   master,  if  your 
garments  were  thin. 
Your  cake  here  is  warm  ^vithin ;  you  stand  here 

in  the  cold : 
It  would  make  a  man  mad  as  a  buck,  to  be  so 
bought  and  so!d.^ 
Ant.  E.  Go,  fetch  me  something,  I'll  break  ope 

the  frate. 
Dro.  S.  Break  any  breaking  here,  and  I'll  break 

vour  knave's  pate. 
Dro.  £.  A  man  may  break  a  word  with  you, 
sir :  and  words  arc  but  vnnA  ; 
Ay,  and  break  it  in  your  face,  so  he  break  it  not 
behind. 
Dro.  S,  It  seems,  thou  wantcst  breaking :  Out 

upon  thee,  Hind ! 
Dro.  E.   Here's  too  much,  out  upon  thee !    I 

pray  thee,  let  me  in. 
Dro.  S.  Ay,  when  fowls  have  no  feathers,  and 

fish  nave  no  fin. 
Ant.  E.  Well,  I'll  break  in ;  Go  borrow  me  a 

crow. 
Dro.  E.   A  crow  without  a  fcatlicr;   master, 
mean  you  so  ? 
For  a  fish  without  a  fin,  there's  a  fowl  without  a 

feather : 
If  a  crow  help  us  in,  siirah,  Ave'll  pluck  a  crow 
together. 
Ant.  E.  Go,  get  thee  goiie,  fetch  me  an  iron 

crow. 
Bd.  Have  patience,. sir ;  O,  let  it  not  be  so ; 
Herein  you  war  against  your  reputation, 
And  draw  within  the  compass  of  suspect 
The  unviolated  honour  of  your  wife. 
Once  this, — Your  long  experience  of  her  wisdom. 
Her  sober  virtue,  years,  and  modesty, 
Plead  on  her  part  some  cause  to  you  unknown  ; 
And  doubt  not,  sir,  that  she  will  well  excuse 
Why  at  this  time  the  doors  are  made^  against  you. 
Be  rul'd  by  me ;  depart  in  patience. 
And  let  us  to  the  Tiger  all  to  dinner  : 
And,  about  evening,  come  yourself  alone. 
To  know  the  reason  of  this  straiige  restraint. 
If  by  strong  hand  you  oiler  to  break  in. 
Now  in  the  stirring  passage  of  the  day, 
A  vulgar  comment  will  be  made  on  it ; 
And  that  suppos'd  by  the  common  rout 
Against  your  yet  unt^alled  estimation. 
That  may  with  foul  intrusion  enter  in, 
And  dwell  upon  your  grave  when  you  are  dead  : 
For  slander  lives  upon  succession  ; 
For  ever  hous'd,  where  it  once  gets  possession. 
Ant.  E.  You  have  prevailed ;   I  will  depart  in 
quiet. 
And,  in  despite  of  mirth,  mean  to  be  merry. 
I  know  a  wench  of  excellent  discourse, — 

(1)  Have  part  (2)  A  proverbial  phrase. 

(S)  t.  e.  Made  fast.        (4)  By  this  time. 

(5)  Lore-springs  are  young  plants  or  shoots  of  love. 


Pretty  and  witty ;  wild,  and,  yet  too,  crentle  ; 

There  will  we  dine :  this  woman  that  I  mean, 

My  wife  (but,  I  protest,  without  desert,) 

Hath  otlentimes  upbraided  me  withal ; 

To  her  will  we  to  dinner. — Get  you  home, 

And  fetch  the  chain ;  by  this,*  1  know,  'tis  made : 

Bring  it,  I  pray  you,  to'the  Porcupine  ; 

For  there's  the  house  ;  that  chain  will  I  bestow 

(Be  it  for  nothing  but  to  spite  my  wife,) 

Upon  mine  hostess  there :  good  sir,  make  haste : 

Since  mine  own  doors  refuse  to  entertain  me, 

I'll  knock  elsewhere,  to  see  if  they'll  disdain  me.    ■ 

Ang.  I'll  meet  you  at  that  place,  some  hour 
hence. 

Ant.  E.  Do  so :  This  jest  shall  cost  me  some 
expense.  [Exeunt. 

SCEXE   II.— The  same.     Enter  Luciana,  mid 
Antipholus  of  Stjraaise. 

Luc.  And  may  it  be  that  you  have  quite  forgot 

A  husband's  office  ?  Shall,  Antipholus,  hate. 
Even  in  the  spring  of  love,  thy  love-springs'  rot? 

Shall  love,  in  building,  grow  so  ruinate  ? 
If  you  did  wed  my  sister  for  her  wealth. 

Then,  for  her  wealth's  sake,  use  her  with  more 
kindness : 
Or,  if  you  like  elsewhere,  do  it  by  stealth ; 

IVIuffle  your  false  love  with  some  show  of  blind- 
ness : 
Let  not  my  sister  read  it  in  your  eye  ; 

Be  not  thy  tongue  thy  o^vn  shame's  orator ; 
Look  sweet,  speak  fair,'  become  disloyalty ; 

Apparel  vice  like  virtue's  harbinger : 
Bear  a  fair  presence,  though  your  heart  be  tainted ; 

Teacli  sin  the  carriage  of  a  holy  saint ; 
Be  secret-false  :  What  need  she  be  acquainted  ? 

What  simple  thief  brags  of  liis  own  attaint? 
'Tis  double  wrong,  to  truant  with  your  bed. 

And  let  her  read  it  in  thy  looks  at  board  : 
Shame  hath  a  bastard  fame,  well  manao-ed  ; 

111  deeds  are  doubled  with  an  evil  word. 
Alas,  poor  women !  make  us  but  believe. 

Being  compact  of  credit,'  that  you  love  us  ; 
Tiiough  others  have  the  arm,  show  us  the  sleeve ; 

We  in  )'our  motion  turn,  and  you  may  move  us. 
Then,  gentle  brother,  get  you  in  again  ; 

Comfort  my  sister,  cheer  her^  call  her  wife  : 
'Tis  holy  sport  to  be  a  little  vam,' 

When  the  sweet  breath  of  flattery  conquers  strife. 

Ant.  S.  Sweet  mistress  (ivhat  jbur  name  is  else, 
I  know  not. 

Nor  by  %vhat  wonder  you  do  hit  on  mine,) 
Less,  in  your  knowledge,  and  jourgrace,  you  show 
not. 

Than  our  earth's  wonder ;  more  than  earth  divine. 
Teach  me,  dear  creature,  how  to  thuik  and  speak  ; 

Lay  open  to  my  earthly  gross  conceit, 
Smother'd  in  errors,  feeble,  shallow,  weak. 

The  folded  meaning  of  your  word's  deceit. 
A?ainst  my  soul's  pure  truth  why  labour  vou. 

To  make  it  wander  in  an  unknown  field? 
Are  you  a  god  ?  would  you  create  me  new  ? 

Transform  me  then,  and  to  your  power  I'll  yield. 
But  if  that  I  am  I,  then  well  I  know. 

Your  weeping  sister  is  no  wife  of  mine. 
Nor  to  her  bed  no  homage  do  I  owe  ; 

Far  more,  far  more,  to  you  do  I  decline, 
0,  train  me  not,  sweet  mermaid,'  with  thy  note, 

To  drown  me  in  thy  sister's  flood  of  tears ; 
Sing,  siren,  for  thyself,  and  I  will  dote  : 


(6  J  t.  e.  Being  made  altogether  of  credulity. 
(7)  Vain,  is  light  of  tongue,    (8)  Mermaid  for  si 


streq, 


Scene  //. 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


Spread  o'er  the  silver  wares  thy  golden  hairs, 
And  as  a  bed  I'll  take  thee,  and  there  lie  ; 
And,  in  that  glorious  supposition,  think 


'    Dro.  S.  No,  sir,  'tis  in  grain ;  Noah's  flood  could 
;not  doit. 

_..„, ^ ^^ , I    ^nt.  S.  What's  her  name? 

He  gains  by  death,  that  hath  such  means  to  die : — I    Dro.  S.  Nell,  sir; — but  her  name  and  three 
Let  love,"  being  lijrht,  be  drowned  if  she  sink!       quarters,  that  is,   an  ell  and  three  quarters,  wiH 
Lite.  What,  are  you  mad,  that  you  do  reason  so  ?jUOt  measure  her  from  hip  to  hip. 
^hit.  S.  Not  ruad,  but  mated;'  how,  I  do  not!     ^Int.  S.  Then  she  bears  some  breadth? 

know.  I     Dro.  S.  No  longer  from  head  to'  foot,  than  from 

Luc.  It  is  a  fault  that  springeth  from  your  eye.    Ihip  to  hip :  she  is  sphqrical,  like  a  globe ;  I  could 
.in<.  S.   For  gazing  on  your  beams,  fair  sun, |find  out  countries  in  her 


bein?  by 

Luc.  Gaze  where  you  should,  and  that  will  clear 
your  sight. 

Jlnt.  S.  As  good  to  wink,  sweet  love,  as  look  on 
night. 

Lvc.  Why  call  you  me  love  ?  call  my  sister  so. 

Ant.  S.  Thy  sister's  sister. 

Luc.  That's  my  sister. 

.int.  S.  No ; 

It  is  thyself^  mine  own  self's  better  part ; 
Mine  eye's  clear  eye,  any  dear  heart's  dearer  heart ; 
My  food,  my  fortune,  and  my  sweet  hope's  aim, 
My  sole  earth's  heaven,  and  my  heaven's  claim. 

Lite.  All  this  my  sister  is,  or  else  should  be. 

.int.  S.  Call  thyself  sister,  sweet,  for  I  aim  thee  : 
Thee  will  I  love,  and  with  thee  lead  my  life  ; 
Thou  hast  no  husband  yet,  nor  I  no  wife : 
(jive  me  thy  hand. 

Luc.  O,  soft,  sir,  hold  you  still ; 

rU  fetch  my  sister,  to  get  her  good  will. 

[Exit  Luciana. 

Enter,  from  the  house  q/Antipholus  of  Epiusus, 
Dromio  of  Syracuse. 

tint.  S.  Wliy,  how  now,  Dromio?  where  rimn'st 
thou  so  fast  ? 


.int.  S.  In  what  part  of  her  body  stands  Ireland  ? 

Dm.  S.  !\Iarry,  sir,  in  her  buttocks ;  I  found  it 
out  bv  the  bogs. 

.int.  S.  Where  Scotland  ? 

Dro.  S.  I  found  it  by  the  barrenness ;  hard,  in 
the  palm  of  the  hand. 

.int.  S.  Where  France  ? 

Dro._  S.  In  her  forehead  ;  arm'd  and  reverted, 
making  war  asrainst  her  hair. 

Jlnt.  S.  Where  England  ? 

Dro.  S.  I  look'd  for  the  chalk-y  cliffs,  but  I  could 
find  no  whiteness  in  them  :  but  I  guess  it  stood  in 
her  chin,  by  the  salt  rfeeum  that  ran  between 
France  and  it. 

.int.  S.  Where  Spain  ? 

Dro.  S.  Faith,  I  sav/  it  not ;  but  I  felt  it,  hot  in 
her  breath. 

.int.  S.  ^Miere  America,  the  Indies  ? 

Dro.  S.  O,  sir,  upon  her  nose,  all  o'er  embellish'd 
with  rubies,  carbuncles,  sapphires,  declining  their 
rich  aspect  to  the  hot  breath  of  Spain  ;  who  sent 
whole  armadas  of  carracks^  to  be  ballast  at  her  nose. 

.int.  S.  Where  stood  Belgia,  the  Netherlands  ? 

Dro.  S.  O,  sir,  I  did  not  look  so  low.  To  con- 
clude, this  drudge,  or  dinner,  laid  claim  to  me ; 
call'd  me  Dromio  ;  swore,  I  wp.s  assur'd*  to  her; 


Dro.  S.  Do  voaknow  me,  sir?  ami  Dromio  ?  ^^^Vl  me  what  pri^T  marks  I  had  about  me,  as  the 

I  your  man?  am  I  mvself  '  '         jmark  of  my  shoulder,   the  mole  in  my  neck,  the 

\lnt.  ^.  fhon  art'Dromio,  thou  art  my  man.i^P'"^, v.ait  on  my  left  ana,  that  I,   amazed,  ran 

thou  art  thyself.  troni  her  as  a  witch:  and,  I  thuit,  if  my  breast  had 


Dro.  S.  I  am  an  ass,  I  am  a  woman's  man,  and 
besides  myself. 
.Int.  S.  What  woman's  man?  and  how  besides 
thvself? 


not  been  made  of  faitli,  and  my  heart  of  steel,  she 
had  fransfbnn'd  me  to  a  curtail-dog,  and  made  me 
turn  i'the  wheel. » 
,1nt.  is.  Go,  hie  thee  presently,  post  to  the  road ; 


Dro.  S.  Marry,  sir,  besides  myself,  I  am  due  to' And  if  the  wind  blow  any  way  from  shore. 


a  Avoman  ;  one  that  claims  me,  one  that  haimls  mp, 
one  that  will  have  me. 

.int.  S.  What  claim  lavs  she  to  thee? 

Dro.  S.  Marry,  sir,  such  cl  \im  as  you  would  lay 
to  your  horse  ;  and  she  would  have  me  as  a  beast : 
not  that,  I  being  a  beast,  she  wo;;ld  have  me  ;  but 


I  will  not  harbour  in  this  town  to-night. 
If  any  bark  nut  forth,  come  to  the  mart. 
Where  I  will  walk,  till  thou  return  to  me. 
If  every  one  Icnow  us,  and  we  know  none, 
'Tis  time,  I  think,  to  trudge,  pack,  and  be  gone. 
Dro.  S.  As  from  a  bear  a  man  would  run  for  life. 


that  she,  being  a  very  beastly  creature,  lays  claim i^o  fly  I  from  her  that  ^yo^ld  be  my  wife.      [Exit. 
to  me.  i    *^"''  S.  There's  none  but  witches  do  mhabit  here ; 

.int.  S.  ^Vhat  is  she  ?  And  therefore,  'tis  high  time  that  I  were  hence. 

Dro.  S.  A  very  reverent  body  ;  av,  such  a  one^!i<*'  that  doth  call  me  husband,  even  my  soul 
as  a  man  may  riot  si)eak  of,  without  he  sav,  sir! Doth  for  a  wife  »'jhcr:  but  her.fair  sister, 
reverence  :  I  have  but  lean  luck  in  the  match,  ^ndlPossess'd  with  such  a  gentle  sovereign  grace, 
yet  is  she  a  wondrous  fat  marriage.  j^'  «"C"  enchanting  presence  and  discourse, 

.int.  S.  How  dost  thou  mean,  a  fat  marriage  ?  jHath  almost  made  me  traitor  to  myself: 

Dro.  S.  Marry,  sir,  she's  the  kitchen-wcnch,'and!But,  lest  myself  be  guiUy  to  self- wrong, 
to  put  her  to,  1 1'"  stop  mme  ears  against  the 


all  grease :  and  I  know  not  what  use 
but  to  make  a  lamp  of  her,  and  run  from  her  by 
her  own  light.  I  warrant,  her  rags,  and  the  tallow 
in  them,  will  bum  a  Poland  winter :  if  she  lives 
till  doomsday,  she'll  burn  a  week  longer  than  Uie 
whole  world. 

.int.  S.  What  complexion  is  she  of? 

Dro.  S.  Swart, 2  like  mv  shoe,  but  her  face  no- 
thing like  so  clean  kept  j  For  why  ?  she  sweats,  a 
man  may  go  over  shoes  in  the  grime  of  it. 

.StU.  S.  That's  a  fault  that  water  will  mend. 


il)  t.  e.  Confounded. 
S)  Large  ships. 


(2)  Swarthy. 
(4)  Affianced. 


mermaid's  song^. 

Enter  Angelo. 

.im;.  Master  Antipholus  ? 
.int.  S.  Ay,  that's  my  name. 
.^««f.  I  know  it  well,  sir :  Lo,  here  is  the  cham  ; 
I  thoueht  to  have  ta'en  j-ou  at  the  Porcupine : 
The  chain  unfinish'd  made  me  stay  thus  long. 
.int.  S.  What  is  your  will,  that  I  shall  do  with 

this? 
.ing.  What  please  yourself,  sir ;   I  have  made 
it  for  you. 

(5)  A  turn-spiU 


310 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


Act  II. 


Ant.  S.  Made  it  for  me,  sir  ?  I  bespoke  it  not. 

wJjigf.  Not  once,  nor  twice,  but  twenty  times  you 
have: 
Go  home  with  it,  and  please  your  wife  withal ; 
And  soon  at  supper-time  I'll  visit  you, 
And  then  receive  my  money  for  the  chain. 

Ayit.  S.  I  pray  you,  sir,  receive  the  money  now 
For  fear  you  ne'er  see  chain,  nor  money,  more. 

Aug.  You  are  a  merry  man,  sir ;  fare  you  well 

[Exit. 

Jint.  S.  What  I  should  think  of  this,  I  cannot  tell ; 
But  this  I  think,  there's  no  man  is  so  vain, 
That  would  refuse  so  fair  an  offer'd  chahi. 
I  sec,  a  man  here  needs  not  live  by  shifts, 
When  in  the  streets  he  meets  such  golden  gifts. 
I'll  to  the  mart,  and  there  for  Dromio  stay ; 
If  any  ship  put  out,  then  straight  away.         [Exit. 


ACT  IV. 


SCEXE  I.— The  same.    Enter  a  Merchant,  An- 
gelo,  and  an  Ofticcr. 

JVfer.  You  know,  suice  Pentecost  the  sum  is  due. 
And  since  I  have  not  much  importun'd  you  ; 
Nor  now  I  had  not,  but  that  I  tim  bound 
To  Persia,  and  want  guilders'  for  my  voyage : 
Therefore  make  present  satisfaction. 
Or  I'll  attach  you  by  this  officer. 

Ang.  Even  just  the  sum,  that  I  do  owe  to  you. 
Is  growing*  to  me  by  Antipholus  : 
And,  in  the  instant  that  I  met  with  you, 
He  had  of  me  a  chain  ;  at  five  o'clock, 
I  shall  receive  the  money  for  the  same : 
Pleaseth  you  walk  with  me  down  to  his  house, 
I  ivill  discharge  my  bond,  and  thank  you  too. 

Enter  Antipholus  of  Ephesus,  and  Dromio  of 
Ephesus. 

Off.  That  labour  may  you  save ;  see  where  he 

comes. 
Ant.  E.  While  I  go  to  the  goldsmith's  house,  go 

thou 
And  buy  a  rope's  end ;  that  will  I  bestow 
Among  my  wife  and  her  confederates. 
For  locking  me  out  of  my  doors  by  day. — 
But  soft,  I  see  the  goldsmith  : — get  thee  gone  ; 
Buy  thou  a  rope,  and  bring  it  home  to  me. 

Dro.  E.  I  buy  a  thousand  pound  a  year  !  I  buy 

a  rope !  [Exit  Dromio. 

Ant.  E.  A  man  is  well  holp  up,  thattrusts  to 

you: 
I  promised  your  presence,  and  the  chain  ; 
But  neither  chain,  nor  goldsmith,  came  to  me  : 
Belike,  you  thought  our  love  would  last  too  long, 
If  it  were  chain'd  together ;  and  therefore  came  not. 
Ang.  Saving  you  r  merry  humour,  here's  the  note. 
How  much  your  chain  weighs  to  the  utmost  carat ; 
The  fineness  of  the  gold,  and  chargeful  fashion  ; 
Which  doth  amount  to  three  odd  ducats  more 
Than  I  stand  debted  to  this  gentleman  ; 
I  pray  you,  see  him  presently  discharg'd. 
For  he  is  bound  to  sea,  and  stays  but  for  it. 
Ant.  E.    I  am  not  fumish'd  with  the  present 

money  ^ 
Besides,  I  have  some  business  in  the  town  : 
Good  signior,  take  the  stranger  to  my  house, 
And  with  you  take  the  chain,  and  bid  my  wife 
Disburse  the  sum  on  the  receipt  thereof; 
Perchance,  I  tvilP  be  there  as  soon  as  you. 

(1)  A  coin.        (2)  Accruing,        (3)  I  shall. 


Ang.  Then  you  will  bring  the  chain  to  her  your- 
self? 
Ant.  E.  No ;  bear  it  with  you,  lest  I  come  not 

time  enough. 
Ang.  Weil,  sir,  I  will :  Have  you  the  chain  about 

you? 
Ant.  E.  An  if  I  have  not,  sir,  I  hope  j'ou  have  ; 
Or  else  you  may  return  without  your  money. 
Ang.  Nay,  come,  I  pray^'ou,  sir,  .give  me  the 
chain : 
Both  wind  and  tide  stays  for  this  gentleman. 
And  I,  to  blame,  have  held  liim  here  too  long. 
Ant.  E.    Good  lord,  you  use  this  dalliance  to 
excuse 
Your  breach  of  promise  to  the  Porcupine : 
I  should  have  chid  you  for  not  bringing  it. 
But,  like  a  shrew,  3  ou  first  begin  to  brawl. 
Juer.  The  hour  steals  on ;  I  pray  you,  sir,  des- 
patch. 
Ang.   You  hear,  how  he  importunes  mc ;   the 

chain — 
Ant.  E.  Why,  give  it  to  my  wife,  and  fetch  your 

money. 
Ang.   Come,  come,  you  know,  I  gave  it  you 
even  now ; 
Either  send  the  chain,  or  send  me  by  some  token. 
Ant.  E.  Fie !  now  you  run  this  humour  out  of 
breath  : 
Come,  Where's  the  chain?  I  pray  you  let  me  see  it. 
Jiler.  My  business  cannot  brook  this  dalliance  ; 
Good  sir,  say,  whe'r  you'll  answer  me,  or  no  ; 
If  not,  I'll  leave  him  to  the  officer. 
Ant.  E.  I  answer  you !   What  should  I  answer 

you? 
Ang.   The  m.oney,  that  you  owe  me  for  the  chain. 
A7it.  E.  I  owe  you  none,  till  I  receive  the  chain. 
Ang.  You  knou',  I  gave  it  you  half  an  hour  since. 
Ant.  E.  You  gave  me  none ;  you  wrong  me  much 

to  say  so. 
Ang.  You  wrong  me  more,  sir,  in  denying  it: 
Consider,  how  it  stands  upon  my  credit. 
J\Ier.  AVell,  officer,  arrest  him  at  mv  suit. 
Off.  I  do ;  and  charge  you  in  the  duke's  name, 

to  obey  mc. 
Ang.  This  touches  me  in  reputation  : — 
Eitlier  consent  to  pay  this  sum  for  me. 
Or  I  attach  you  by  this  officer. 

Ant.  E.  Consent  to  pay  thee  that  I  never  had' 
Arrest  me,  foolish  fellow," if  thou  dar'st. 

Ang.  Here  is  thy  fee  ;  arrest  him,  officer; 
I  would  not  spare  my  brother  in  this  case, 
If  he  sliould  scorn  me  so  apparently. 

Off.  I  do  arrest  you,  sir ;  you  hear  the  suit. 
Ant.  E.  I  do  obey  thee,  till  I  give  thee  bail : — 
But,  sirrah,  you  shall  buy  this  sport  as  dear 
As  all  the  metal  in  your  shop  will  answer. 

Aug.  Sir,  sir,  I  shall  have  law  in  Ephesus, 
To  jour  notorious  shame,  I  doubt  it  not. 

Enter  Dromio  of  Sjracuse. 

Dro.  S.  Master,  there  is  a  bark  of  Epidamnum, 
That  stays  but  till  her  owner  comes  aboard. 
And  then,  sir,  bears  away  :  our  fraughtagc,*  sir, 
I  have  convey'd  aboard  ;  and  I  have  bought 
The  oil,  the  balsanium,  and  a(|ua-vitoB. 
The  ship  is  in  her  trim  ;  the  merry  wind 
Blows  fair  from  land :  they  stay  for  nought  at  all. 
But  for  their  owner,  master,  and  yourself. 

Ant.  E.    How  now?    a  madman!    Why  thou 
peevish*  sheep. 
What  ship  of  Epidamnum  stays  for  me  ? 

Dro.  S.  A  ship  you  sent  nie  to,  to  hire  waftagc.* 

(4)  Freight,  cargo.     (5)  Silly.    (6)  Carriage. 


.\ 


Scene  II,  III. 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


311 


Ant,  E.  Thou  di'unkcn  slave,  I  sent  thee  for  a 
rope; 
And  told  thee  to  what  purpose  and  what  end. 

Dro.  S.  You  sent  me,  sir,  for  a  rope's  end  as 
soon : 
You  sent  me  to  the  bay,  sir,  for  a  bark. 

Ant.  E.  I  will  debate  this  matter  at  more  leisure. 
And  teach  your  cars  to  listen  with  more  heed. 
To  Adriana,  villain,  hie  thee  straight : 
Give  her  tliis  key,  and  tell  her,  in  the  desk 
That's  cover'd  o'er  with  Turkish  tapestry. 
There  is  a  purse  of  ducats  :  let  her  send  it ; 
Tell  her,  I  am  arrested  in  the  street, 
And  ihat  shall  bail  me :  hie  thee,  slave  ;  be  gone. 
On,  officer,  to  prison  till  it  come. 

[Exeimt  Mer.  Ang.  Off.  and  Ant.  E. 

Dro.  S.  To  Adriana !  that  is  where  he  din'd. 
Where  Dowsabel  did  claim  me  for  her  husband : 
She  is  too  big-,  I  hope,  for  me  to  compass. 
Thither  I  must,  although  against  my  will. 
For  servants  must  their  masters'  minds  fulfil.  [E.v. 

SCEJ^E  U.—The  same.     Enter  Adriana  and 
Luciana. 
Adr,  Ah,  Luciana,  did  he  tempt  thee  so  ? 

Mip;ht'st  thou  perceive  austerely  in  his  eye 
That  he  did  plead  in  earnest,  yea  or  no  ? 

Look'd  he  or  red,  or  pale  ;  or  sad,  or  merrily  ? 
What  observation  mad'st  thou  in  this  case. 
Of  his  heart's  meteors  tilting  in  his  face  ? ' 
Luc.  First,  he  denied  you  had  in  him  no  right. 
•  Mr.  He  meant,  he  did  me  none ;  the  more  my 

spite. 
Luc.  Then  swore  he,  that  he  was  a  stranger  here. 
Mr.  And  true  he  swore,  though  yet  forsworn 

he  were. 
Luc.  Then  pleaded  I  for  you. 
Mr.  And  what  said  he? 

Luc.  That  love  I  begg'd  for  you,  he  begg'd  of  me. 
Mr.  With  what  persuasion  did  he  tempt  thy 

love? 
Luc.  With  words,  that  in  an  honest  suit  might 
move. 
First  he  did  praise  my  beauty ;  then,  my  speecli. 
Mr.  Did'st  speak  him  fair? 
Luc.  Have  patience,  I  beseech. 

Adr.  I  cannot,  nor  I  will  not,  hold  me  still ; 
My  tongue,  though  not  my  heart,  shall  have  his  will. 
He  is  deformed,  crooked.,  old,  and  scre,- 
lU-fac'd,  worse-bodied,  shapeless  every  where  ; 
Vicious,  ungentle,  foolish,  blunt,  unkind ; 
Stigmatical  in  making,^  worse  in  mind. 

Luc.  Who  would  be  jealous  then  of  such  a  one  ? 
No  evil  lost  is  wail'd  when  it  is  gone. 
Mr.  Ah  !  but  I  tliink  him  better  than  I  say, 

And  yet  would  herein  others'  eyes  were  worse  : 
Far  from  her  nest  the  lapwing  cries  away  ;'* 
My  heart  prays  for  him,  though  my  tongue  do 
curse. 

Enter  Dromio  of  Syracuse. 

Dro.  S.  Here,  go;  the  desk,  the  purse;  sweet 

now,  make  haste. 
Lmc.  How  hast  thou  lost  thy  breath  ? 
Dro.  S.  By  running  fast. 

Mr.  Where  is  thy  master,  Dromio?  is  he  well  ? 
Dro.  S.  No,  he's  in  tartar  limbo,  worse  than  hell : 
A  devil  in  an  everlasting  garment  hath  him, 

(1)  An  allusion  to  the  redness  of  the  northern 
lights  likened  to  the  appearance  of  armies. 

(2)  Dry,  withered. 

(3)  Marked  by  nature  with  deformity. 

(4)  Who  crietli  most  where  her  nest  is  not. 


One,  whose  hard  heart  is  button'd  up  with  steel; 

A  fiend,  a  fairy,  pitiless  and  rough ; 

A  wolf,  nay,  worse,  a  fellow  all  in  buff;' 

A  back-friend,  a  shoulder-clapper,  one  that  coun« 

termands 
The  passages  of  alleys,  creeks,  and  narrow  lands ; 
A  hound  that  runs  counter,  and  yet  draws  dry-foot 

well  J 
One  that,  before  the  judgment,  carries  poor  soula 
to  hell.^ 
Mr.  Why,  man,  what  is  the  matter  ? 
Dro.  S.  I  do  not  know  the  matter :  he  is  'rested 

on  the  case. 
Mr.  What,  is  he  arrested  ?  tell  me,  at  whose  suit. 
Dro.  S.  I  know  not  at  whose  suit  he  is  arrested, 
well ; 
But  he's  in  a  suit  of  buff,  which  'rested  him,  that 

can  I  tell : 
Will  you  send  him,  mistress,  redemption,  the  mo- 
ney in  the  desk  ? 
Mr.  Go  fetch  it,  sister. — This  I  wonder  at, 

[Exit  Luciana. 
That  he,  unknown  to  me,  should  be  in  debt : 
Tell  me,  was  he  arrested  on  a  band  V 

Dro.  a.  Not  on  a  band,  but  on  a  stronger  thing; 
A  chain,  a  chain ;  do  you  not  hear  it  ring  ? 
Adr.  What,  the  chain  ? 

Dro.  S.  No,  no,  the  bell :  'tis  time,  that  I  were 

gone. 

It  was  two  ere  I  left  him,  and  now  the  clock  strikes 

one. 

Mr,  The  hours  come  back !  th<lt  did  I  never  hear. 

Dro.  S.    O  yes,  if  any  hour  meet  a  sergeant, 

a'turns  back  for  very  fear. 
Adr.  As  if  time  ivcre  in  debt !  how  fondly  dost 

thou  reason ! 
Dr3.  S.  Time  is  a  very  bankrupt,  and  owes  more 
than  he's  worth  to  season. 
Nay,  he's  a  thief  too :  Have  you  not  heard  men  say, 
That  time  comes  stealing  on  by  night  and  day? 
If  he  be  in  debt,  and  theft,  and  a  sergeant  in  the  way. 
Hath  he  not  reason  to  turn  back  an  hour  in  a  day? 

Enter  Luciana. 

Mr.   Go,  Dromio ;  there's  the  money,  bear  it 
straight ; 

And  bring  thy  master  home  immediately. — 
Come,  sister;  1  am  press'd  down  with  conceit  ;• 

Conceit,  my  comfort,  and  myinjury.   [Exeunt. 

SCEJfE  III.— The  same.    Enter  Antipholus  of 
Syracuse. 
Mt.  S.  There's  not  a  man  I  meet,  but  doth 
salute  me 
As  if  I  were  their  well-acquainted  friend ; 
And  every  one  doth  call  me  by  my  name. 
Some  tender  money  to  me,  some  invite  me ; 
Some  other  give  me  thanks  for  kindnesses; 
Some  ofier  me  commodities  to  buy  : 
Even  now  a  tailor  call'd  me  in  his  shop, 
And  show'd  me  silks  that  he  had  bought  for  me. 
And,  therewithal,  took  measure  of  my  body. 
Sure,  these  are  but  imaginary  wiles. 
And  Lapland  sorcerers  inhabit  here. 

Enter  Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Dn.  S.  Master,  here's  the  gold  you  sent  me  for : 
What,  have  you  got  the  picture  of  old  Adam  new 
apparell'd  ? 

(5)  The  officers  in  those  days  were  clad  in  buff, 
which  is  also  a  cant  expression  for  a  man's  skin, 

(6)  Hell  was  the  cant  term  for  prison. 

(7)  i.  e.  Bond.        (8)  Fancilul  conception. 


m 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


Jidir, 


JInt.  S.  What  gold  is  this  ?   what  Adam  dost 
thou  mean  ? 

Dro.  S.  Not  that  Adam,  that  kept  the  paradise, 
but  that  Adam,  that  keeps  the  prison :  he  that  goes 
in  the  calf's-skin  that  was  kill'd  for  the  prodigal ; 
he  that  came  behind  you,  sir,  like  an  evil  angel, 
and  bid  you  forsake  your  liberty. 

Ant.  S.  I  understand  thee  not. 

Dro.  S.  No  ?  why,  'tis  a  plain  case:  he  that  went 
like  a  base-viol,  in  a.  case  of  leather ;  the  man,  sir, 
that,  when  gentlemen  are  tired,  gives  them  a  fob, 
and  'rests  them :  he,  sir^  that  takes  pity  on  decayed 
men,  and  gives  them  suits  of  durance  ;  he  that  sets 
up  his  rest  to  do  more  exploits  with  liis  mace,  tiian 
a  morris-pike. 

Ant.  S.  What !  thou  mean'st  an  officer  ? 

Dro.  S.  Ay,  sir,  the  sergeant  of  the  band;  he, 
that  brings  any  man  to  answer  it,  that  breaks  his 
band :  one  that  thinks  a  man  always  going  to  bed, 
and  says,  God  give  you  good  rest. 

Ant.  S.  Well,  sir,  there  rest  in  your  foolery.  Is 
there  any  ship  puts  forth  to-night?  may  we  be  gone? 

Dro.  S.  Why,  sir,  I  brought  you  word  an  hour 
since,  that  the  bark  Expedition  put  forth  to-night ; 
and  then  were  you  hindered  by  the  sergeant,  to 
tarry  for  the  hoy.  Delay :  Here  are  the  angels  that 
you  sent  for,  to  deliver  you. 

Ant.  S.  The  fellow  is  distract,  and  so  am  I ; 
And  here  we  wander  in  illusions  ; 
Some  blessed  power  deliver  us  from  hence ! 

Enter  a  Courtezan. 

Cour.  Well  met,  well  met,  master  Antipholus. 
I  see,  sir,  you  have  found  the  goldsmith  now ; 
Is  that  the  chain,  you  promis'a  me  to-day  ? 

Ant.  S.  Satan,  avoid !  I  charge  thee,  tempt  me 
not! 

Dro.  S.  Master,  is  this  mistress  Satan  ? 

Ant.  S.  It  is  the  devil. 

Dro.  S.  Nay,  she  is  worse,  she  is  the  devil's  dam ; 
and  here  she  comes  in  the  habit  of  a  light  wench ; 
and  thereof  comes,  that  the  wenches  say,  God 
domn  me,  that's  as  much  as  to  say,  God  make  me 
a  light  wench.  It  is  written,  they  appear  to  men 
like  anpels  of  light :  light  is  an  effect  of  fire,  and 
fire  will  burn ;  ergo,  light  wenches  will  burn ; 
Come  not  near  her. 

Caur.  Your  man  and  you  are  marvellous  merry, 
sir. 
Will  you  go  with  me?  We'll  mend  our  dinner  here. 

Dro.  S.  Master,  if  you  do  expect  spoon-meat, 
bespeak  a  long  spoon. 

Ant.  S.  Why,  Dromio  ? 

Dro,  S.  Marrv,  he  must  have  a  long  spoon, 
that  must  eat  with  the  devil. 

Ant,  S.  Avoid  then,  fiend !  what  telPst  thou  me 
of  supping  ? 
Thou  art,  as  you  are  all,  a  sorceress : 
I  c6njure  thee  to  leave  me,  and  be  ^one. 

Cour.   Give  me  the  ring  of  mine  you  had  at 
dinner, 
Or,  for  my  diamond,  the  chain  you  promis'd ; 
And  I'll  be  gone,  sir,  and  not  trouble  you. 

Dro.  S.  Some  devils  ask  but  the  paring  of  one's 
nailj 
A  rush,  a  hair,  a  drop  of  blood,  a  pin, 
A  nut,  a  cherry-stone :  but  she,  more  coTetous, 
Would  have  a  chain. 
Master,  be  wise ;  and  if  you  give  it  her. 
The  devil  mil  shake  her  chain,  and  frisiht  us  with  it 

Cour.  I  pray  you,  sir,  my  ring,  or  else  the  chain  ; 
1  hope,  you  do  not  mean  to  cheat  me  so. 

Avi.  S.  Avaunt,  thou  witch '    Come,  Dromio, 
let  us  go. 


Dro,  S,  Fly  pride,  says  the  peacock :  Mistress, 
that  you  know.      [Exeunt  Ant.  and  Dro. 

Cour.  Now,  out  of  doubt,  Antipholus  is  mad. 
Else  would  he  never  so  demean  himself: 
A  ring  he  hath  of  mine,  worth  forty  ducats, 
And  for  the  same  he  promis'd  me  a  chain ! 
Both  one,  and  other,  he  denies  me  now. 
The  reason  that  I  gather  he  is  mad, 
(Besides  this  present  instance  of  his  rage,) 
Is  a  mad  tale,  he  told  to-day  at  dinner. 
Of  his  own  doors  being  shut  against  his  entrance. 
Belike,  his  wife,  acquainted  with  his  fits. 
On  purpose  shut  the  doors  against  his  way. 
My  way  is  no^Vj  to  hie  home  to  his  house, 
And  tef!  his  wife,  that,  being  lunatic. 
He  rush'd  into  my  house,  and  took  perforce 
My  ring  away  :  This  course  I  fittest  choose  ; 
For  forty  ducats  is  too  much  to  lose.  \Exit. 

SCE^TE  ir.—TIie  same.    Enter  Antipholus  oj 
Ephesus,  and  an  Officer. 
-9»ii.  E.  Fear  me  not,  man,  I  will  not  break  away ; 
I'll  give  thee,  ere  I  leave  thee,  so  much  money 
To  warrant  thee,  as  I  am  'rested  for. 
My  wife  is  in  a  wayward  mood  to-day ; 
And  will  not  lightly  trust  the  messenger, 
That  I  should  be  attach'd  in  Ej)hesus : 
1  tell  you,  'twill  sound  harshly  in  her  ears. — 

Enter  Dromio  of  Ephesus,  with  a  ropers  end. 

Here  comes  my  man ;  I  think,  he  brings  the  money. 
How  now,  sir  ?  have  you  that  I  sent  you  for  ? 

Dro.  E.  Here's  that,  I  warrant  you,  will  pay 
them  all.' 

Ant.  E.  But  Where's  the  money  ? 

Dro.  E.  Why,  sir,  I  gave  the  money  for  the  rope. 

Ant.  E.  Five  hundred  ducats,  villain,  for  a  rope  ? 

Dro.  E.  I'll  serve  you,  sir,  five  hundred  at  the  rate. 

Ant.  E.  To  what  end  did  I  bid  thee  hie  thee 
home? 

Dro.  E.  To  a  rope's  end,  sir ;  and  to  that  end 
am  I  rcturn'd. 

Jlnt.  E.  And  to  that  end,  sir,  I  will  welcome 
yoi!.  [Beating  him. 

Off'.  Good  sir,  be  patient. 

Dro.  E.  Nay,  'tis  for  me  to  be  patient ;  I  am 
in  adversity. 

Off".  Good  now,  hold  thy  tongue. 

Dro.  E,  Nay,  rather  persuade  him  to  hold  his 
hands. 

Ant.  E.  Thou  whoreson,  senseless  villain ! 

Dro.  E.  I  would  I  were  senseless,  sir,  that  I 
might  not  feel  your  blows.* 

Ant.  E.  Thou  art  sensible  in  nothing  but  blows, 
and  so  b  an  ass. 

Dro.  E.  I  am  an  ass,  indeed  :  you  may  prove  it 
by  my  long  ears.  I  have  serv'd  him  from  the  hour 
of  nativity' to  this  instant,  and  have  nothing  at  his 
hands  for  my  service,  but  blows :  when  I  am  cold, 
he  heats  me  with  beating :  when  I  am  warm,  he 
cools  me  with  beating :  I  am  waked  with  it,  when 
I  sleep ;  raised  with  it,  when  I  sit ;  driven  out  of 
doors  with  it,  when  I  go  from  home ;  welcomed 
home  with  it,  when  I  return  :  nay,  I  bear  it  on  my 
shoulders,  as  a  beggar  wont  her  brat ;  and,  I  think, 
when  he  hath  lamed  me,  I  shall  beg  with  it  from 
door  to  door. 

Enter  Adriana,  Luciana,  and  the  Courtezan,  with 
Pinch,  and  others. 

Ant.  E.  Come,  go  along ;  my  wife  is  coming 
yonder. 

(1)  Correct  them  all. 


Scent  17, 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


319 


Dro.  E.   Mbtress,  respict  Jinam,  respect  your 

end ;  or  rather  the  prophecy,  like  the  parrot,  Be- 

loare  the  ropers  end. 

.Int.  E.  Wilt  thou  still  talk  ?  [Beats  him. 

Cour.  How  say  you  now  ?  is  not  your  husband 

mad? 
Mr.  His  incivility  confirms  no  less. — 
Good  doctor  Pinch,  you  are  a  conjurer ; 
Establish  him  in  his  true  sense  again, 
And  I  will  please  you  what  you  will  demand. 
Luc.  Alas,  how  fiery  and  how  sharp  he  looks  ! 
Cour.  Mark,  how  he  trembles  in  his  ecstasy ! 
Pinch.  Give  me  your  hand,  and  let  me  feel  your 

pulse. 
Ant.  E.  There  is  my  hand,  and  let  it  feel  your 

ear. 
Pinch.  I  charge  thee,  Satan,  hous'd  within  this 
man, 
To  yield  possession  to  my  holy  prayers, 
And  to  thy  state  of  darkness  hie  thee  straight ; 
I  cdnjurc  thee  by  all  the  saints  in  heaven. 
»'}«'(.  E.  Peace,  doting  wizard,  peace ;  I  am  not 

mad. 
Mr.  O,  that  thou  wert  not,  poor  distressed  soul ! 
Ant.  E.   You  minion  you,  are  these  your  cus- 
tomers ? 
Did  this  companion'  with  a  saffron  face 
Revel  and  feast  it  at  my  house  to-day, 
Whilst  upon  me  the  guilty  doors  were  shut, 
And  I  denied  to  enter  in  my  house  V 
,ldr.  O,  husband,  God  dioth  know,  you  din'd  at 
home, 
Where  'would  you  had  remain'd  until  this  time. 
Free  from  these  slanders,  and  this  open  shame  I 
Ant.  E.   I  din'd  at  home !    Thou  villain,  what 

say'st  thou  ? 
Dro.  E.  Sir,  sooth  to  say,  you  did  not  dine  athome. 
Ant.  E.   Were  not  my  doors  lock'd  up,  and  I 

shut  out? 
Dro.  E.  Perdy,*  your  doors  were  lock'd,  and 

you  shut  out.  ,. 

Ant.  E.  And  did  not  she  herselfrevile  me  there? 
Dro.  E.  Sans  fable,'  she  herself  revil'd  you  there. 
Ant.  E.    Did  not  her  Idtchen-maid  rail,  taunt, 

and  scorn  me  ? 
Dro.  E.    Certes,*  she  did ;    the  kitchen-vestal 

scom'd  you. 
Ant.  E.  And  did  not  I  in  ra^e  depart  from  thence? 
Dro.  E.    In  verity  you  did ; — my  bones  bear 
witness. 
That  since  have  felt  the  vicrour  of  his  raje. 
Adi-.  Is't  ^ood  to  sooth  him  in  these  contraries  ? 
Pinch.  It  IS  no  shame  ;  the  fellow  finds  his  vein, 
And,  yieldinff  to  him,  humours  well  his  iVenzv. 
Ant.  E.    Thou  hast  suborn'd  the  goldsmith  to 

arrest  me. 
Adr.  Alas,  I  sent  you  money  to  redeem  you, 
By  Dromio  here,  who  came  iii  haste  for  it. 

Dro.  E.    Money  by  me  ?    heart  and  good- will 

you  might. 

But,  surely,  master,  not  a  rag  of  money. 

Ant.  E.  Went'st  not  thou  to  her  for  a  purse  of 

ducats  ? 
Adr.  He  came  to  me,  and  I  deliver'd  it. 
Luc.  And  I  am  witness  with  her,  that  she  did. 
Dro.  E.    God    and   the   rope-maker  bear  me 
witness. 
That  I  was  sent  for  nothing  but  a  rope ! 
Pinch.  Mistress,  both  man  and  master  is  pos- 
sess'd ; 

m  Fellow. 

(2)  A  corruption  of  the  French  oath — pardieu. 

(S)  Without  a  fable.  (4)  Certainly. 


I  know  it  by  their  pale  and  deadly  looks : 

They  must  be  bound,  and  laid  in  some  dark  room. 

Ant.  E.  Say,  wherefore  didst  thou  lock  me  forth 
to-day, 
And  why  dost  thou  deny  the  bag  of  gold  ? 

Adr.  I  did  not,  gentle  husband,  lock  thee  forth. 

Dro.  E.  And,  gentle  master,  I  receiv'd  no  gold ; 
But  I  confess,  sir,  that  we  were  lock'd  out. 

Adr.  Dissembling  villain,  thou  speak'st  fals^  in 
both. 

Ant.  E.  Dissembling  harlot,  thou  art  false  in  all ; 
And  art  confederate  with  a  damned  pack. 
To  make  a  loathsome  abject  scorn  of  me : 
But  with  these  nails  I'll  pluck  out  these  false  eyes. 
That  would  behold  in  me  this  shameful  sport. 

[Pinch  and  his  assistants  bind  Ant.  and  Dro. 

Adr.  0,  bind  him,  bind  him,  let  him  not  come 
near  me. 

Pinch.    More  company: — the   fiend  is  strong 
v/ithin  him. 

Liic.  Ah  me,  poor  man,  how  pale  and  wan  he 
looks ! 

Ant.  E.    What,  will  you  murder  me?   Thoq 
gaoler,  thou, 
I  am  thy  prisoner;  wilt  thou  suffer  them 
fo  make  a  rescue  ? 

Off.  Masters,  let  him  go  ; 

He  is  my  prisoner,  and  you  shall  not  have  him. 

Pinch.  Go,  bind  this  man,  for  he  is  frantic  too. 

Adr.  What  iviit  thou  do,  thou  peevish^  officer? 
Hast  thou  delicrht  to  see  a  wretched  man 
Do  outrage  and  displeasure  to  himself? 

Off.  He  is  my  prij;oner  ;  if  I  let  him  go, 
The  debt  he  owes  will  be  requir'd  of  me. 

Adr.  I  will  discharge  Ihee,  ere  I  go  from  thee: 
Bear  me  forthwith  unto  his  creditor, 
Arid,  knowing'  how  the  debt  groivs,  I  will  pay  it. 
Good  master  doctor,  sec;  iiim  safe  convey'd 
Home  to  mv  house.— O  mo^it  unhappy  day ! 

Anl.  E.  O  most  unhappy*  strumpet ! 

Dro.  E.  Master,  I  am  here  enter'd  in  bond  for 
you. 

A7it.  E.   Out  on  thee,  villain !  wherefore  dost 
thou  mad  me  ? 

Dro.  E.  Will  you  be  bound  for  nothing?  be  mad, 
Good  master;  cW,  the  devil. — 

Luc.  God  helpj  poor  souls,  how  idly  do  they  talk. 

Adr.  Go,  bear  him  hence. — Sister,  go  )'ou  with 
me. — 
[Exe.  Pinch  and  assistants,  icith  Ant.  and  Dro. 
Say  now,  Avhose  suit  is  ho  arrested  at  ? 

Off'.  OneAngelo,agoldsmith;  Doyouknowhim? 

Adr.  I  know  the  man:  What  is  the  sum  he  owes? 

Off.  Two  hundred  ducats. 

Adr.  Say,  how  grows  it  due  ? 

Off.  Due  for  a  chain,  your  husband  had  of  him. 

Adr.  He  did  bespeak  a  chain  for  me,  but  had  it 
not. 

Com?'.  When  as  your  husband,  all  in  rage,  to-day 
Came  to  my  house,  and  took  away  mv  ring, 
(The  ring  I  saw  upon  his  finger  now,) 
Straight  after,  did  I  meet  him  with  a  chain.  • 

Adr.  It  -may  bs  so,  but  I  did  never  see  it  :— 
Come,  gaoler,  bring  me  where  the  goldsmith  is, 
I  long  to  know  the  truth  hereof  at  large. 

Enter  Anlipholus  of  Syracuse,  with  his  rapier 
drawn,  and  Dromio  of  Syracuse. 

Lxic.  God,  for  thy  mercy!  they  are  loose  again. 

Adr.  And  come  with  naked  swords;  let's  call 
more  help, 

(5)  Foolish. 

(6)  Unhappy  for  unluckj',  i.  e.  mlschicTOUS. 

2R 


314 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


ActV, 


To  have  them  bound  again. 

Off.  Away,  they'll  kill  us, 

{Exeunt  Off.  Adr.  and  Luc, 

Ant.  S.  I  see,  these  witches  are  afraid  of  swords. 

Dro,  S.  She,  that  would  be  your  ^vife,  now  ran 
from  you. 

Ant.  S.  Come  to  the  Centaur ;  fetch  our  stuff' 
from  thence : 
I  long,  that  we  were  safe  and  sound  aboard. 

Dro.  S.  Faith,  stay  here  this  night,  they  will 
surely  do  us  no  harm  ;  you  saw,  they  speak  us  fair, 
give  us  gold  :  methinks,  they  are  such  a  gentle 
nation,  that,  but  for  the  mountain  of  mad  flesh  that 
claims  marriage  of  me,  I  could  find  in  my  heart  to 
stay  here  still,  and  turn  witch. 

Ant.  S.  I  will  not  stay  to-niglit  for  all  the  town : 
Therefore  away,  to  get  our  stuff  aboard.        [Exe. 


ACT  V. 


SCEJ^E   I.— The  same.     Enter  Merchant  and 
Angelo. 

Anc;.  I  am  sorry,  sir,  that  I  have  hindcr'd  you ; 
But,  i  protest,  he  had  the  chain  of  me, 
Though  most  dishonestly  he  doth  deny  it. 

JVfer.  How  is  the  man  esteera'd  here  in  the  city  ? 

Ang.  Of  very  reverend  reputation,  sir, 
Of  credit  infinite,  highly  belov'd, 
Second  to  none  that  lives  here  in  the  city ; 
His  word  might  bear  my  wealth  at  any  time. 

Mer.  Speak  softly :  yonder,  as  I  think,  he  walks. 

Enter  Antipholus  and  Dromio  of  Syracuse. 

Ans.  'Tis  so  ;  and  that  self  chain  about  his  neck, 
Whicn  he  forswore,  most  monstrously,  to  have. 
Good  sir.  draw  near  to  me,  I'll  speak  to  him. 
Signior  Antipholus,  I  wonder  much 
That  you  would  put  me  to  this  shame  and  trouble  ; 
And  not  without  some  scandal  to  yourself. 
With  circumstance,  and  oaths,  so  to  deny 
This  chain,  which  now  you  ^vear  so  openly : 
Besides  the  charge,  the  shame,  imprisonment, 
You  have  done  %vrong  to  this  my  honest  friend  ; 
Who,  but  for  staying  on  our  controversy. 
Had  hoisted  sail,  and  put  to  sea  to-day  : 
This  chain  you  had  of  me,  can  you  deny  it  ? 

Ant.  S.  I  think,  I  had  ;  I  never  did  deny  it. 

Mer.  Yes,  that  you  did,  sir  ;  and  forswore  it  too. 

Ant.  S.  Who  heard  me  to  deny  it,  or  forswear  it  ? 

Mer.  These  ears  of  mine,  thou  knowest,  did 
hear  thee: 
Fie  on  thee,  wretch !  'tis  pity,  that  thou  liv'st 
To  walk  where  any  honest  men  resort. 

Ant.  S.  Thou  art  a  villain,  to  impeach  me  thus : 
I'll  prove  mine  honour,  and  mine  honesty. 
Against  tliee  presently,  if  thou  dar'st  stand. 

Mer.  I  dare,  and  do  defy  thee  for  a  villain. 

[They  draw. 

Etiler  Adriana,  Luciana,  Courtezan,  and  others. 

Adr.  Hold,  hurt  him  not,  for  God's  sake ;  he  is 
mad : — 
Rome  get  within  him,'*  take  his  sword  away : 
Bind  Dromio  too,  and  bear  them  to  my  house. 
J)ro.  S.  Run,  master,  run ;  for  God's  sake,  take 
a  house.' 
This  is  some  priory ; — In,  or  we  are  spoil'd. 

[Exeunt  Ant.  and  Dro.  to  the  priory. 

gage.       (2)  t.  e.  Close,  grapple  with  him. 


I  Enter  the  Abbess. 

^66.  Be  quiet,  people ;  Wherefore  throng  you 
hither  ? 

Adr.  To  fetch  my  poor  distracted  husband  hence ; 
Let  us  come  in,  that  we  may  bind  him  fast, 
And  bear  him  home  for  his  recovery. 

Ang.  I  knew,  he  was  not  in  his  perfect  wits. 

Mer.  I  am  sorry  now,  that  I  did  draw  on  him. 

Abb.  How   long  hath  tliis  possession  held  the 
man? 

Adr.  This  week  he  hath  been  heavy,  sour,  sad, 
And  much,  much  different  from  the  man  he  was ; 
But,  till  this  afternoon,  his  passion 
Ne'er  brake  into  extremity  of  rage. 

Abb.  Hath  he  not  lost  much  wealth  by  wreck  at 
sea? 
Bury'd  some  dear  friend  ?  Hath  not  else  his  eye 
Stray'd  his  affection  in  unlawful  love  ? 
A  sin,  prevailing  much  in  youthful  men, 
Who  give  their  eyes  the  liberty  of  gazing. 
Which  of  these  sorrows  is  he  subject  to  ? 

Adr.  To  none  of  these,  except  it  be  the  last : 
Namely,  some,  love,  that  drew  him  oft  from  home. 

Abb.  You  should  for  that  have  reprehended  him. 

Adr.  Why,  so  I  did. 

Abb.  Ay,  but  not  rough  enough. 

Adr.  As  roughly,  as  my  modesty  would  let  me. 

Abb.  Haply,  in  private. 

Adr.  And  in  assemblies  too. 

Abb.  Ay,  but  not  enough. 

Adr.  It  was  the  copy*  of  our  conference : 
In  bed,  he  slept  not  for  my  urging  it  : 
At  board,  he  fed  not  for  my  urging  it : 
Alone,  it  was  the  subject  of  my  theme  ; 
In  company,  I  often  glanced  it ; 
Still  did  I  tell  him  it  was  vile  and  bad. 

Abb.  And  thereof  came  it,  that  the  man  was  mad : 
The  venom  clamours  of  a  jealous  woman 
Poison  more  deadly  than  a  mad  dog's  tooth. 
It  seems  his  sleeps  were  hindered  by  Ihy  railing ; 
And  thereof  comes  it  that  his  head  is  light. 
Thou  say'st  his  meat  was  sauc'd  with  thy  upbraid- 

ings : 
Unquiet  meals  make  ill  digestions, 
Thereof  the  raging  fire  of  fever  bred  ; 
And  what's  a  fever  but  a  fit  of  madness  ? 
Thou  say'st,  his  sports  were  hinder'd  by  thy  brawls : 
Sweet  recreation  barr'd,  what  doth  ensue. 
But  moody  and  dull  melancholy, 
(Kinsman  to  grim  and  comfortless  despair  ;) 
And,  at  her  heels,  a  huge  infectious  troop 
Of  pale  distemperatures,  and  foes  to  life  ? 
In  food,  in  sport,  and  life-preserving  rest, 
To  be  disturb'd,  would  mad  or  man,  or  beast ; 
The  consequence  is  then,  thy  jealous  fits 
Have  scared  thy  husband  from  the  use  of  wits. 

Luc.  She  never  reprehended  him  but  mildly, 
When   he  demeaned  himself  rough,   rude,   and 

wildly. — 
Why  bear  you  these  rebukes,  and  answer  not? 

Adr.  She  did  betray  me  to  my  own  reproof. — 
Good  people,  enter,  and  lay  hold  on  him. 

Abb.  No,  not  a  creature  enters  in  my  house. 

Adr.  Then,  let  your  servants  bring  my  husband 
forth. 

Abb.  Neither ;  he  took  this  place  for  sanctuary. 
And  it  shall  privilege  him  from  your  hands. 
Till  I  have  brought  mm  to  his  wits  again. 
Or  lose  my  labour  in  assaying  it. 

Adr.  I  will  attend  my  husband,  be  his  nurse, 
Diet  his  sickness,  for  it  is  my  office, 
And  will  have  no  attorney  but  myself; 


(3)  t.  e.  Go  into  a  house. 


(4)  Theme. 


Scene  I, 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


315 


And  therefore  let  me  have  him  home  with  me. 

Mb.  Be  patient ;  for  I  will  not  let  him  stir, 
Till  I  have  us'd  the  approved  means  I  have, 
With  wholesome  syrups,  drugs,  and  holy  prayers, 
To  make  of  him  a  formal  man  again  : ' 
It  is  a  branch  and  parcel  of  mine  oath, 
A  charitable  duty  of  my  order ; 
Therefore  depart,  and  leave  him  here  with  me. 

Mr.   I  will  not  hence  and  leave  my  husband 
here ; 
And  ill  doth  it  beseem  your  holiness, 
To  separate  the  husband  and  the  wife. 

ti66.  Be  quiet  and  depart,  thou  shalt  not  have 
liim.  [Exit  Abbess. 

Luc.  Complain  unto  the  duke  of  this  indisrnity. 

»irfr.  Come,  go  ;  I  will  fall  prostrate  at  lus  feet, 
And  never  rise  until  my  tears  and  prayers 
Have  won  his  grace  to  come  in  person  hither, 
And  take  perforce  my  husband  from  the  abbess. 

J^Ier.  By  this,  I  thmk,  the  dial  points  at  five  : 
Anon,  I  am  sure,  the  duke  himself  in  person 
Comes  this  way  to  the  melancholy  vale. 
The  place  of  death  and  sorry^  execution, 
Behind  the  ditches  of  the  aljbey  here. 

^ing.  Upon  what  cause  ? 

.V/er.  To  see  a  reverend  Syracusan  merchant. 
Who  put  unluckily  into  this  bay 
Agrainst  the  laws  and  statutes  of  this  town, 
Beheaded  publicly  for  his  oH'encc. 

».ing.  See,  ivhere  they  come ;  we  will  behold  his 
death. 

Luc.  Kneel  to  the  duke,  before  he  pass  the  abbey. 

Enter  Duke  attended;  Jigeon  bare-headed;  wilh 
the  Headsman  and  other  officers. 

Duke.  Yet  once  again  proclaim  it  publicly, 
If  any  friend  will  pay  the  sum  for  him, 
He  shall  not  die,  so  much  we  tender  him. 

Mr.   Justice,    most  sacred   duke,   against  the 
abbess! 

Duke.  She  is  a  virtuous  and  a  reverend  lady ; 
It  cannot  be,  that  she  hath  done  thee  wrong. 

..idr.  May  it  please  your  grace,  Antipholus,  mv 
husband, — 
\\Tiom  I  made  lord  of  me  and  all  I  had. 
At  your  important"  letters, — this  ill  day 
A  most  outrageous  fit  of  madness  took  him  ; 
That  desperately  he  hurried  through  the  street 
(With  him  his  bondman,  all  as  mad  as  he,) 
Doing  displeasure  to  the  citizens 
By  rushing  in  their  houses,  bearinar  thence 
Rmgs,  jewels,  any  thing  his  rage  did  like. 
Once  did  I  get  him  bound,  and  sent  him  home. 
Whilst  to  take  order'  for  the  wrongs  I  went. 
That  here  and  there  his  fury  had  committed. 
Anon,  I  wot«  not  by  what  strong  escape. 
He  broke  from  those  that  had  the  guard  of  him  ; 
An*,  with  his  mad  attendant  and  himself. 
Each  one  with  ireful  passion,  with  drawn  swords. 
Met  us  again,  and,  madly  bent  on  us, 
Chas'd  us  away;  till  raising  of  more  aid. 
We  came  again  to  bind  them  :  then  they  fled 
Into  this  abbey,  whither  we  pursued  them  ; 
And  here  the  "abbess  shuts  the  gates  on  us. 
And  will  not  suffer  us  to  fetch  him  out, 
Nor  send  him  forth,  that  we  may  bear  him  hence. 
Therefore,  most  gracious  duke,  with  thy  command. 
Let  him  be  brought  forth,   and  borne  hence  for 
help. 

n)  •'.  e.  To  bring  him  back  to  his  senses. 
(2)  Part.         (S)  Sad.         (4)  Importunate. 

ib\  I.  e.  To  take  measures.  (6)  Know. 

7)  i.  e.  Successively,  one  after  another. 


Duke.   Long  since,  thy  husband  scnr'd  me  in 
my  wars  ; 
And  I  to  thee  engag'd  a  prince's  word, 
When  thou  didst  mal;e  him  master  of  thy  bed, 
To  do  him  all  the  grace  and  good  I  could. — 
Go,  some  of  you,  knock  at  the  abbey-gate, 
And  bid  the  lady  abbess  come  to  me  ; 
I  will  determine  this,  before  I  stir. 

Enter  a  Servant. 

Serv.  O  mistress,  mistress,  shift  and  save  yourself! 
My  master  and  his  man  are  both  broken  loose. 
Beaten  the  maids  a-row,'  and  bound  the  doctor, 
Whose  beard  they  have  singed  off"  with  brands  of 

fire ; 
And  ever  as  it  blazed,  they  threw  on  liim 
Great  pails  of  puddled  mire  to  quench  the  hair ; 
My  master  preaches  patience  to  him,  while 
His  man  with  scissars  nicks'  him  like  a  fool : 
And,  sure,  unless  you  send  some  present  help, 
Between  them  they  will  kill  the  conjurer. 

Mr.  Peace,  fool,  thy  master  and  his  man  are 
here ; 
And  that  is  false  thou  dost  report  to  us. 

Sere.  Mistress,  upon  my  life,  I  tell  you  true ; 
I  have  not  breath'd  almost,  since  I  did  see  it. 
He  cries  for  you,  and  vows,  if  he  can  take  you. 
To  scorch  your  face,  and  to  disfigure  you  : 

[  Cry  within. 
Hark,  hark,  I  hear  him,  mistress ;  fly,  be  gone. 

Duke.  Come,  stand  by  me,  fear  nothing:  Guard 
with  halberds. 

Mr.  Ah  me,  it  is  my  husband  !  Witness  you, 
That  he  is  borne  about  invisible : 
Even  now  we  hous'd  him  in  the  abbey  here  ; 
And  now  he's  there,  past  thought  of  human  reason. 

£nter  Antipholus  and  Dromio  ofEphesus. 

Mt.  E.  Justice,  most  gracious  duke,  oh,  grant 
me  justiee ! 
Even  for  the  service  that  long  since  I  did  thee, 
When  I  bestrid  thee  in  the  wars,  and  took 
Deep  scars  to  save  thy  life  ;  even  for  the  blood 
That  then  I  lost  for  thee,  now  grant  me  justice. 

JEge.  Unless  the  fear  of  death  doth  make  me  dote, 
I  sec  my  son  Antipholus  and  Dromio. 

Ant.  E.    Justice,    sweet   prince,  against  that 
woman  there. 
She  whom  thou  gav'st  to  me  to  be  my  wife  ; 
That  hath  abused  and  dishonour'd  me. 
Even  in  the  strength  and  height  of  injury ! 
Beyond  imagination  is  the  wrong. 
That  she  this  day  hath  shameless  thrown  on  me. 

Duke.  Discover  how,  and  thou  shalt  find  me  just. 

Ant.  E.  This  day,  great  duke,  she  shut  the  doors 
upon  me. 
While  she  with  harlots'  feasted  in  my  house. 

Duke.  A  grievous  fault :    Say,  woman,  didst 
thou  so  ? 

Mr.  No,  my;  good  lord  ;— myself,  he,  and  my 
sister, 
To-day  did  dine  together :  So  befall  my  soul, 
As  this  is  false,  he  burdens  me  withal ! 

Luc.  Ne'er  may  I  look  on  day,  nor  sleep  on  night, 
But  she  tells  to  your  highness  simple  truth! 

Aug.  O  perjur'd  woman !   They  are  both  for- 
sworn, 
In  this  the  madman  justly  chargeth  them. 

Ant.  E.  My  liege,  I  am  advised  what  I  say ; 

(8)  i.  e.  Cuts  his  liair  close. 

(9)  Harlot  was  a  term  of  reproach  applied  to 
cheats  among  men  as  well  as  to  wantons  among 
women. 


316 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


Jctr. 


Neither  disturb'd  with  the  effect  of  wiiie, 
Nor  heady-rash,  provok'd  with  raging  ire, 
Albeit,  my  wronss  might  make  one  iviser  mad. 
This  woman  lock'd  me  out  this  day  from  dinner : 
That  goldsmith  thera,  were  he  not  pack'd  with  her, 
Could  witness  it,  for  hs  was  with  me  then ; 
Who  parted  with  me  to  go  fetch  a  chain, 
Promising  to  bring  it  to  the  Porcupine, 
Where  Balthazar  and  I  did  dine  together. 
Our  dinner  done,  and  he  not  coming  thither, 
I  went  to  seek  him :  in  the  street  I  met  him  ; 
And  in  his  company,  that  gentleman. 
There    did    this    perjur'd    goldsmith   swear   me 

down. 
That  I  this  day  of  him  recciv'd  the  cliain, 
Which,  God  he  kno.vs,  I  saw  not:  for  the  whicli, 
He  did  arrest  me  with  all  oflicer. 
I  did  obey ;  and  sent  my  peasant  home 
For  certain  ducats  :  ho  with  none  return'd. 
Then  fairly  I  bespoke  the  officer. 
To  go  in  person  with  me  to  my  house. 
By  the  ivay  we  met 
My  w^ife,  her  sister,  ami  a  rabbis  more 
Of  vile  confederates  ;  along  with  them 
They  broufjht  one  Pinch  ;  a  hungry  lean-fac'd  vil- 
lain, 
A  mere  anatomy,  a  mountebank, 
A  thread-bare  jugjler,  and  a  fortune-teller  ; 
A  needy,  hoHow-ey'd,  sharp-looking  wretch, 
.  A  living  dead  man :  this  pernicious  slave, 
Forsooth,  took  on  liim  as  a  conjuror ; 
And,  gazing  in  mine  eyes,  feeling  my  p'jise. 
And  with  no  face,  as  'iwere,  outfacing  me. 
Cries  out,  I  was  possess'd :  then  all  together 
They  fell  upon  mc,  bound  me,  bore  me  thence ; 
And  in  a  dark  and  dankish  vault  at  home 
There  left  me  and  my  man,  both  bound  together ; 
Till,  gnawin?  ivith  ray  teeth  my  bonds  in  sunder, 
I  gain'd  my  freedom,  and  immediately 
Ran  hither  to  your  grace ;  whom  I  beseech 
To  give  me  ample  satisfaction 
For  these  deep  shames  and  great  indignities. 

.ing.  My  lord,  in  truth,  thus  far  I  'witness  with 
him  • 
That  he  dineu  not  at  home,  bnt  was  lock'd  out. 

Duke.  But  had  he  tm(-\\  a  chain  of  thee,  or  no  ? 

.'lug.  He  had,  my  lord  ;  and  when  he  rati  in  here, 
These  people  saw  the  chain  about  his  neck, 


Duke,  Why,  this  i«  strange :— Go  eali  the  abbess 

hither ; 
I  tliink  you  are  all  mated,'  or  stark  mad. 

[Exit  an  attendant. 

Mge.  Most  mighty  duke,  vouchsafe  me  speal; 
a  word ; 
Haply  I  see  a  friend  will  save  my  life. 
Ana  pay  the  sum  that  will  deliver  me. 

Duke.  Speak  freely,  Syracusan,  what  thou  wilt. 

.ffijn-e.  Is  not  ypur  name,  sir,  cali'd  Antipholus  ? 
And  13  not  that  your  bondman  Dromio  ? 

Dro.  E.  Within  this  hour  I  was  his  bondman,  sir, 
But  he,  I  thank  him,  giiaw'd  in  two  my  cords  ; 
Now  am  I  Dromio,  and  his  man,  unbound. 

JEge.  I  am  sure,  you  bo'Ji  of  you  remember  me. 

Dio.  E.  Ourselves  we  do  remember,  sir,  by  you ; 
For  lately  v/e  were  bodnd  as  you  are  now. 
You  are  not  Pinch's  patient,  are  you,  sir  ? 

JEge.  Why  look  you  strange  on  me  ?  you  know 
me  well. 

i^ni.  E.  I  never  saw  you  in  my  life,  till  nowJ 

Mge.  Oh !  grief  hath  chang'd  me,   since  you 
saw  me  last ; 
And  careful  hours,  with  Time's  deformed  hand, 
Have  written  strange  defeature's*  in  my  face ; 
But  tell  me  yet,  dost  thou  not  knoiv  my  voice  ? 

.^nt.  E.  Neither. 

JEge.      '  Dromio,  nor  thou  ? 

Dro.  E.  No,  trust  me,  sir,  nor  I. 

^ge.  I  am  sure,  thou  dost. 

Dro.  E.  Ay,  sir?  but  I  am  sure,  I  do  not ;  and 
u'hatsoever  a  man  denies,  you  arc  now  bound  to 
believe  hiin. 

•Egs.  Not  know  my  voice !  O,  time's  extremity ! 
Flast  thou  so  crack'd  and  splittcd  my  poor  tongue. 
In  seven  short  years,  that  here  my  only  son 
Knows  not  my  feeble  key  of  untun'd  cares  ? 
Tiiough  now  this  grained'  face  of  mine  be  hid 
In  sajj-consuming  winter's  drizzled  snow. 
And  all  the  conduits  of  my  blood  froze  up ; 
Yet  hath  my  night  of  liie  some  memory. 
My  wasting  lamp  some  fading  glimmer  left. 
My  dull  deaf  ears  a  little  use  to  hear : 
All  these  old  witnesses  (I  cannot  err,) 
Tell  me.  tliou  art  my  son  Antipholus. 

^Int.  in.  I  never  sa^v  my  father  in  my  life. 

^E.ge.  But  seven  years  since,  in  Syracusa,  bov. 
Thou  know'sf,  we  parted  :  but,  perhaps,  my  soil. 


J\Ier.  Besides,   I  will  ho  sworn,   these  ears  ofi Thou  sham'st  to  acknowiedjin  me  in  misery' 


Heard  you  confess  you  had  the  chain  of  him, 
After  you  first  forswore  it  on  the  mart. 
And,  thcreupo:t.  I  drew  my  sword  on  you  ; 
And  then,  you  fled  into  this  abbey  here, 
From  whence,  I  think,  you  are  come  by  miracle. 

.■Jiif.  E.  I  never  came  within  these  abbey  walls. 
Nor  ever  didst  thou  draw  thy  sword  on  me : 
I  never  saw  the  chain,  so  help  me  heaven  ! 
And  this  is  fajse,  you  burden  me  withal. 

Diike.  Why,  what  an  intricate  impeach  is  this  I 
I  think,  you  all  have  drank  of  Circe's  cup. 
If  here  you  hous'd  him,  here  lie  would  hare  been ; 
If  he  were  mad,  he  would  not  plead  so  coldly  : — 
You  say,  he  dined  at  home  ;  the  goldsmith  here 
Denies  that  sayinc  : — Sirrah,  what  say  you? 

Dro.  E.   Sir,   he  dined  with  her  there,  at  the 
Porcupine. 

Cour.    He  did  ;   and  from  my  fmger  snatch'd 
that  ring. 

^Int.  E.  'Tis  true,  my  liege,  this  ring  I  had  of  her. 

Duke.  Saw'st  thou  him  eiiter  at  the  abbey  here  ? 

Cour.  As  sure,  my  liege,  as  I  do  see  your  grace. 

(1)  Confounded.       (2)  Alteration  of  features. 


Jint.  E.  The  duke,  aad  all  that  know  ine  in  the 
city, 
Can  witness  with  me  that  it  is  not  so  ; 
I  ne'er  sjiav  Syracusa  in  r.iy  life. 

Duke.  I  tell  thee,  Syraciisan,  twenty  years 
Have  I  bsen  patron  to  Antipholus. 
During  which  time  he  ne'er  saw  Syracusa : 
I  sec,  thy  age  and  dangers  make  thee  dote. 

Enter  the  Jibhess,  with  Antipholus  Syracusan,  and 
Dromio  Syracusan. 

Jlhh.  Most  mighty  duke,  behold  a  man  much 
ivrong'd."  [^lll  gather  to  see  him. 

.7(iV.  I  see  two  husbands,  or  mine  eyes  deceive  me. 

Duke.  One  of  these  men  is  Genius  to  the  other  ; 
And  so  of  these :  Which  is  the  natural  man. 
And  which  the  spirit  ?  Who  deciphers  them  ? 

Dro.  S.  I,  sir,  am  Dromio  ;  command  him  away. 

J)ro.  E.  I,  sir,  am  Dromio ;  pray,  let  me  stay. 

.Int.  S.  .'Egeon,  art  thou  not  ?  or  else  his  ghost? 

Dro.  S.  O,  my  old  master !  who  hath  bound  him 
here? 

Mb.  Whoever  bound  him,  I  will  loose  his  bonds. 


(3)  Furrowed,  lined. 


Scene  t. 


COMUDY  or  ERRORS. 


317 


And  gain  a  husband  by  his  liberty : — 
Speak,  old  iEgeon,  if  thou  be'st  the  mj* 
That  had'st  a  wife  once  call'd  Emilia, 
That  bore  thee  at  a  burden  two  fair  son  Jt 

0,  if  thou  be'st  the  same  .^Egeon,  speak 
And  speak  unto  the  same  JEniilia  ! 

JE'^e.  If  I  dream  not,  thou  art  .^mili  j; 
If  thou  art  she,  tell  me,  where  is  that  son 
That  floated  with  thee  on  the  fatal  raft  V 

Jibb.  By  men  of  Epidamnum,  he,  and  I, 
And  the  twin  Dromio,  all  were  taken  up  ; 
But,  by  and  by  rude  fishermen  of  Corinth 
By  force  took  Dromio  and  my  son  from  them. 
And  me  they  left  with  those  of  Epidamnum  ; 
What  then  became  of  them,  I  cannot  tell : 

1,  to  this  fortune  that  you  see  me  in. 

Duke.  Wliy,  here  begins  his  niornina;  story  right ; ' 
These  two  Antipholus's,  these  two  so  like, 
And  these  i\so  Uromio's,  one  in  semblance, — 
Besides  her  urging  of  her  wreck  at  sea, — 
These  are  the  parents  to  these  children- 
Which  accidentally  are  met  tosrether. 
Antipholus,  thou  cam'st  from  Corinth  inX. 

,9nt.  S.  No,  sir,  not  I ;  I  came  from ;  Syracuse. 

Duke.  Stay,  stand  apart!  I  know  lot  which  is 
which. 

tint.  E.  1  came  from  Corinth,  my  mijt  gracious 
lord. 

Dro.  E.  And  I  with  him. 

»4»i(.  E.   Brought  to  this  town  with  that  most 
famous  warrior 
Duke  Menaphon,  your  most  renowned  uncle. 

Adr.  Which  of  you  two  did  dine  with  me  to  day  ? 

,'lnt.  S.  I,  gentle  mistress. 

Mr.  And  arc  not  you  my  husband  ? 

^f.  E.  No,  I  say  nay  to  that. 

.int.  8.  And  so  do  I,  yet  did  she  call  me  so ; 
And  this  fair  genllewomaii,  her  sister  here, 
Did  call  me  bro'.iier: — AVhat  I  told  j-qu  then, 
I  hope,  I  shall  have  leisure  to  make  good  ; 
If  this  be  not  a  dream,  I  see,  and  hear. 

jin^.  That  is  the  chain,  sir,  wliich  you  had  of  mc. 

.int.  S.  I  think  it  be,  sir ;  1  deny  it  not. 

.int.  E.  And  vou,  sir,  for  this  chain  arrested  me. 

.ins;.  I  think  1  did,  sir ;  I  deny  it  not. 

.idr.  I  sent  you  money,  sir,  to  be  your  bail. 
By  Dromio ;  but  I  think  he  brought  it  not. 

Dro.  E.  No,  none  by  me. 

Jlnt.  S.  This  purse  of  ducats  I  receiv'd  froia  you, 
And  Dromio  mv  man  did  bring  them  me : 
I  see,  we  still  did  meet  each  other's  man, 
And  I  was  ta'en  for  liim,  and  he  for  mc, 
And  thereupon  these  Errors  are  arose. 

.int.  E.  These  ducats  pawn  1  for  my  father  here. 

Duke.  It  shall  not  need,  thy  father  hath  his  life. 
Coiir.  Sir,  I  must  have  that  diamond  from  you. 

mint.  E.  There,  take  it ;  and  much  thanks  for 
my  good  cheer. 

Mb.  Renowned  duke,  vouchsafe  to  take  the  pains 
To  go  with  us  into  the  abbey  here. 
And  hear  at  large  discoursed  all  our  fortunes  :— 

M)  The  morning  storv  is  what  iEgeon  teE'ti^ 
duke  in  the  first  scene  ofthis  olav 


And  all  that  are  assembled  in  this  place, 
That  by  this  sympathised  one  day's  error 
Have  suffer'd  wrong,  go,  keep  us  company, 
And  we  shall  make  lull  satisfaction. — 
Twenty-five  years  have  I  but  gone  in  travail 
Of  you,  my  sons ;  nor,  till  this  present  hour, 
Myheavy  burdens  are  deliver'd  : — 
The  duke,  my  husband,  and  my  children  both. 
And  you  the  calendars  of  their  nativity, 
Go  to' a  gossip's  feast,  and  go  with  me  ; 
After  so  long  grief,  such  nativity  ! 
Duke.  With  all  my  heart,  I'll^ossip  at  this  feast. 
[Exeunt  Duke,  Abbess,  ^geon,  Courtezan, 
Merchant,  Anirelo,  and  attendants. 
Dro.  S.  Master,  shall  I  fetch  your  stuft"  from 
shipboartl  ? 
.int.  E.  Dromio,  what  stuff  of  mine  hast  thou 

cmbarkM  ? 
Dro.  S.  Your  goods,  that  lay  at  host,  sir,  in  the 

Centaur. 
.int.  S.  He  speaks  to  mc ;  I  am  your  master, 
Dromio : 
Come,  go  with  us  :  we'll  look  to  that  anon : 
Embrace  thy  brother  therij,  rejoice  with  him. 

[Exeunt  Antipholus  S.  and  E.  Adr.  and  Luc. 
Dro.  S.  There  is  a  fat  friend  at  your  master's 
house, 
That  kitchen'd  me  for  you  to-day  at  dinner ; 
She  now  shall  be  my  sister,  not  my  wife. 
Dro.  E.  Melhinks,  you  are  my  glass,  and  not 
ir.y  brotlicr  : 
I  see  by  you,  I  am  a  sweet-faced  youth. 
Will  you  walk  in  to  see  tlieir  gossiping? 
Dro.  S.  Not  I,  sir ;  you  are  my  elder. 
Dro.  E.  That's  a  question :  how  shall  we  try  it  ? 
Dro.  S.  We  will  drav/  cuts  for  the  senior :  till 
tiien,  lead  thou  first. 

Dro.  E.  Nay,  then  thus : 
Vv'e  came  into  the  world,  like  brother  and  brother ; 
And  now  let's  go  hand  in  hand,  not  one  before 
another.  [Exeunt. 


On  a  careful  revision  of  the  foresoinir  scenes,  I 
do  not  hesitate  to  pronounce  them  the  composition 
of  two  very  unequal  writers.  Shakspeare  had  un- 
doubtedly a  share  in  them ;  but  that  the  entire  play 
was  no  work  of  his,  is  an  opinion  which  (as  Bene- 
dict savs)  '  fire  cannot  melt  out  of  me  ;  I  will  die  in 
it  at  the  stake.'  Thus,  as  we  are  informed  by  Aulus 
Gellius,  Lib.  III.  Cap.  3.  some  plays  were  abso- 
lutely ascribed  to  Plautus,  which  in  truth  had  only 
been  {retractttlcc  et  expolitce)  retouched  and  polish- 
ed by  him. 

In  this  comedy  we  find  more  intricacy  of  plot 
than  distinction  of  character ;  and  our  attention  is 
less  forcibly  engaged,  because  we  can  guess  in  great 
measure  how  the  dencniement  will  be  brought 
about.  Yet  the  subject  appears  to  have  been 
rchictantly  dismissed,  even  in  this  last  and  unne- 
cessary scene  ;  where  the  same  mistakes  are  con- 
I tinned,  till  the  power  of  affording  entertainment 
lis  entirely  lost.  STEEVENS. 


(    318    ) 

MACBETH. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED, 


Duncan,  king  of  Scotland. 

Malcolm,      )  •■    ,„„„ 

Donalbain,   >*«*<""• 

Macbeth, 

Banquo, 

Macdun, 

Lenox, 

Rosse, 

Mentcth, 

Angus, 

Cathness, 

Fleance,  son  to  Banquo. 

Siward,  earl  of  J^orlhumberland,  general 

English  forces. 
Young  Siward,  Ins  son. 
Seyton,  an  officer  attending  on  Macbeth. 
Son  to  Macduff. 


>  generals  of  the  Ai'ug's  army. 


noblemen  of  Scotland. 


of  the 


Jin  English  Doctor.    .A  Scotch  Doctor. 
A  Soldier.    Ji  Porter.    Jin  old  Man. 

Lady  Macbeth. 

iMdy  Macdufl'. 

Gentletooinan  attending  on  lady  Macbeth. 

Hecate,  and  three  fVitches. 

Lords,  Gentlemen,  Officers,  Soldiers,  Murderers, 

Jltttndants,  and  Messengers. 
The  Ghost  cf  Banquo,  and  several  other  Appari- 
tions. 

Scene,  in  the  end  of  the  fourth  act,  lies  in  Eng- 
land; through  the  rest  of  the  play,  in  Scotland, 
I     071.'/,  chiefly,  at  Macbetli's  castle. 


ACT  I. 

SCEJ^E  L—An  open  place.    Thunder  and  Light- 
ning.   Enter  three  Witches. 


Wi 


1  Witch. 


HEN  shall  we  three  meet  attain 
In  thunder,  lishtnine,  or  in  rain  ) 

2  Witch.  When  tne  hurl3burly's'  done, 
When  the  battle's  lost  and  won.  ^ 

3  Witch.  That  will  be  ere  set  of  sun. 

1  Witch.  Where  the  place  ? 

2  Witch.  Upon  the  heath. 

3  Witch.  There  to  meet  with  Macbeth. 
1  Witch.  I  come,  Graymalkin  ! 

Ml.  Paddock  calls : — Anon. — 
Fair  is  foul,  and  foul  is  fair  : 
Hover  through  the  fog  and  filthy  air. 

[Witches  vanish. 

SCEJ^E  II.— A  Camp  near  Fores.  Alarum  tcith- 
in.  Enter  King  Duncan,  Malcolm,  Donalbain, 
Lenox,  with  attendants,  vxeeting  a  bleeding  Sol- 
dier. 

Dun.  What  bloody  man  is  that  ?  He  can  report, 
As  seemeth  by  his  plight,  of  the  revolt 
The  newest  state. 

Mai.  This  is  the^scrpeant, 

W^ho,  like  a  jrood  and  hardy  soldier,  foujrhl 

'Gainst  my  captivity  : Hail,  brave  friend  ! 

Say  to  the  king  the  knowledge  of  the  broil. 
As  thou  didst  leave  it. 

Sold.  Doubtfully  it  stood  ; 

As  two  spent  swimmers,  that  do  cling  together, 
And  choke  their  art.    The  merciless  Macdonwald 
(VVorthv  to  be  a  rebel  j  for,  to  that, 
The  multiplying  villanies  of  nature 

m  Tumult. 

(2)  i.  e.  Supplied  with  light  and  heaT}-armed 
troops. 

(3)  Cause.       (4)  The  opposite  to  comfort , 


Do  swarm  upon  him,)  from  the  western  isles 
Of  Kernes  and  Gallowpiasses  is  supplied  j* 
And  fortune,  on  his  damned  quarrel'  smihng, 
Show'd  like  a  rebel's  whore  :  But  all's  too  weak: 
For  brave  Macbeth  (well  he  deserves  tliat  name,) 
Disdaining  fortune,  v.ith  his  brandish'd  steel, 
VVhich  sniok'd  uilii  bloody  execution, 
Like  valour's  minion, 

Carv'd  out  his  passuiic,  till  he  fac'd  the  slave ; 
And  ne'er  shook  hands,  nor  bade  farewell  to  him. 
Till  he  unseam'd  him  from  the  nave  to  tlie  chaps. 
And  tix'd  his  head  upon  our  battlements. 

Z>i(?i.  O,  valiant  cousin  !  worthy  gentleman  ! 

Soid.  As  whence  the  sun  'gins  his  reflexion 
Shipwrecking  storms  and  direful  thunders  break ; 
So  from  that  spring,  whence  comfort  seem'd  to  come, 
Discomfort*  swells.  Mark,  king  of  Scotland,  mark : 
No  sooner  justice  had,  with  valour  arm'd, 
Compell'd  these  skippingKernes  to  trust  their  heels : 
But  the  Norweyan  lord,  surveying  vantage, 
With  fiirbish'd  arms,  and  new  supplies  of  men, 
Began  a  fresh  assault. 

Dun.  Dismaj'd  not  this 

Our  captains,  Macbeth  an^  Banquo  ? 

Sold.  Yes ; 

As  sparrows,  eagles ;  or  the  hare,  the  lion. 
If  I  say  sooth,'  f  must  report  they  were 
As  cannons  overcharg'd  with  double  cracks  ; 
So  they 

Doubly  redoubled  strokes  upon  the  foe  : 
Except  they  meant  to  bathe  in  reeking  wounds, 
Or  memorize  another  Golgotha,* 

I  cannot  tell : 

But  I  am  faint,  my  gashes  cry  for  help. 

Z><<ji.  So  well  thy  words  become  thee,  as  thy 
wounds ; 
They  smack  of  honour  both : — Go,  get  him  sur- 
geons. [Exit  Soldier,  attended. 

(51  Truth. 

(6)  Make  another  Golgotlia  as  memorable  as  the 
first. 


MACBETH. 
Act  J 11. — Scene  4, 


KING  JOHN. 

An  f//.—,'<cPne  4. 


ft 


Scene  ni. 


MACBETH. 


819 


Entei'  Rosse. 
Who  comes  here  ? 

Jdal.  The  worthy  thane  of  Rosse. 

Len.  What  a  haste  looks  through  his  eyes !    So 
should  he  look, 
That  seems  to  speak  things  strange. 

Rosse.  God  save  the  king ! 

Dun.  WTience  cam'st  thou,  worthy  thane  ? 

Rosse.  From  Fife,  great  king, 

Where  the  Norweyan  banners  flout'  the  sky, 
And  fan  our  people  cold. 
Norway  himself,  with  terrible  numbers, 
Assisted  by  that  most  disloyal  traitor 
The  thane  of  Cawdor,  'gan  a  dismal  conflict : 
Till  that  Bellona's  brideo-room,^  lapp'd  in  proof,' 
Confronted  him  with  self-comparisons. 
Point  againt  point  rebellious,  arm  'gainst  arm, 
Curbing  his  lavish  spirit :  And,  to  conclude, 
The  victory  fell  on  us ; 

Dun.  Great  happiness ! 

Rosse.  That  now 
Swenc,  the  Norways'  kinar,  craves  composition ; 
Nor  would  we  deign  him  burial  of  his  men. 
Till  he  disbursed,  at  Saint  Colmes'  inch. 
Ten  thousand  dollars  to  our  general  use. 

Dm.  No  more  that  thane  of  Cawdor  shall  de- 
ceive 
Our  bosom  interest : — Go,  pronounce  his  death. 
And  with  his  former  title  greet  Macbeth. 

Rosse.  I'll  see  it  done. 

Dun.  What  he  hath  lost,  noble  Macbeth  hath 
won.  [Exeunt. 

SCJ2JVE  III.—^  Heath.     Thunder.     Enter  the 
three  Witches. 

1  Witch.  W^here  hast  thou  been,  sister? 

2  Witch.  Killing  swine. 

3  Witch.  Sister,  where  thou  ? 

1  Witch.  A  sailor's  wife  had  chesnuts  in  her  lap. 

And  mounch'd,  and  mounch'd,  and  mounch'd : 

Give  me,  quoth  I : 
„iroint  thee,*  tcitch !  the  rump-fed  ronyon'  cries. 
Her  husband's  to  Aleppo  gone,  master  o'the  Tiger: 
But  in  a  sieve  I'll  thither  sail. 
And,  like  a  rat  without  a  tail, 
I'll  do,  I'll  do,  and  I'll  do. 

•2  Witch.  I'll  give  thee  a  wind. 

I  Witch.  Thou  art  kind. 

3  Witch.  And  I  another. 

1  Wilch.  I  myself  have  all  the  other; 
And  the  very  ports  they  blow, 

All  the  quarters  that  they  know 
I'the  shipman's  card.^ 
I  will  drain  him  dry  as  hay : 
Sleep  shall,  neither  night  nor  day, 
Hang  upon  his  pent-house  lid ; 
He  shall  live  a  man  forbid  :' 
Weaiy  sev'n-nights,  nine  times  nine, 
Shall  he  dwindle,  peak,  and  pine  : 
Though  his  bark  cannot  be  lost, 
Yet  it  shall  be  tempest-toss'd. 
Look  what  I  have. 

2  Witch.  Show  me,  show  me. 

1  Witch.  Here  I  have  a  pilot's  thumb, 
Wreck'd,  as  homeward  he  did  come. 

[Drtcm  tcilhin. 

3  Witch.  A  drum,  a  drum  ; 
Macbeth  doth  come. 

(1)  Mock.     (2)  Shakspeare  means  Mars, 
<3)  Defended  by  armour  of  proof. 
(4)  Avaunt,  begone. 

is)  A  scurvy  woman  fed  on  ofials. 
6)  Sailor's  chart.        (7)  Accursed. 


M.  The  weird  sisters,'  hand  in  huid, 
Posters  of  the  sea  and  land, 
Thus  do  go  about,  about ; 
Thrice  to  thine,  and  thrice  to  mine, 
And  thrice  again,  to  make  up  nine : 
Peace ! — the  charm's  wound  up. 

Enter  Macbeth  and  Banquo. 

Macb.  So  foul  and  fair  a  day  I  have  not  seen. 
Ban.  How  far  is't  call'd  to  Fores  ?— What  are 
these. 
So  wither'd,  and  so  wild  in  their  attire ; 
That  look  not  like  the  inhabitants  o'th§  earth. 
And  yet  are  on't  ?  Live  you  ?  or  are  you  aught 
That  man  may  question  V  You  seem  to  understand 

me. 
By  each  at  once  her  choppy  finger  laying 
Upon  her  skinny  lips :— You  should  be  women, 
And  yet  your  beards  forbid  me  to  interpret 
That  you  are  so. 
J\Iacb.  Speak,  if  you  can ;— What  are  you  ? 

1  Witch.  All  hail,  Macbeth !  hail  to  thee,  thane 

of  Glamis  ! 

2  Witch.  All  hail,  Macbeth !  hail  to  thee,  thane 

of  Cawdor! 

3  WUch.  All  hail,  Macbeth !  that  shalt  be  king 

hereafter. 
Ban.  Good  sir,  why  do  you  start;  and  seem  to 

fear, 
Things  that  do  sound  so  fair  ? — ^I'the  name  of  truth, 
Are  ye  fantastical,'  or  that  indeed 
Which  outwardly  ye  show  ?  My  noble  partner 
You  greet  with  present  grace,  and  great  prediction 
Of  noble  having,'"  and  of  royal  hope, 
That  he  seems  rapt' '  withal ;'  to  me  you  speak  not : 
If  you  can  look  into  the  seeds  of  time. 
And  say,  which  grain  will  grow,  and  which  will  not, 
Speak  then  to  me,  who  neither  beg,  nor  fear, 
Your  favours,  nor  your  hate. 

1  Witch.  Hail! 

2  Wilch.  Hail ! 

3  Witch.  Hail! 

1  Witch.  Lesser  than  Macbeth,  and  greater. 

2  Witch.  Not  so  happy,  yet  much  happier. 

3  Witch.  Thou  shalt  get  kings,  though  thou  be 

none: 
So,  all  hail,  Macbeth,  and  Banquo ! 

1  Witch.  Banquo,  and  Macbeth,  all  hail! 

J\Iacb.  Stay,  you  imperfectspeakers,  tell  me  more : 
By  Sinel's  death,  I  know,  I  am  thane  of  Glamis  ; 
But  how  of  Cawdor?  the  thane  of  Cawdor  Ures, 
A  prosperous  gentleman  ;  and  to  be  king. 
Stands  not  within  the  prospect  of  belief. 
No  more  than  to  be  Cawdor.    Say,  from  whence 
You  owe  this  strange  intelligence  ?  or  why 
Upon  this  blasted  heath  you  stop  our  way 
With  such  prophetic  greeting? — Speak,  I  charge 
you.  [Witches  vanish. 

Ban.  The  earth  hath  bubbles,  as  the  water  has. 
And  these  are  of  them : — Whither  are  they  vaiiish'd  ? 

Macb.  Into  the  air ;  and  what  seem'd  corporal, 
melted 
As  breath  into  the  wind.— 'Would  they  had  staid ! 

Ban.  Were  such  things  here,  as  we  do  speak 
about  ? 
Or  have  ws  eaten  of  the  insane  root,'* 
That  takes  the  reason  prisoner  ? 

J\Iacb.  Your  children  shall  be  kings. 

Ban.  You  shall  be  king. 

(8)  Prophetic  sisters. 
9)  Supernatural,  spiritual.     (10)  Estate. 

11)  Rapturously  aft'ected. 

12)  The  root  which  makes  insane. 


Sao 


Macbeth. 


Jleil 


JVftub.  And  thane  of  Cawdor  too ;  went  it  not  so  ? 
Ban.  To  the  self-same  tune,  and  words.    ^Vho's 
here? 

Enter  Rosse  and  Angus. 

Roase.  The  king  hath  happily  receiv'd,  Macbeth, 
The  news  of  thy  success :  and  when  he  reads 
Thy  personal  venture  in  the  rebels'  fight. 
His  wonders  and  his  praises  do  contend. 
Which  should  be  thine,  or  his  :  Silenc'd  with  that, 
In  viewingr  o'er  the  rest  o'the  self-same  day, 
He  finds  thee  in  the  stout  Norweyan  ranks. 
Nothing  afeard  of  what  thyself  didst  make. 
Strange  images  of  death.    As  thick  as  tale," 
Came  post  with  post ;  and  every  one  did  bear 
Thy  praises  in  his  kingdom's  great  jiefence. 
And  pour'd  them  down  before  him. 

^ing.  We  are  sent, 

To  give  thee,  from  our  royal  master,  thanks ; 
To  herald  thee  into  his  sight,  not  pay  thee. 

Rosse,  Andj  for  an  earnest  of  a  greater  honour, 
He  bade  me,  from  him,  call  thee  thane  of  Cawdor : 
In  which  addition,^  hail,  most  worthy  thane ! 
For  it  is  tliine. 

Ban,  What,  can  the  devil  speak  true  ? 

JMacb.    The  thane  of  Cawdor  lives ;    ^\'hy  do 
you  dress  mc 
In  borrow'd  robes  ? 

-i7ig.  \Mio  was  the  thane,  lives  yet ; 

But  under  heavy  judgment  bears  that  life 
Which  he  deserves  to  lose.    Whether  he  was 
Combin'd  with  Norway  ;  or  did  line  the  rebel 
With  hidden  help  and  vantage  ;  or  that  with  bot 
He  labour'd  in  his  country's  wreck,  I  Icnow  not ; 
But  treasons  capital,  contess'd,  and  prov'd, 
Have  overthrown  him. 

Macb.  Glamis,  the  thane  of  Cawdo; 

The  greatest  is  behind. — Thanks  for  your  pains. — 
Do  you  not  hope  your  children  shall  be  kings, 
When  those  that  gave  the  t!iane  of  Cawdor  to  me, 
Promis'd  no  less  to  them  ? 

Ban.  That,  trusted  home, 

Might  yet  enkindle'  you  unto  the  crown, 
Besides  the  thane  of  Ca\vdor.    But  'tis  strange : 
And  oftentimes,  to  win  us  to  our  harm, 
The  instruments  of  darkness  tell  us  truths; 
Win  us  with  honest  trifles,  to  betray  us 
In  deepest  consequence. — 
Cousins,  a  word,  I  pray  you. 

J^acb.                                  Two  trutlis  are  told. 
As  happy  prologues  to  the  swelling  act 
Of  the  imperial  theme. — I  thank  you,  gentlemeij, — 
This  supernatural  soliciting*                              • 
Cannot  be  ill ;  cannot  be  good  :  If  ill. 
Why  hath  it  given  mc  earnest  of  success, 
Commencing  in  a  truth?  I  am  thane  of  Cawdor: 
If  good,  why  do  I  yield  to  that  suggestion* 
Whose  horrid  image  doth  nnfix  my  hair. 
And  make  my  seated*  heart  knock  at  my  ribs, 
Against  the  use  of  nature  ?    Present  fears 
Are  less  than  horrible  injaginings : 
My  thought,  whose  murder  yet  is  but  fantastical. 
Shakes  so  my  single  state  of  man,  that  function 
Is  smother'd  in  surmise  ;'  and  nothing  is, 
But  what  is  not.  

Ban.  Look,  how  our  partner's  rapt. 

J\lacb.  If  chance  \n\\  have  me  king,  \Vhy,  chance 
may  crown  me, 

(I)  As  fast  as  they  could  be  counted.    (2)  Title. 
iS)  Stimulate.  U)  Encitement. 

(5)  Temptation.         (6)  Firmly  fixed. 
(7)  The  powers  of  action  are  oppressed  by  con- 
}e€tur«. 


Without  my  stir. 

Ban.  New  honours  come  upon  him 

Like  our  strange  garments  ;  cleave  not  to  their 

mould, 
But  with  the  aid  ofuse-, 

Macb.  ■'J    Come  what  come  may; 

Time  and  the  hour'  ^jBop  through  the  roughest  day. 

Ban.  Worthy  Macblth,  we  stay  upon  your  lei- 
sure. 

Macb.   Give  me  your  favour:* — my  dull  brain 
was  wrought 
With  things  forgotten.  Kind  gentlemen,  your  pains 
Are  register'd  where  every  day  I  turn 
The  leaf  to  read  them. — Let  us  toward  the  king. — 
Think  upon  %vhat  hath  chanc'd :  and,  at  more  time, 
The  interim  having  weigh'd  it,  let  us  speak 
Our  free  hearts  each  to  other. 

Ban.  Verydadly. 

Macb.  Till  then,  enough. — Come,  mends.  [Exe. 

SCEJfE  IV. — Fores.  ^  room  in  the  Palace. 
Flourish.  Enter  Duncan,  Malcolm,  Donalbain, 
Lenox,  and  attendants. 

Dun.  Is  execution  done  on  Cawdor  ?  Are  not 
Those  in  commission  vet  return'd  ? 

Mai.  '  My  liege. 

They  are  not  yet  come  back.    But  I  have  spoke 
With  one  that  saw  him  die :  who  did  report, 
That  very  frankly  he  confess'd  his  treasons ; 
laiplor'd  yqur  highness'  pardon  ;  and  set  forth 
A  deep  repentance :  nothing  in  Iiis  life 
Became  him,  like  the  leaving  it :  he  died 
As  one  that  had  been  studied  in  his  death. 
To  throw  away  the  dearest  thing  he  ow'd," 
As  'twere  a  careless  trifle.  y/ 

There's  no  art,        \r>v. 

o  find  the  mind's  construction  in  the  face : "    ' 
He  v.as  a  gentleman pjj  whom  I  built 
An  absolute  trust. — 0  worthiest  cousin  ! 

Enter  Macbeth,  Banquo,  Rosse,  and  Angus. 

The  sin  of  my  ingratitude  even  now 

Was  lieavy  on  me :  Thou  art  so  far  before. 

That  swifcest  wing  of  recompense  is  slow 

To  overtake  thee.  "'Would  thou  hadst  less  deserv'd ; 

That  the  proportion  both  of  thanks  and  payment 

Might  have  been  mine  I  only  I  have  left  to  say. 

More  is  thy  due  than  more  than  all  can  pay. 

Macb.  The  service  and  the  loyalty  I  owe, 
In  doing  it,  pays  itself.    Your  highness'  part 
Is  to  receive  our  duties :  and  our  duties 
Are  to  your  throne  and  state,  children,  and  servants; 
AVhich  do  but  what  they  should,  by  doing  every 

thing 
Saf  J  toward  your  love  and  honour. 

Dun.  Welcome  hither : 

I  have  begun  to  plant  thee,  and  will  labour 
To  make  thee  full  of  growing.'* — Noble  Banquo, 
That  hast  no  less  deserv'd,  nor  must  be  known 
No  less  to  have  done  so,  let  me  infold  thee, 
And  hold  thee  to  my  heart. 

Ban.  There  if  I  grow. 

The  harvest  is  your  own. 

Dun.  My  plenteous  joys,  NJL. 

fVanton  in  fulness,  seek  to  hide  themselves     \J 
In  drops  of  sorrow. — Sons,  kinsmen,  thanes,     N 
And  you  whose  places  are  the  nearest,  know. 
We  will  establish  our  estate  upon 

8)  Time  and  opportunity.  (9)  Pardon. 

10 J  Owned,  possessed. 

(11)  We  cannot  construe  the  disposition  of  the 
mind  by  the  lineaments  of  the  face. 

(12)  Exuberant. 


Stent  V,  Vt. 


MACBETH. 


321 


Our  eldest,  Malcolm ;  whom  we  name  hereafter, 
The  prince  of  Cumberland :  which  honour  must 
Not,  unaccompanied,  invest  him  only.  -«^ 

But  sign  of  nobleness,  like  stars,  shall  shine  J 
On  all  deserrers. — From  hence  to  Inverness, 
And  bind  us  further  to  you. 

Macb.  Therestislabour,whichisnotus'dforyou: 
I'll  be  myself  the  harbinger,  and  make  joyful 
The  hearing  of  my  wife  with  your  approach  ; 
So,  humbly  take  my  leave. 

Dun.  My  worthy  Cawdor ! 

Macb.  The  prince  of  Cumberland ! — That  is  a 
step, 
On  which  I  must  fall  down,  or  else  o'erleap, 

[Aside. 
For  in  my  way  it  lies.     Stars,  hide  your  fires  ! 
Let  not  light  see  my  black  and  deep  desires  : 
The  eve  wink  at  the  hand !  yet  let  that  be. 
Which  the  eye  fears,  when  it  is  done,  to  see.  [Ex. 

Dun.  True,  worthy  Banquo ;  he  is  full  so  valiant ; ' 
And  in  his  commendations  I  am  fed  ; 
It  is  a  banquet  to  me.     Let  us  after  him. 
Whose  care  is  gone  before  to  bid  us  welcome : 
It  is  a  peerless  kinsman.  [Flourish.  Exeunt. 

SCE.N'E   r.— Inverness.    A  room  in  Macbeth's 
castle.    Enter  Lady  Macbeth,  reading  a  letter. 

Lady  M.  They  met  me  in  the  day  of  success; 
and  I  have  learned  by  the  perfectest  report,^  they 
have  more  in  them  than  mortal  knotoledge.  When 
I  burned  in  desire  to  question  them  further,  they 
nwde  themselves — air,  into  tohich  they  vanished. 
Whiles  I  stood  rapt  in  the  wonder  of  it,  came 
missives'  from  the  king,  loho  all-hailed  me.  Thane 
of  Cawdor ;  by  tchich  title,  before,  these  iceird 
sisters  saluted  me,  and  referred  ine  to  the  coming 
on  of  time,  with,  Hail,  Icins:  that  shalt  be  !  This 
liave  I  thought  good  to  deliver  thee,  «iy  dearest 
partner  of  greatness  ;  that  thou  mighlest  not  lose 
the  dues  of  rejoicing,  by  being  igtiorant  of  wliat 
greatness  is  promised  thee.  Lay  it  to  thy  heart, 
arid  farewell. 

Glamis  thou  art,  and  Cawdor  ;  and  slialtbe 
What  thou  art  promis'd : — Yet  do  I  fear  thy  nature ; 
It  is  too  fuHlo'lhe  milk  of  human  kindness, 
To  catch  the  nearest  way :  Thou  would'stbe  ^reat ; 
Art  not  without  ambition ;  but  without 
The  illness  should  attend  iL    What  thou  would'st 

highly, 
That  would'si  thou  holily  ;  would'st  not  play  false, 
And   yet  would'st  wrongly  win :    thou'd'st  have, 

great  Glamis, 
That  which  cries,  Thus  thou  mu^t  do,  if  thou 

have  it; 
And  that  which  rather  thou  dost  fear  to  do, 
Than  wishest  should  be  undone.    Hie  thee  hither, 
That  I  may  pour  my  spirits  in  thine  ear  ; 
And  chastise  with  the  valour  of  my  tongue 
All  that  impedes  thee  from  the  golden  round  ;* 
W'hich  fate  and  metaphysical'  aid  doth  seem 
To    have    thee  crown'd  withal. — What  is  your 

tidings? 

Enter  an  Attendant. 

Attend.  The  king  comes  here  to-night. 

Lady  M.  Thou'rt  mad  to  say  it 

Is  not  thy  master  with  him  ?  who,  were't  so. 
Would  have  inform'd  for  preparation. 

(I)  Full  as  valiant  as  described. 

li\  The  best  intelliaence.        (3)  Messengers. 

(4)  Diadem.        (5)  Supernatural. 

h)  Murderous.        (7)  Pity. 

(8)  Wrap  as  in  a  mantle. 


I    Attend.  So  please  you,  it  is  true  ;  our  thane  ia 

I  coming : 

One  of  my  fellows  had  the  speed  of  him ; 

Who,  almost  dead  for  breath,  had  scarcely  more 

Than  would  make  up  his  message. 

Lady  M.  Give  him  tending. 

He  brings  great  news.   The  raven  himself  is  hoarse, 

yuxit  Attendant, 
uncan 
Under  mv  battlements.    Come,  come,  you  spirits 
That  tend  on  mortal"^  thoughts,  unsex  me  here  ; 
And  fill  me,  from  the  crown  to  the  toe,  top-full 
Of  direst  cruelty  !  make  thick  my  blood. 
Stop  up  the  access  and  passage  to  remorse  ;' 
That  no  compunctious  visitings  of  nature 
Sliake  my  fell  purpose,  nor  keep  pedce  between 
The  efilcf,  and  it !  Come  to  my  woman's  breasts, 
And  take  my  milk  for  gall,  you  murd'ring  ministers, 
Wherever  in  your  sightless  substances 
You  ivait  on  nature's  miscliief !  Come,  thick  night. 
And  pall^  thee  in  the  dunnest  smoke  of  hell ! 
That  my  keen  knife'  see  not  the  wound  it  makes  ; 
Nor  heaven  peep  through  the  blanket  of  the  dark. 
To  cry,  Hold,  Hold  .'—Great  Glamis,  worthy  Caw- 
dor! 

Enter  Macbeth. 

Greater  tlian  both,  by  the  all-hail  hereafter ! 
Thy  letters  have  transported  me  beyond 
This  ignorant  present,'"  and  I  feel  how 
The  future  in  the  instant 

.Macb.  My  dearest  love, 

Duncan  comes  here  to-night. 

Lady  JV/.  And  when  goes  hence  7 

Macb.  To-morrow, — as  he  purposes. 

Lady  M.  0,  never, 

Shall  sun  that  morrow  see  ! 
Your  face,  my  thane,  is  as  a  book,  where  men 
May  rpad  strange  matters: — To  beguile  the  timi 
Look  like  the  time ;  bear  welcome  in  your  eye. 
Your  hand,  your  tongue:  look  like  the  innocent 

tlov.'er, 
But  be  the  serpent  under  it.    He  that's  coming 
Must  be  provided  for:  and  you  shall  put 
This  night's  great  business  mto  my  despatch ; 
Which  shall  to  all  our  nights  and  days  to  come 
Give  solely  sovereign  sway  and  masterdom. 

Macb.  We  will  speak  further. 

Lady  M.  Only  look  up  dear ; 

To  alter  favour' '  ever  is  to  fear : 
Leave  all  the  rest  to  me.  [Examt. 

SCEJ^E  VL—The  same.  Before  the  castle. 
Hautbot/s.  Servants  of  Macbeth  attending. 
Enter  Duncan,  Malcolm,  Donalbain,  Banquo, 
Lenox,  Macdud",  Rosse,  Angus,  and  attendants. 

Dun.  This  castle  hath  a  pleasant  seat ;  the  air 
Nimbly  and  sweetly  recommends  itself 
Unto  our  gentle  senses. 

Ban.  This  <Tuest  of  summer, 

The  temple-haunting  martlet,  does  approve, 
By  his  lov'd  mansionry,  that  the  heaven's  breath 
Smells  wooingly  here  ;  no  jutty,  frieze,  bqttress. 
Nor  coigne  of  vantage,'*  but  this  bird  hath  made 
His  pendent  bed,  and  procreant  cradle:  VVherethejr 
Most  breed  and  haunt,  I  have  observ'd,  the  air 
Is  delicate. 

(9)  Knife  anciently  meant  a  sword  or  dagger. 

(10)  t.  e.  Beyond  the  present  time,  which  is,  ae« 
cording  to  the  process  of  nature,  ignorant  of  the 
future. 

(11)  Lo<dc,  countenance.  (IS)  Convenient eonMr« 
SS 


2ver, 
ime,  ^ 


I 


■N/ 


^ 


p>^ 


1u 


Ar    h  -z-<4-^rf«.vvi  />t<.  ^vt^*-HK^u/ 


n    ... 
Macbeth. 


Act  It. 


J     S' 


Enter  Lady  Macbeth. 

Dun.  See,  see !  our  honour'd  hostess ! 

The  love  that  follows  us,  sometime  is  our  trouble, 
Which  still  we  thank  as  love.    Herein  I  teach  you, 
How  you  shall  bid  God  yield'  us  for  your  pains. 
And  thank  us  for  your  trouble. 

Lady  J)I.  All  our  service 

In  every  point  twice  done,  and  then  done  double, 
Were  poor  and  single  business,  to  contend 
Against  those  honours  deep  and  broad,  tvherewith 
Your  majesty  loads  our  house :  For  those  of  old, 
And  the  late  dignities  heap'd  up  to  them, 
We  rest  your  hermits.^ 

Dun.  Where's  the  thane  of  Cawdor  ? 

We  cours'd  him  ^t  the  heels,  and  had  a  purpose 
To  be  his  purveyor :  but  he  rides  well ; 
And  his  great  love,  sharp  as  his  spur,  hath  holp  him 
To  his  home  before  us :  Fair  and  noble  hostess, 
We  are  your  guest  to-night. 

Lady  JV/.  "     Your  servants  ever 

Have  theirs,  themselves,  and  what  is  tlieirs,  in 

compt,' 
To  make  their  audit  at  your  hishness'  pleasure. 
Still  to  return  your  own. 

Dim.  Give  me  your  hand  : 

Conduct  me  to  mine  host ;  we  love  him  highly, 
And  shall  continue  our  graces  towards  him.' 
By  your  leave,  hostess.  [Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E  VIL—The  same.  A  room  in  the  castle. 
Hautboys  and  torches.  Enter,  and  pass  over 
the  stage,  a  Sewer,'^  and  divers.  Servants  xoUh 
dishes  and  service.  Then  enter  Macbeth. 
J\Iacb.  If  it  were  done,  when  'tis  done,  Ihenj 
'twere  well  M  9 

It  were  done  quickly :  If  the  assassination  T^ 

Could  trammel  up  the  consequence,  and  catch, 
With  his  surcease,  success  ;  that  but  this  blow 
Might  be  the  be-all  and  the  end-all  hero. 
But  here,  upon  this  bank  and  shoal  of  time, — 
We'd  jump  the  life  to  come. — But,  in  these  cases. 
We  still  have  judgment  here  ;  that  we  but  tcacli 
Bloody  instructions,  which,  bein<j  taught,  return 
To  pla^yue  the  inventor :  This  even-handed  justice 
Commends  the  ingredients  of  our  poison'd  chalice 
To  our  own  lips.   He's  here  in  double  trust: 
First,  as  I  am  his  kinsman  and  his  subject. 
Strong  both  against  the  deed  ;  then,  as  his  host. 
Who  should  against  his  murderer  shut  the  dcor. 
Not  bear  the  knife  myself.    Besides,  this  Duncan 
Hath  borne  his  faculties  so  meek,  hath  been 


So  clear  in  his  great  office,Uhat  his  virtues 
Will  plead  like  angels,  trumpet-tongued,  against 


he  deep  damnation  of  his  taking-ofl' 
And  pity,  like  a  naked  new-born  babe, 
Striding  the  blast,  or  heaven's  cheruljin,  hors'd 
Upon  the  sightless  couriers'  of  the  air, 
Shall  blow  the  horrid  deed  in  every  eye,  ^^ 

That  tears  shall  drown  the  wind. — I  have  no  spvf  "^ 
To  prick  the  sides  of  my  intent,  but  only  I    F* 

Vaulting  ambition,  which  o'er-leaps  itself,  >  "^ 

And  falls  on  the  other. — How  now,  what  news  ? 
Enter  Lady  Macbeth. 

Lady  JVf.  He  has  almost  supp'd ;  Wliy  have  you 
left  the  chamber  ? 

Maeh,  Hath  he  ask'd  for  me  ? 

Lady  M.  Know  you  not,  he  has  ? 

Jlfac6.  We  will  proceed'no  further  in  this  business : 


(I)  Reward. 

i2)  i.  e.  We  as  hermits  shall  ever  pray  for  you. 
iS)  Subject  to  account. 

(4)  An  officer  so  called  from  his  placing  the  ctiab^ 
V  the  table, 


He  hath  honour'd  me  of  late ;  and  I  have  bought 
Golden  opinions  from  all  sorts  of  people, 
Which  would  be  worn  now  in  their  newest  gloss, 
Not  cast  aside  so  soon. 

Lady  J\I.  Was  the  hope  drunk. 

Wherein  you  dress'd  yourself?  hath  it  slept  since  ? 
And  wakes  it  now,  to  look  so  green  and  pale 
At  what  it  did  so  freely  ?  From  this  time, 
Such  I  account  thy  love.  \T\rt  thou  afeard        ^Sv 
To  be  the  same  in  thine  own  act  and  valour,       I  ^^,^^ 
As  thou  art  in  desire  7  IVould'st  thou  have  that 
Which  thou  esteem'st  ftie  ornament  of  life, 
And  live  a  coward  in  thine  own  esteem ; 
Letting  I  dare  not  v.-ait  upon  /  lootiliL/^ 
Like  the  poor  cat  i'the  adage  ?  >~" 

Macb.  Pr'ythee,  peace : 

I  dare  do  all  that  may  become  a  man  ; 
Who  dares  do  more,  is  none. 

Lady  M.  What  beast  was  it  then, 

That  made  you  break  this  enterprise  to  me  ? 
When  you  durst  do  it,  then  you  were  a  man ; 
And,  to  be  more  than  what  you  %vere,  you  would 
Be  so  much  more  the  man.    Nor  time,  nor  place, 
Did  then  adhere,^  and  yet  you  would  make  both  : 
They  have  made  themselves,  and  that  their  fitness 

now 
Does  unmake  you.    I  have  given  suck ;  and  know 
How  tender  'tis,  to  love  the  babe  that  milks  me  : 
I  would,  while  it  %vas  smiling  in  my  face. 
Have  pluck'd  my  nipple  from  his  boneless  gums, 
And  dash'd  the  brains  out,  had  I  so  sworn,  as  vou 
Have  done  to  this. 

Macb.  If  wc  should  fail, 

Lady  J\L  We  fail ! 

ut  screw  your  courage  I0  tlie  sticking-place, 

nd  we'll  not  fail.    When  Duncan  fe  asleep, 
(Whereto  the  rather  shall  his  day's  hard  journey 
Soundly  invite  him,)  his  two  chamberlains 
Will  I  with  wine  and  wassel"  so  convince,' 
That  memory,  the  warder'-'  of  the  brain. 
Shall  be  a  fume,  and  the  receipt  of  reason 
A  limbeck  only ;  When  in  swinish  sleep 
Their  drenched  natures  lie,  as  in  a  death. 
What  cannot  you  and  I  perforfii  upon 
The  unguarded  Duncan  ?  what  not  put^pon 
His  spongy  officers  ;  who  shall  bear  the  guilt 
Of  our  great  quell  ?'" 

.Macb.  Bring  forth  men  cliildrcn  only  ! 

For  thy  undaunted  mettle  sliould  compose 
Nothing  but  males.    Will  it  not  be  received, ' ' 
When  Vve  have  mark'd  with  blood  those  sleepy  two 
Of  his  own  chamber,  and  us'd  their  very  daggers, 
That  they  have  donc't  ? 

Lady  M.  W*ho  dares  receive  it  other. 

As  we  shall  make  our  griefs  and  clamour  roar 
Upon  his  death  I 

Macb.  I  am  settled,  and  bend  up 

Each  corporal  agent  to  this  terrible  feat. 
Away,  and  mock  the  time  with  fairest  show  :       '^^n. 
False  face  must  hide  what  the  false  heart  doth  know.     / 

[ExeunL^ 


ACT  II. 

SCEJ^E  L—The  same.  Court  within  the  castle. 
Enter  Banquo  and  Fleance,  and  a  servant,  with 
a  torch  before  them. 


Ban.  How  goes  the  night,  boy  ? 

(5|  Winds ;  sightless  is  invisible. 

(6)  In  the  same  sense  as  cohere. 

(7)  Intemperance.  (8)  Overpower. 
(9)  Sentinel.    (10)  Murder.    (11)  Apprehended, 


Siene  II. 


^MACBETH. 


323 


Fie.  The  moon  is  down ;  I  have  not  heard  the 
clock. 

Ban.  And  she  goes  down  at  tv/elvc. 

Fie.  I  tuke't,  'tis  later,  sir. 

Ban.  Ilold,  take  my  sword :— There's  husbandry' 
in  heaven, 
Their  candles  arc  all  out.— Take  thee  that  too. 
A  heavy  summons  lies  like  lend  upon  me. 
And  yet  I  would  not  sleep  :  Merciful  powers  ! 
Restrain  in  me  the  cursed  thoughts,  that  nature 
Gives  way  to  in  repose  ! — Give  :ue  my  sword  ; — 

Enter  Macbeth,  and  a  servant  icilh  a  torch. 

Who's  there  ? 

Mach.  A  friend. 

Uan.What,  sir,  not  yet  at  rest  ?  Tiic  king's  a-bcd : 
He  hath  been  in  unusual  pleasure,  and 
Sent  forth  great  larj;ess=  to  your  oiliocs  -.^ 
This  diamond  he  greets  your  wife  wilhal, 
)}y  the  name  of  most  kind  hostess  ;  and  shut  up' 
In  measureless  content. 

Mach.  Beins  unprepar'd, 

Our  will  became  thn  servant  to  defect  ; 
Which  else  should  free  have  wrought. 

Ban.  All's  well. 

I  dreamt  last  night  of  the  three  weird  sisters  : 
To  vou  they  have  show'd  .;oiHe  truth. 

Mach.  I  think  not  of  them  ; 

Yet,  when  we  can  entreat  an  hour  to  serve. 
Would  spend  it  in  some  %vords  upon  that  business, 
If  vou  would  grant  the  timr. 

Ban.  At  your  kind'st  leisure. 

Mach.  If  you  shall  cleave  to'my  consent, — when 
'tis, 
It  shall  make  honour  for  you. 

Ban.  So  I  lose  none, 

In  seeking  to  ausjment  it,  but  still  keep 
My  bosom  franchis'd,  and  allegiance  clear, 
Tshall  be  counscl'd. 

Much.  Good  repose,  the  while  ! 

Ban.  Thanks,  sir;  The  like  to  you  !     [£.r.  Ban. 

Mach.  Go,  bid  tiiy  mistress,  when  my  drink  is 
ready. 

She  strike  upon  the  bell.  Get  thee  to-bcd,  [Ex.  Ser. 
Is  this  a  dagger,  which  I  see  before  me. 
The  handle  toward  my  hand?  Come,  let  me  clutch 

thcc : 

I  have  thee  not,  and  yet  I  sec  thee  still. 

Art  thou  not,  fatal  vision,  sensible 

To  feeling,  as  to  sight  ?  or  art  thou  but 

A  dagger  of  the  mind  ;  a  false  creation, 

Proceeding  from  the  heat-oppressed  brain  ? 

I  see  thee  yet,  in  form  as  palpable, 

As  this  which  now  I  draw. 

Thou  marshal'st  me  tlic  way  that  I  ivas  going ; 

And  such  an  instrument  I  was  to  use. 

Mine  eyes  are  made  the  fools  o'thc  other  senses. 

Or  else  worth  all  the  rest :  I  see  thee  still ; 

And  on  thy  blade,  and  dudgeon,^  gouts'  of  blood, 

Which  was  not  so  before. — There's  no  such  thing  : 

It  is  the  bloody  business,  which  informs 

Thus  to  mine  eves. — Now  o'er  the  one  half  world 

Nature  seems  dead,  and  wicked  dreams  abuse 

The  cnrtain'd  sleep  ;  now  witch;^rail  celebrates 

Pale  Hecate's  offerings  ;  and  withor'd  murder, 

Alarum'd  by  his  sentinel,  the  wolf, 

Whose   howl's  his  %vatch,  thus  with  his  stealthy 

pace. 
With  Tarquin's  ravishing  strides,  towards  his  de- 
sign 
Moves  likes  a  ghost. — ^Thousure  and  firm  set  earth, 

(1)  Thrift.  (2)  Bounty. 

(3)  The  rooms  appropriated  to  aerranta. 


Hear  not  my  steps,  which  way  they  walk,  for  fear 
Tiie  very  stones  prate  of  my  where-about. 
And  take  the  present  horror  from  the  time. 
Which  now  suits  with  it. — Whiles  I  threat,  ne  lires ; 
Words  to  the  heat  of  deeds  too  cold  breath  gives. 

[Ji  bell  rings. 
I  go,  and  it  is  done  ;  tlu'  bell  invites  me. 
Hear  it  not,  Duncan  ;  Ibr  it  is  a  knell. 
That  summons  thee  to  heaven,  or  to  hell.      [Exit. 

SCEXE  II.— The  same.    Enter  Lady  Macbeth. 

Lady  M.  That  which  hath  made  tlscn  drunk, 
hath  made  me  bold  : 
What  hath  nuench'd  them,  hath  given  me  fire  :— 

Hark !— Peace ! 
It  was  the  owl  that  shriek'd,  the  fatal  bellman. 
Which  gives  the  stern'st  good-night.  He  is  about  it : 
The  doors  are  open  ;  and  the  surfeited  grooms 
Do  mock  their  charge  with  snores  :  I  have  drugg'd 

their  possets, 
That  death  and  nature  do  contend  about  them, 
Whether  they  live  or  die. 

.Macb.  fH'i7/jt)i.]  Who's  (here?— what,  ho! 

Lady  J\I.  Alack !  I  am  afraid  they  have  awak'd, 
And  'tis  not  done  : — the  attempt,  and  not  the  deed. 
Confounds  us:— -Hark! — I  laid  tlieir  daggers  ready. 
He  could  not  miss  them. — Had  he  not  resembled 
My  father  as  he  slept,  I  had  don't. — My  husband  7 


Enter  Macbeth. 


-Didst  thou  not 


Macb.  I  have  done  the  deed 
hear  a  noise  ? 

Lady  M.  I  heard  the  owl  scream,  and  the  crick  ■ 
cts  cry. 
Did  not  you  speak  ? 

Mach.  When  ? 

Lady  M.  Now. 

Macb.  As  I  descended  7 

Lady  M.  Av. 

Macb.  Hark!— 
Who  lies  i'the  second  chamber  7 

Lady  M.  Donalbain. 

Macb.  This  is  a  sorry  sight. 

[Looking  on  his  handst 

Lady  M.  A  foolish  thought,  to  say  a  sorry  sight- 

Macb.  There's  one  did  laugh  in  his  sleep,  and 
one  cried,  murder ! 
That  they  did  ^vake  each  otiier;  I  stood  and  heard 

"them  : 
But  they  did  say  their  prayers,  and  address'd  them 
A^ain  to  sleep. 

Lady  M.     ■       There  are  two  lodg'd  together. 

Macb.  One  cried,  God  bless  us !  and,  ^men,  the 
other ; 
As'  they  had  seen  me,  with  these  hangman's  hands. 
Listening  their  fear,  I  could  not  say,  amen, 
When  thev  did  say,  God  bless  us. 

Lady  M.  Consider  it  not  so  deeply. 

Macb.  But  wherefore  could  not  I  pronounce, 
amen  ? 
I  had  most  need  of  blessing,  and  amen 
Stuck  in  my  throat. 

Lady  .M.  These  deeds  must  not  be  thought 

After  these  ways  ;  so,  it  will  make  us  mad. 

Macb.  Methought,  I  heard  a  voice  cry,  Sleep  no 
more ! 
Macbeth  does  miirdcr  deep,  the  innocent  sleep  ; 
Sleep,  that  knits  up  the  ravelPd  sleave'  of  care, 
The  death  of  each  day''s  life,  sore  laboiir^s  bath. 
Balm  of  hurt  minds,  rxreat  nalure^s  second  course. 
Chief  nourisher  in  lijVs  feast ; — 


(4)  Conclude. 
(7)  As  if. 


(5)  Haft.  (6)  Drops. 

(8)  Sleave  is  unwrought  silk. 


324 


MACBETH. 


Adtr* 


Lady  JVf.  What  do  you  mean  ? 

Macb.  Still  it  cried,  Sleep  no  more  !  to  all  the 
house : 
Glamis  hath  vmrdefd  sleep ;  and  therefore  Cawdor 
Shall  sleep  no  nwre,  jMacbeth  shall  sleep  no  more  ! 

Lady  Jtf.  Who  was  it  that  thus  cried  ?    >Vhy, 
worthy  thane, 
You  do  unbend  your  noble  strength,  to  think 
So  brainsickly  of  thinfrs: — Go,  "ret  some  water, 
And  wash  this  filthy  witness  from  your  hand. — 
Why  did  you  bring  these  daggers  from  the  place  ? 
They  must  He  there  :  Go,  carry  them ;  and  smear 
The  sleepy  grooms  with  blood. 

Macb.  I'll  po  no  more : 

I  am  afraid  to  think  what  I  have  done  ;  , 

Look  on't  again,  I  dare  not. 

Lady  M.  Infirm  of  purpose! 

Give  me  the  daggers :  The  sleeping  and  the  dead, 
Are  but  as  pictures :  'tis  the  eye  of  childhood. 
That  fears  a  painted  devil,     if  he  do  bleed, 
I'll  gild  the  faces  of  the  grooms  withal, 
For  it  must  seem  their  guilt. 
»  [Exit 

Macb.  Wlience  is  that  knocking? 

How  is't  with  me,  when  every  noise  appals  me  ? 
What  hands  are  here  ?  Ha !  they  pluck  out  mine 

eyes ! 
Will  all  great  Neptune's  ocean  wash  this  blood 
Clean  from  my  hand  ?  No ;  tliis  my  hand  will  rather 
The  multitudmous  seas  incarnardine, ' 
Making  Uie  green  one  red. 


ver  at  quiet !  What  are  you  ?— But  this  place  is  too 
cold  for  hell.  I'll  devil-porter  it  no  further  :  I  had 
thought  to  have  let  in  some  of  all  professions,  that 

fo  the  primrose  way  to  the  everlasting  bonfiie. 
Knocking.]    Anon,  anon  ;  I  pray  you,  remember 
the  porter.  I'Opens  the  gate. 

Enter  Macduff  and  Lenox. 
Macd,  Was  it  so  late,  friend,  ere  vou  went  to 
bed. 
That  you  do  lie  so  late  ? 

Port.  'Faith,  sir,  we  %vere  carousing  till  the 
second  cock:*  and  drink,  sir,  is  a  great  provoker 
of  three  things. 

Macd.  What  three  things  does  drink  especially 
provoke  ? 

Port.  Marrj',  sir,  nose-painting,  sleep,  and  urine. 
Lechery,  sir,  it  provokes,  and  unprovokes :  it  pro- 
vokes tlie  desire,  but  it  takes  away  the  performance . 
Therefore,  much  drink  may  be  said  to  be  an  equivo- 
cator  with  lechery :  it  makes  him,  and  it  mars  him ; 
it  sets  him  on,  and  it  takes  him  oft";  it  persuades 
Knoclui"-  loithin  ''^'"''  ^^'^  disheartens  him  ;  makes  him  stand  to,  and 
'    "  "'not  stand  to  :  in  conclusion,  equivocates  him  in  a 

sleep,  and,  giving  him  the  lie,  leaves  him. 
Macd.  I  believe,  drinlv  gave  thee  the  lie  last  night. 
Port.  That  it  did,  sir,  i'the  very  throat  o'me : 
But  I  requited  him  for  his  lie  ;  and,  I  think,  being 
too  strong  for  him,  though  he  took  up  my  legs 
sometime,  yet  I  made  a  shift  to  cast  him. 

Macd.  Is  thy  master  stirring  ? — 
Our  knocking  has  awak'd  him ;  here  he  comes. 


Re-enter  Lady  Macbeth. 

Lady  M.  My  hands  arc  of  your  colour ;  but  I 

shame 
To  wear  a  heart  so  white.     [Knock.]    I  hear  a 

knocking 
At  the  south  entry : — retire  wc  to  our  chamber : 
A  Kttle  water  clears  us  of  this  deed  ; 
How  easv  is  it  then !  Your  constancy 
Hath  left  you  unattended.— [KiiocA-iug-.]   Hark! 

more  knocking : 
Get  on  your  night-gown,  lest  occasion  call  us. 
And  show  us  to  be  watchers  : — Be  not  lost 
So  poorly  in  your  thoughts. 
Macb.    To"  know   my  deed, — 'twere  best  -not 

know  myself.  [Knock. 

Wake  Duncan  with  thy  knocking!   Ay,  'would 

thou  could'st !  [Exeunt. 

SCEJSTE  HI.— The  same.     Enter  a  Porter. 
[Kndcking  icithin.] 

Porter.  Here's  a  knocking,  indeed !  If  a  man 
were  porter  of  hell-gate,  he  should  have  old*  turn- 
infflhekey.  [Knocking.]  Knock,  knock,  knock  : 
Who's  there,  I'the  name  of  Belzebub  ?  Here's  a 
farmer,  that  hanged  himself  on  the  expectation  of 
plenty:  Come  in  time;  liave  napkins' enough  about 
you ;  here  you'll  sweat  for't.  [Knocking.]  Knock, 
knock :  Who's  there,  i'the  other  devil's  name  ? — 
'Faith,  here's  an  equivocator,  that  could  swear  in 
both  the  scales  against  either  scale  ;  who  committed 
treason  enough  for  God's  sake,  yet  could  not  equi- 
vocate to  Heaven :  0, comein, equivocator.  [Tifjiocfc- 
ing.]  Knock,  knock,  knock  :  Who's  there  ?  'Faith, 
here's  an  English  tailor  come  hither,  for  stealing  out 
ofa  French  hose:  Come  in,  tailor;  here  you  may 
roast  your  goose.  IKnocking.]  Knock,  knock:  N&- 

(l\  To  incarnardine  is  to  stain  of  a  flesh-colour. 
l2J  Freauent.  (3)  Handkerchiefs. 

i4)  CocK-crowing.  v 

($)  i.  c.  Affords  a  cordial  to  it, 


Enter  Macbeth. 

Len.  Good-morrow,  noble  sir ! 

Macb.  Good-morrow,  both ! 

Macd.  Is  the  king  stirring,  worthy  thane  ? 

Macb.  Not  yet. 

Macd.  He  did  command  me  to  call  timely  on  hmi : 
I  have  almost  slipp'd  the  hour. 

Macb.  I'll  brin^  you  to  him. 

Macd.  I  know,  this  is  a  joyful  trouble  to  you ; 
But  yet,  'tis  one. 

Macb.  The  labour  we  delight  in,  physics*  pain. 
This  is  the  door. 

Macd.  I'll  make  so  bold  to  call, 

For  'lis  my  limited  service.^  [Exit  Macd. 

Len.  Goes  the  King 

From  hence  to-day  ? 

Macb.  He  does : — he  did  appoint  it  so. 

LfH.  The  night  has  been  unruly  :  Where  we  lay, 
Our  chimneys  were  blown  down :'  and,  as  they  say, 
Lamentings  heard  i'the  air ;  strange  screams  of 

death  ; 
And  prophesying,  with  accents  terrible. 
Of  dire  combustion,  and  confus'd  events, 
New  halch'd  to  the  woful  time.     The  obscure  bird 
Ciamour'd  the  livelong  night:  some  say,  the  earth 
Was  feverous,  and  did  shake. 

Macb.  'Twas  a  rough  night. 

Len.  My  young  remembrance  cannot  parallel 
A  fellow  to  it. 

Re-enter  Maf-duff. 

Macd.  O  horror !  horror !  ftorror !  Tongue,  nor 
heart. 
Cannot  conceive,  nor  name  thee !' 

Macb.  Len.  What's  the  matter  ? 

Macd.  Confusion  now  hath  made  his  master- 
piece ! 

f6)  Appointed  service. 

(7)  Tne  use  of  two  negatives,  not  to  make  an 
affirmative,  but  to  deny  more  strongly-is  common 
in  our  author.  m 


Scene  1 V. 


MACBETH. 


325 


Most  sacrilegious  murder  liath  broke  ope 
The  Lord's  anointed  temple,  and  stole  tlience 
The  life  o'the  buildinp. 

Macb.  What  is't  you  say  ?  the  life  ? 

Len.  Mean  you  his  majesty  ? 

J\Iacd.  Approach  the  chamber,  and  destroy  your 
sight 
With  a  new  Gorgon : — Do  not  bid  me  speak : 
See,  and  then  speak  yourselves. — Awake!  Awate! — 
[Exeitnt  Macbeth  and  Lenox. 
Ring  the  alarum-bell : — Murder !  and  treason  ! 
Banquo,  and  Donalbain  !  Malcolm  !  awake  ! 
Shake  off  this  downy  sleep,  death's  counterfeit. 
And  look  on  death  itself! — up,  up,  and  see 
The  great  doom's  ima^e  ! — Malcolm  !  Banquo  ! 
As  from  your  graves  rise  up,  and  walk  like  sprites. 
To  countenance  this  horror !  [Bell  rings. 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth. 

Lady  J\L  What's  the  business, 

That  such  a  hideous  trumpet  calls  to  parley 
The  sleepers  of  the  house  ?  speak,  speak,— ^ —   ^ 

J\Iacd.  O,  prentle  lady 

'Tis  not  for  you  to  hear  what  I  can  speak : 
The  repetition,  in  a  woman's  ear. 
Would  murder  as  it  fell. 0  Banquo  !  Banquo  ! 

Enter  Banquo. 
Our  royal  master's  murdcr'd ! 

Lady  .V.  Wo,  alas  ! 

What,  in  our  house  ? 

Ban.  Too  cruel,  any  where. 

Dear  Duff,  1  pr'ythec,  contradict  thyself, 
And  say,  it  is  not  so. 

Re-enter  Macbeth  and  Lenox. 
3fac6.  Had  I  but  died  an  hour  before  this  chance, 
I  had  liv'd  a  blessed  lime ;  lor,  from  this  instant. 
There's  nothing  serious  in  mortality : 
All  is  but  toys :  renown,  and  oracc,  is  dead ; 
The  wine  of  life  is  drawn,  and  the  mere  lees 
Is  left  this  vault  to  brag  of. 

Enter  Malcolm  and  Donalbain. 

Don.  AVhat  is  amiss  ? 

Macb.  You  arc,  and  do  not  know  it : 

The  spring,  the  head,  the  fountain  of  your  blood 
Is  stopp'd  ;  the  very  source  of  it  is  sto'pp'd. 

Macd.  Your  royal  father's  murder'd. 

.\r«/.  O,  by  whom? 

Len.  Those  of  his  chamber,  as  it  seem'd,  had 
done't : 
Their  hands  and  faces  were  all  badg'd  with  blood, 
So  were  their  daggers,  which,  unwip'd,we  found 
Upon  their  pillows : 

They  star'd,  and  were  distracted  ;  no  man's  life 
W'as  to  be  trusted  with  them. 

Macb.  O,  vet  I  do  repent  me  of  my  furv, 
That  I  did  kill  them. 

Macd.  Wherefore  did  you  so  ? 

Jdacb.  WTio  can  be  wise,  amaz'd,  temperate,  and 
furious, 
Loyal  and  neutral,  in  a  moment?  No  man : 
The  expedition  of  my  violent  love 
Out-ran  the  pauser  reason. — Here  lay  Duncan, 
His  silver  skm  lac'd  with  his  golden  blood  ; 
And  his  gash'd  stabs  look'd  like  a  breach  in  nature, 
For  ruin's  wasteful  entrance  :  there,  the  murderers, 
Steep'd  in  the  colours  of  their  trade,  their  daggers 
Unmannerly  breech'd  with  gore : '    Who  coutd  re- 
frain. 
That  had  a  heart  to  love,  and  in  that  heart 
Courage,  tojnake  his  love  known  ? 


(] )  0QTered  with  blood  to  their  hilU 


Lady  J\L  Help  me  hence,  ho ! 

Macd.  Look  to  the  lady. 

Mai.  Why  do  we  hold  our  tongues, 

That  most  may  claim  this  argument  for  ours  f 

DiMi.  What  should  be  spoken  here. 
Where  our  fate,  hid  within  an  augre-hole, 
May  rush,  and  seize  us  ?  Let's  away ;  our  tears 
Are  not  yet  brew'd. 

Mai.  Nor  our  strong  sorrow  on 

The  foot  of  motion. 

Ban,  Look  to  the  lady : — 

\_Lady  Macbeth  is  carried  out. 
And  when  we  have  our  naked  frailties  hid. 
That  suffer  in  exposure,  let  us  meet. 
And  question  this  most  bloody  piece  of  work, 
Tq  know  it  further.    Fears  and  scruples  shake  us  : 
In  the  great  hand^  of  God  I  stand  ;  and,  thence, 
Against  the  undivulg'd  pretence*  I  fight 
Of  treasonous  malice. 

Macb.  And  so  do  I. 

All.  So  aU. 

Mach.  Let's  briefly  put  on  manly  readiness, 
And  meet  i'the  hall  together. 

All,  Well  contented. 

[Exeunt  all  hit  Mai.  and  Don. 

Mai.  What  ivill  you  do  ?  Let's  not  consort  with 
them : 
To  show  an  unfelt  sorrow,  is  an  office 
Which  the  false  man  does  easy:  I'll  to  England. 

Don.  To  Ireland,  I ;  our  separated  fortune 
Shall  keep  us  both  the  safer :  where  we  are. 
There's  daggers  in  men's  smiles  :  the  near  in  blood, 
The  nearer  bloody. 

!/«/.  This  murderous  shaft  that's  shot. 

Hath  not  yet  lighted  ;  and  OTir  safest  way 
Is,  to  avoid  the  aim.    Therefore,  to  horse  ; 
And  lot  us  not  be  dainty  of  leave-taking, 
But  shift  av.-av  :  There's  warrant  in  that  theft 
AVhich  steals  itself,  when  there's  no  mercy  left. 

[Exeunt. 

SCEXE  IV.—WUhoul  the  castle.    £n<«- Rosse 
atid  an  Old  Man. 

Old  M.   Threescore  and  ten  I  can  remember 
well: 
Within  the  volume  of  which  time,  I  have  seen 
Hours  dreadful,  and  things  strange  ;  but  this  sore 

night 
Hath  trifled  former  knowings, 

Itosse.  Ah,  good  father, 

Thou  see'st,  the  heavens,  as  troubled  with  man's 

act, 
Threaten  his  bloody  stage ;  by  the  clock,  'tis  day, 
And  yet  dark  night  strangles  the  travelling  lamp : 
Is't  night's  predominance,  or  the  day's  shame. 
That  darkness  does  the  face  of  earth  intomb. 
When  living  lisht  should  kiss  it  ? 

Old  M.         "  'Tis  unnatural. 

Even  like  the  deed  that's  done.    On  Tuesday  last, 
A  falcon,  tow'ring  in  her  pride  of  place, 
Was  by  a  mousing  owl  hawk'd  at,  and  kill'd. 
Rosse.    And  Duncan's  horses,   (a    thing  most 
strange  and  certain,) 
Beauteous  and  swift,  the  minions  of  their  race, 
Turn'd  wild  in  nature,  broke  their  stalls,  flung  out, 
Contending  'gainst  obedience,  as  they  would  make 
War  with  mankind. 
Old  M.  'Tis  said,  they  eat  each  other. 

Rosse.  They  did  so  ;  to  the  amazement  of  mine 
eyes," 
That  look'd  upon't. — Here  comes  the  good  Mac* 
duff: 


(2)  Power. 


(3)  Intention. 


326 


MACBETH. 


.jd  m. 


Enter  Macduff. 
How  goes  the  world,  sir,  now? 

Joined.  Why,  sec  you  nof? 

Jtosse.    Is't   known   who   did    this   more   than 
bloody  deed  ? 

^Macd.  Those  that  Macbeth  hath  slain. 

Rosse.  Alas,  the  day  I 

What  good  could  they  pretend?' 

^Maca.  They  v.cre  suborn'd : 

Malcolm,  and  Donalbain,  the  king's  two  sons, 
Arc  stol'n  away  and  fled  ;  which  puts  upon  them 
Suspicion  of  the  deed. 

Ros.ie.  'Gainst  nature  still : 

Thriftless  ambition,  that  wilt  ravin  up 
Thine  own  life's  means  ! — Then  'tis  most  like. 
The  sovereignly  will  fail  upon  Macbeth. 

J\Iacd,  He  is  already  nam'd  ;  and  gone  to  Scone, 
To  be  invested. 

Rosse.  AVhcrc  is  Duncan's  body? 

Macd.  Carried  to  Colmes-kill ; 
The  sacred  storehouse  of  his  predecessors, 
And  guardian  of  their  bones. 

Rosse.  Will  you  to  Scone  ? 

Macd.  No,  cousin,  I'll  to  Fife. 

Rosse.  'Well,  I  will  thither. 

.Macd.  Well,  may  you   see  things   well  done 

there  ; — adieu  ! 

Lest  our  old  robes  sit  easier  than  our  new ! 

Rosse.  Father,  farewell. 

Old  M.  God's  benison  go  with  you ;  and  with 
those 
Thit  would  make  good  of  bad,  and  friends  nf  foes ! 

[  L^xcunt. 

ACT  Ilf. 

SCE^'E  I. — Fores.    .Qroominlhepcdace.    En- 
ter B  annuo. 
B:tn.  Thau  hast  it  now,  King,  Cawdor,  Glamis, 
all, 
As  the  v.eird's  women  promis'd  ;  and,  I  fear. 
Thou  play'dst  most  foully  for't :  yet  it  was  said, 
It  should  not  stand  in  thy  posterity  ; 
But  that  myself  should  be  the  root,  and  father 
Of  many  kings.     If  there  come  truth  from  them 
(As  upon  thee,  Macbeth,  their  speeches  shine,) 
Why,  by  the  verities  on  thee  made  tfood, 
May  they  not  be  my  oracles  as  well. 
And  set  mc  up  in  hope  ?  But,  hush  ;  no  more. 

Scnet  smmded.     Enter  Macbeth,  as  king;  Lady 

Macbeth,  as  queen ;  Lenox,  Rosse,  Lords,  La- 

dies,  and  attendants. 

JVfncft.  Here's  our  chief  guest. 

Lady  JI.  If  he  had  been  forgotten, 

It  had  been  as  a  jrap  i"  ""r  great  feast, 
And  all  things  unbecoming. 

J>Iacb.  To-night,  we  hold  a  solemn  supper,  sir. 
And  I'll  request  your  presence. 

Ban.  Let  your  highness 

Command  upon  mc ;  to  the  ivhich,  my  duties 
Are  with  a  most  indissoluble  tie 
For  cv<:r  knit. 

.Macb.  Ride  you  this  afternoon  ? 

Jinn.  '  Ay,  my  good  lord. 

Macb.  We  should  have  else  desir'd  your  good 
advice 
(Which  still  hfith  been  both  grave  and  prosperous,) 
In  this  day's  council ;  but  we'll  take  to-morrow. 
Is't  far  you  ride  ? 

(1)  Intend  to  themselves.       (2)  Commit 

(2)  Npbleness.       (4)  For  defiled. 


Ban.  As  far.  m/  lord,  as  will  fill  up  tiic  time 
'Twist  this  and  supper :  go  not  my  horse  the  better 
I  must  become  a  borrower  of  the  night. 
For  a  dark  iiour,  or  twain. 

JSIacb.  Fail  not  our  feast. 

Ban.  Mv  lord,  I  will  not. 

Masb.  \Vc  hear,  our  bloody  cousins  are  bestow'd 
In  England,  and  in  Ireland  ;  not  confessing 
Their  cruel  parricide,  filling  their  hearers 
With  strange  invention  :  But  of  that  to-morrow  ; 
When,  therewithal,  we.  shall  have  cause  of  state. 
Craving  us  jointly.     Hie  you  to  horse  :  Adieu, 
Till  you  return  at  night.    Goes  Fleance  v.'ith  you  ? 

Ban.    Ay,  my  good  lord :    our  time  does  call 
upon  us. 

Maxb.  I  v.'ish  your  horses  swift,,  and  sure  of  foot ; 
And  so  I  do  commend-  you  to  tlici.-  backs. 

Farewell. [Exit  Banquo. 

Let  every  man  be  master  of  his  lime 
Till  seven  at  nicrht ;  to  make  society 
The  suecter  welcome,  we  will  keep  ourself 
Till  supocr-time  alone:  while  then,  God  be  with  you. 
[Exeunt  Lady  IMncbelh,  Lords,  Ladies,  (S-c. 
Sirrah,  a  word:  Attend  those  men  our  pleasure  ? 

Atlcn.  They  are,  my  lord,  witliout  the  palace- 
gate. 

Macb.    Bring  them  before  us. — [Exit  Altcn.] 
To  be  thus,  is  nothing ;. 
But  to  be  safely  thus  : — Our  fears  in  Banquo 
Stick  deep ;  and  in  his  royalty^  of  nature 
Reigns  that,  which  would  be  fear'd:  'Tis  much 

he  dares; 
And,  to  that  dauntless  temper  of  his  mind. 
He  hnth  a  wisdom  that  doth  guide  his  valour 
To  act  in  sil'.:*y.     There  is  none,  but  he, 
Who^e  l(f in?  I  do  fear :  and,  under  him, 
My  genius  is  rcbuk'd  ;  as,  it  is  said, 
Mark  Antony's  was  by  Cajsar.  He  chid  the  sisters, 
When  first  tliey  put  the  name  of  king  upon  mc, 
And  bade  tliein  speak  to  him  ;  then,  prophel-like, 
They  hail'd  him  father  to  a  line  of  kings  : 
Upon  my  head  they  placed  a  fruitless  crown. 
And  put  a  barren  sceptre  in  my  gripe. 
Thence  to  bo  wrench'd  with  an  unlineal  hand. 
No  son  of  mine  succeeding.     If  it  be  so, 
For  Banquo's  issue  have  I  fil'd*  my  mind  ; 
For  them  the  gracious  Duncan  have  I  murder'd ; 
I  Put  rancours  in  the  vessel  of  m^'  peace 
Only  for  them  ;  and  mine  eternal  jewel 
Given  to  the  common  enemy  of  man. 
To  make  them  kings,  the  .seed  of  Ban(|uo  kings  ! 
Rather  than  so,  come,  fate,  into  the  list, 

And  champion  me  to  tlie  utterance!' Who's 

there  ? — 

i2/!-e)i{?r  Attendant,  with  Ixco  Murderers. 

Now  to  tlie  door,  and  stay  tliere  till  we  call. 

[Exit  Attendant. 
Was  it  not  yesterday  we  spoke  together  ? 
1  Mxir.  It  was,  so  please  j'our  hijrhncss. 
Macb.  Weil  then,  now 

Have  you  consider'd  of  my  speeches  ?  Know, 
That  it  was  he,  in  the  times  past,  ivhicii  held  you 
So  under  fortune ;  wlsch,  you  thought,  had  been 
Our  innocent  self:  this  I  made  good  to  you 
In  our  last  conference  ;  pass'd  in  probation*^  with 

yoi!. 
How  you  were  borne  in  hand  ;"  how  cross'd ;  the 

instruments  ; 
Who  wrought  with  them ;  and  all  things  else,  that 

might, 

(5)  Challenec  me  to  extremities, 

(6)  Proved."         (7)  Dcluaod.- 


Scene  11. 


MACBETH. 


327 


To  half  a  soul,  and  a  notion  craz'd, 
Say,  Thus  did  Banquo. 

1  Mur.  You  made  it  known  to  us. 

J\Iacb.  I  did  so ;  and  went  further,  which  is  now 
Our  point  of  second  meeting.    Do  you  find 
Your  patience  so  predominant  in  your  nature, 
That  you  can  let  this  go  1  Are  you  so  gospell'd," 
To  pray  for  tliat  good  man,  and  for  his  issue. 
Whose  heav)-  hand  hath  bow'd  you  to  the  grave, 
And  beggar'd  yours  for  ever  ? 

1  jyiur.  We  are  men,  my  liege. 

Macb.  Ay,  in  the  catalogue  ye  go  for  men  ; 
As  hounds,- and  greyhounds,  mongrels,  spaniels, 

curs, 
Shous^hs,^  water-rujs,  and  dcmi- wolves,  arccleped' 
All  by  the  name  of  dogs :  the  valued  file 
Distinsjuishes  the  swift,  the  slow,  the  subtle, 
The  house-keeper,  the  hunter,  every  one 
According  to  the  gift  which  bounteous  nature 
Hath  in  him  clos'd ;  whereby  he  does  receive 
Particular  addition,'  from  the  bill 
That  writes  them  all  alike  :  and  so  of  men. 
ZVoiv,  if  you  have  a  station  in  the  file. 
Ami  not  in  th:j  worst  rank  of  manhood,  saj-  it ; 
And  I  ivill  put  that  business  in  your  bosoms, 
>Vhosc  execution  takes  your  enemy  off; 
Grapples  you  to  the  heart  and  love  of  us, 
Who  wear  our  health  but  sickly  in  his  life, 
Which  in  his  death  were  perfect. 

-  Mur.  1  am  one,  my  liege, 

Whom  the  vile  blows  and  buffets  of  the  world 
Have  so  incens'd,  that  I  am  reckless^  what 
I  do,  to  spite  the  world. 

1  Mur.  -     And  I  another. 

So  weary  with  disasters,  tugji'd^  ivith  fortune, 
That  I  would  set  my  life  on  any  chance, 
To  mend  it,  or  be  rid  on't. 

Macb.  Both  of  you 

Know,  Banquo  was  your  enemy 


2  Mur. 


I'll  come  to  you  anon. 

2  Mur.  We  are  resolv'd,  my  lora. 

Macb.  I'll  call  upon  you  straight ;  abide  within. 

It  is  concluded : Banquo,  thy  soul's  flight. 

If  it  find  heaven,  must  find  it  out  to-night.      [Exe, 

SCEJ^E  II. — The  same.    Another  room.    Enter 
Lady  Macbeth,  and  a  Servant. 

Ijidy  M.  Is  Banquo  gone  from  court  ? 

Scrv.  Ay,  madam,  but  returns  again  to-night. 

Lady  M.   Say  to  the  king,  I  would  attend  his 
leisure 
For  a  few  words. 

Sere.  Madam,  I  will.  [Exit. 

Lady  M.  Nought's  had,  all's  spent, 

Where  our  desire  is  got  without  content: 
'Tis  safer  1  o  be  that  which  we  destroy, 
Than,  by  destruction,  dwell  in  doubtful  joy. 

Ente^r  Macbeth. 
How  now,  my  lord  ?  why  do  you  keep  alone. 
Of  sorriest'  fancies  your  companions  making? 
U  siiiff  those  thoughts,  which  should  indeed  have  di'c'i 
With  them  they  think  on  ?  Things  without  remedy. 
Should  be  without  regard  :  what's  done,  is  done. 

Mcxb.  AVe  have  scotch'd  the  snake,  not  kill'd  it ; 
She'll  close,  and  be  herself;  whilst  our  poor  malice 
Remains  in  danger  of  her  former  tooth. 
But  let 

The  frame  of  things  disjoint,  both  the  worlds  suficr, 
lire  we  will  eat  our  meal  in  fear,  and  sleep 
In  the  affliction  of  these  terrible  dreams. 
That  shake  us  nightly :  Better  be  with  the  dead. 
Whom  we,  to  gain  our  place,  have  sent  to  peace, 
Than  on  the  torture  of  the  mind  to  lie 
In  restless  ecstasy.'"  Duncan  is  in  his  grave  ; 
ARer  life's  fitful  fever,  he  sleeps  well ; 
Treason  has  done  his  w  orst :  nor  steel,  nor  poison, 
Malice  domestic,  foreign  levy,  nothing, 


Macb.  So  is  he  mine :  and  in  such  bioody  dis- 
tance,' 
That  every  minute  of  his  being  thrusts 
Against  niy  near'st  of  life  :  And  though  I  could 
W ith  bare-fac'd  power  sweep  him  from  my  sight, 
And  bid  my  will  avouch  it ;  vet  I  must  not, 
For'  certain  friends  that  are  hotli  his  and  mine, 
Whose  loves  I  may  not  drop,  but  wail  his  fall 
Whom  I  myself  struck  down :  and  thence  it  is, 
That  I  to  your  assistance  do  make  love ; 
Masking, the  business  from  the  common  eye, 
For  sundry  weighty  reasons. 

1  Mur.  '  We  shall,  my  lord. 

Perform  what  you  command  us. 

I  Mur.         '  Thouffh  our  lives 

Macb.  Your  spirits  shine  through  you.    Within 
this  hour,  at  most, 
I  will  advise  you  where  to  plant  yourselves. 
Acquaint  you  with  the  perfect  spj-  oHho  time, 
The  moment  on't ;  for'l  must  bo  done  to-night, 
And  something  from  the  palace  ;  always  thought 
That  I  require  a  clearness :  And  with  him, 
(To  leave  no  rubs,  nor  botches,  in  the  work,) 
Fleance  his  son,  that  keeps  him  company, 
Whose  absence  is  no  less  material  to  me 
Than  is  his  father's,  must  embrace  the  fate 
Of  that  dark  hour.    Resolve  yourselves  apart ; 

(1)  Are  you  so  obedient  to  the  precept  of  the 
Gospel. 

{■2)  Wolf-dogs.     >       (3)  Called. 
(4)  Title,  description.  (o)  Careless. 

(6)  AV'orried.  (7)  Mortal  enmity. 

h)  Because  of.        (9)  Most  mel-^ncholy. 


True,  my  lord.  Can  touch  him  further  I 


Lady  M.  Come  on ; 
Gentle  my  lord,  sleek  o'er  your  rugged  looks ; 
Be  brifrht  and  jovial  'mong'your  giiests  to-night. 

Macb.  So  shall  I,  love  ;  and  so,  I  pray,  be  you: 
Let  your  remembrance  apply  to  Banquo  : 
Present  him  eminence,"  both  with  eye  and  tongue ; 
Unsafe  the  while,  that  we 

Must  lave  our  honours  in  these  flattering  streams ; 
And  make  our  faces  vizards  to  our  hearts, 
Disguising  what  they  are. 

Lady  M.  You  must  leave  this. 

Macb.  O,  full  of  scorpions  is  my  mind,  dear  wife ! 
Thou  know'st,  that  Banquo,  and  his  Fleance,  lives. 

Lady  M.  Butinthcmnature'scopy'snoteterne.'^ 

Macb.  There's  comfort  yet ;  they  are  assailable ; 
Then  be  thou  jocund :  Ere  the  bat  hath  flown 
His  cloister'd  flight ;  ere,  to  black  Hecate's  sum- 
mons, 
The  shard -borne  beetle,'^  with  his  drowsy  hums, 
Hatli  runs'  night's  yawning  peal,  there  shall  be  done 
A  deed  of  dreadful  note. 

Lady  M.  What's  to  be  done  ? 

Macb.    Be  innocent  of  the  knowledge,  dearest 
chuck,'* 
Till  thou  applaud  the  deed.  Come,  seeling'*  night, 
Skarf  up  the  tender  eye  of  pitiful  day  ; 
And,  with  thy  bloody  and  invisible  hand, 

(10)  Agonv.      (11)  Do  him  t'ne  highest  honours. 

(1-2)  i.  e.  The  copy,  the  lease,  by  which  they  hold 
'Av-jiv  lives  from  nature,  has  its  time  of  termination. 

(1  J)  The  beetle  borne  in  the  air  by  its  shards  o 
scaly  wings. 

(1  J)  A  term  of  endearment.       Ho)  Blinding, 


928  MACBETH. 

Cancel,  and  tear  to  pieces,  that  great  bond 
Which  keeps  me  pale! — Light  thicliens;  and  the 

crow 
Makes  wing  to  the  rooky  wood : 
Good  things  of  day  begin  to  droop  and  drowse ; 
Whiles  night's  black  agents  to  their  prey  do  rouse. 
Thou  marvell'st  at  my  words ;  but  hold  thee  still ; 
Things,  bad  begun,  make  strong  themselves  by  ill : 
So,  pr'ythee,  go  with  me.  [Exeunt. 

SCE^E  III.— The  same.  A  park  or  lawn,  wi^h 
a  gate  leading  to  the  palace.  Enter  three  Mur- 
derers. 

1  Mir,  But  who  did  bid  thee  join  with  us  ? 
3  Mur.  Macbeth. 

2  JV[ur.  He  needs  not  our  mistrust ;  since  he  de- 

livers 
Our  offices,  and  what  we  have  to  do, 
To  the  direction  just. 

1  Mur.  Then  stand  with  us. 
The  west  yet  glimmers  with  some  streaks  of  day : 
Now  spurs  the  lated  traveller  apace, 
To  gain  the  timely  inn ;  and  near  approaches 
The  subject  of  our  watch. 

3  Mur.  Hark !  I  hear  horses. 
Ban.  [Within.]  Give  us  a  light  there,  ho! 

2  Mur.  Then  it  is  he  ;  the  rest 
That  are  within  the  note  of  expectation," 
Already  are  i'the  court. 

1  Mur.  His  horses  go  about, 

3  Mur.  Almost  a  mile :  but  he  does  usually. 
So  all  men  do,  from  hence  to  the  palace  gate 
Make  it  their  walk. 

Enter  Banquo  and  Fleance,  a  servant  loilh  a  torch 
preceding  them. 

2  Mur.  A  light,  a  light ! 

3  Mur.  'Tis  he. 
IJtfjtr.  Stand  to't. 
Ban.  It  will  be  rain  to-night. 
1  Mur.                                    Let  it  come  down, 

i  Assaults  Banquo, 
Fleance,  fly,  fly, 

fly ; 

Thou  may'st  revenge. O  slave ! 

[Dies.  Fleance  and  servant  escape 
3  Mur.  Who  did  strike  out  the  light  ? 

1  Mur.  Was't  not  the  way  ? 
3  Mur.  There's  but  one  down  ;  the  son  is  fled. 

2  Mur.  We  have  lost  best  half  of  our  afi'air. 
1  Mur.  Well,  let's  away,  and  say  how  much  is 

done.  [Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E  IV. — A  room  of  state  in  the  palace.  A 
banquet  prepared.  Enter  Macbeth,  iMdy  Mac- 
beth, Rosse,  Lenox,  Lords,  and  attendants. 

Macb.  You  know  your  own  degrees,  sit  down : 
at  first 
And  last,  the  hearty  welcome. 
Lords.  Thanks  to  your  majesty, 

Macb.  Ourself  will  mingle  with  society. 
And  play  the  humble  host. 
Our  hostess  keeps  her  state ;'  but,  in  best  time. 
We  will  require  her  welcome. 
Lady  M.    Pronounce  it  for  me,  sir,  to  all  our 
friends ; 
For  my  heart  speaks,  they  are  welcome. 
Enter  first  Murderer,  to  the  door. 
Maeb.  See,  they  encounter  thee  with  their  hearts' 
thanks : 


JUtW. 


Both  sides  are  even :  Here  I'll  sit  i'the  midst : 
Ba  large  in  mirth ;  anon,  we'll  drink  a  measure 
The  table  round. — There's  blood  upon  thy  face. 
Mur.  'Tis  Banquo's  then. 

Macb.  'Tis  better  thee  without,  than  he  within. 
Is  he  despatch'd  ? 
Mur.  My  lord,  his  throat  is  cut ;  that  I  did  for 
him. 

Macb.  Thou  art  the  best  o'the  cut-throats :  Yet 
he's  good, 
That  did  the  like  for  Fleance :  if  thou  didst  it. 
Thou  art  the  nonpareil. 

Mur.  Most  royal  sir, 

Fleance  is  'scap'd. 

Macb.    Then  comes  my  fit  again:    I  had  else 
been  perfect ; 
Whole  as  the  marble,  founded  as  the  rock ; 
As  broad,  and  general,  as  the  casing  air : 
But  now,  I  am  cabin'd,  cribb'd,  confin'd,  bound  in 
To  saucy  doubts  and  fears.     But  Banquo's  safe  ? 

Mur.  Ay,  my  good  lord :  safe  in  a  ditch  he  bides. 
With  twenty  trenched  gashes  on  his  head ; 
The  least  a  death  to  nature. 

Macb^  Thanks  for  that : 

There  the  grown  serpent  lies ;  the  worm,  that's  fled. 

Hath  nature  that  in  time  will  venom  breed, 

No  teeth  for  the  present. — Get  thee  gone;  to-mor 

row 
We'll  hear,  ourselves  again.  [Exit  Murderer. 

Lady  M.  My  royal  lord. 

You  do  not  give  the  cheer :  the  ieast  is  sold. 
That  is  not  often  vouch'd,  while  'tis  a  making, 
'Tis  given  with  welcome :  To  feed,  were  best  at 

home; 
From  thence,  the  sauce  to  meat  is  ceremony : 
Meeting  were  bare  without  it. 

Macb.  Sweet  remembrancer ! — 

Now,  good  digestion  wait  on  appetite. 
And  health  on  both ! 

Len.  May  it  please  your  highness  sit  ? 

[The  Ghost  o/ Banquo  rises,  and  sits  in 
Macbeth's  place. 

Macb.  Here  had  we  now  our  country's  honour 
rooPd, 
Were  the  grac'd  person  of  our  Banquo  present ; 
Who  may  I  rather  challenge  for  unkindness, 
Than  pity  for  mischance ! 

Rosse.  His  absence,  sir, 

Lays  blame   upon  his   promise.    Please  it  your 

highness 
To  CTace  us  with  your  royal  company  ? 

Macb.  The  table's  full. 

Len.  Here's  a  place  reserv'd,  sir. 

Macb.  Where? 

Len.  Here,  my  lord.    What  is't  that 

moves  your  highness  ? 

Macb.  Which  of  you  have  done  this? 

Ijords.  What,  my  good  lord  ? 

Macb.  ThoTi  canst  not  say,  I  did  it :  never  shake 
Thy  gory  locks  at  me. 

Rosse.  Gentlemen,  rise ;  his  highness  is  not  well. 

Lady  M.  Sit,  worthy  friends : — my  lord  is  often 
thus. 
And  hath  been  from  his  youth :  'Pray  you,  keep 

seat; 
The  fit  is  momentary ;  upon  a  thought' 
He  will  again  be  well :  If  much  you  note  him. 
You  shall  offend  him,  and  extend  his  passion  ;♦ 
Feed,  and  regard  him  not. — Are  you  a  man  ? 

Macb.  Ay,  and  a  bold  one,  that  dare  look  on  thai 
Which  might  appal  the  devil. 


(1)  i.  e.  They  who  are  set  down  in  the  list  of 
guesta,  and  expected  to  supper. 


12)  Continues  in  her  chair  of  state. 

[3}  As  quick  as  thought.  (4)  Prolong  his  sufieriitg. 


Scene  V. 


MACBETH. 


aiu 


Lady  Jtf.  0  proper  stuff! 

This  is  the  very  painting  of  your  fear : 
Tliis  is  the  air-drawn  dagger,  which,  you  said, 
Led  you  to  Duncan.     0,  these  flaws,'  and  starts, 
(Impostors  to  true  fear,)  would  well  become 
A  woman's  storj',  at  a  winter's  fire, 
AtJthoriz'd  by  her  grandam.    Shame  itself! 
Why  do  you  make  such  faces  ?  When  all's  done, 
You  look  but  on  a  stool. 

Jilacb.   Pr'ythec,  see  there!  behold!  look!  lo! 

how  say  you  ? 

^Vhy,  what  care  1  ?  If  thou  canst  nod,  speak  too. — 
If  charnel-houses,  and  our  ffraves,  must  send 
Those  that  we  bury,  back,  our  monuments 
Shall  be  the  mawsof  kites.         [Ghost  disappears. 

Lady  JJ,  What !  quite  unmann'd  in  lolly  ? 

J^Iacb.  If  I  stand  here,  I  saw  him. 

Lady  J\I.  Fie,  for  shame ! 

J\Iacb.    Blood  hath  been  shed  ere  how,  i'the 
olden  time, 
Ere  human  statute  purjr'd  the  gentle  weal ; 
Ay,  and  since  too,  murders  have  been  pcrform'd 
Too  terrible  for  the  ear :  the  times  have  been, 
That,  %vhen  the  brains  were  out  the  man  would  die, 
And  there  an  end  ;  but  now,  they  rise  ajain. 
With  twenty  mortal  murders  on  their  crowns, 
And  push  us  from  our  stools  :  This  is  more  strange 
Than  such  a  murder  is. 

Lady  J\L  My  worthy  lord, 

Your  noble  friends  do  lack  you. 

JSIacb.  I  do  forget : — 

Do  not  muse*  at  me,  my  most  worthy  friends ; 
I  have  a  strange  infirmity,  which  is  nothing 
To  those  that  know  me.     Come,  love  and  heallh 
to  all; 

Then  I'll  sit  down: Give  me  some  Tvine,  fill 

full : 

I  drink  to  the  general  joy  of  the  whole  table. 

Ghost  rises. 
And  to  our  dear  friend  Banquo,  whom  we  miss  ; 
Would  he  were  here !  to  all,  and  him,  we  thirst. 
And  all  to  all.^ 

Lords.  Our  duties,  and  the  pledge. 

J\Iacb.    Avaunt !    and  quit  my  sight !  Let  the 
earth  hide  thee  ! 
Thy  bones  are  marrowless,  thy  blood  is  cold  ; 
Thou  hast  no  speculation  in  those  eyes 
Which  thou  dost  glare  with ! 

Lady  M.  Think  of  this,  good  peers, 

But  as  a  thing  of  custom  :  'tis  no  other  : 
Only  it  spoils  the  pleasure  of  the  time. 

Jiacb.  What  man  dare,  I  dare  : 
Approach  thou  like  the  rugged  Russian  bear. 
The  arm'd  rhinoceros,  or  the  Hyrcan  tiger, 
Take  any  shape  but  that,  and  my  firm  nerves 
Shall  never  tremble  :  Or,  be  alive  again. 
And  dare  me  to  the  desert  with  thy  sword ; 
If  trembling  I  inhibit*  thee,  protest  me 
The  baby  of  a  girl.     Hence,  horrible  shadow ! 

[Ghost  disappears. 
Unreal  mocker}-,  hence  ! — WTiy,  so ; — being  gone, 
I  am  a  man  again. Pray  yoii,  sit  still. 

Lady  M.  You  have  displac'd  the  mirth,  broke 
the  good  meeting. 
With  most  admir'd  disorder. 

Macb.  Can  such  things  be, 

And  overcome'  us  like  a  summer's  cloud, 
Without  our  special  wonder  ?  You  make  me  strange 
Even  to  the  disposition  that  I  owe,' 
When  now  I  think  you  can  behold  such  sights, 

(\)  Sudden  gusts.  (2)  Wonder. 

fSJ  t.  e.  All  good  wishes  to  all,       (4)  Forbid. 

(5)  Pass  over.      (6)  Possess.      (7)  Magpies. 


And  keep  the  natural  ruby  of  your  cheeks, 
When  mine  are  blanch'd  with  fear. 

Rosse.  What  sights,  my  lord  ? 

Lady  JVf.  I  pray  you,  speak  not ;  he  grows  worse 
and  worse  j 
Question  enrages  him  :  at  once,  good  night  :— 
Stand  not  upon  the  order  of  your  going, 
But  go  at  once. 

Len.  Good  night,  and  better  health 

Attend  his  majesty ! 

Lady  Jlf.  A  kind  good  night  to  all ! 

[Exeunt  Lords  and  attendants. 

Macb.  It  will  have  blood ;  they  say,  blood  will 
have  blood : 
Stones  have  been  known  to  move,  and  trees  to 

speak; 
Augurs,  and  understood  relations,  have 
By  magot-pies,'  and  choughs,  and  rooks,  brought 

forth 
The  Eccret'st  man  of  blood. — What  is  the  night  ? 

Lady  J\L  Almost  at  odds  with  morning,  which 
is  which. 

Macb.    How  say'st  thou,  that  Macduff  denies 
his  person. 
At  our  great  bidding  ? 

Lady  M.  Did  you  send  to  him,  sir  ? 

Macb.  I  hear  it  by  the  way ;  but  I  will  send : 
There's  not  a  one*  of  them,  but  in  his  house 
I  keep  a  servant  feed.     I  will  to-morrow 
(Betimes  I  will,)  unto  the  weird  sisters: 
More  shall  they  speak ;  for  now  I  am  bent  to  know, 
By  the  worst  means,  the  worst :  for  mine  own  good, 
All  causes  shall  ji;ivc  way.     1  am  in  blood 
Slept  in  so  far,  that,  should  I  wade  no  more, 
Returning  were  as  tedious  as  go  o'er: 
Strange  things  I  have  in  head,  that  will  to  hand  ; 
Which  must  be  acted,  ere  they  may  be  scann'd.' 

Lady  M.  You  lack  the  season  of  all  natures,  sleep. 

Jlacb,  Come,  we'll  to  sleep  :    My  strange  and 
self- abuse 
Is  the  initiate  fear,  that  wants  hard  use  : — 
We  are  yet  but  young  in  deed.  [Exeunt. 

SCEJ^'E  v.— The  heath.     Thunder.    Et}ter  He- 
cate, meeting  tlie  three  Witches. 

1  Witch.  Why,  how  now,  Hecate?  you  look 
angcrly. 

Hec.  Have  I  not  reason,  bedlams,  as  you  are 
Saucy,  and  overbold?  How  did  you  dare 
To  trade  and  traiiic  with  Macbeth, 
In  riddles  and  affairs  of  death  ; 
And  I,  the  m.istress  of  your  charms, 
The  close  contriver  of  all  harms. 
Was  never  call'd  to  bear  my  part, 
Or  shov.-  the  glory  of  our  art  ? 
And,  which  is  worscy^ll  you  have  done 
Hath  been  but  for  a  wayward  son. 
Spiteful,  and  wrathful,  who,  as  others  do, 
Loves  for  his  own  ends,  not  for  you. 
But  make  amends  now  :  Get  you  gone, 
And  at  the  pit  of  Acheron, 
Meet  me  i'the  morning ;  thither  he 
Will  come  to  know  his  destiny.  I 

Your  vessels,  and  your  spells,  provide. 
Your  charms,  and  every  thing  beside  : 
I  am  for  the  air  ;  this  night  I'll  spend 
Unto  a  dismal-fatal  end. 
Great  business  must  be  wrought  ere  noon  • 
Upon  the  corner  of  the  moon 
There  hangs  a  vaporous  drop  profound  ;'• 

(8)  An  individual.        (9)  Examined  nicely. 
(10)  t.  e.  A  drop  that  has  deep  or  hidden  quali- 
ties. 

2  T 


330 


MACBETH. 


Act  IV, 


I'll  catch  it  ere  it  come  to  ground  : 
And  that,  dbtill'd  by  magic  slights, 
Shall  raise  such  artificial  sprites, 
As,  by  the  strength  of  their  illusion. 
Shall  draw  him  on  to  his  confusion : 
He  shall  spurn  fate,  scorn  death,  and  bear 
His  hopes  'bove  wisdom,  grace,  and  fear : 
And  you  all  know,  security 
Is  mortals'  chiefest  enemy. 

Song.  [Within.]  Come  away,  come  away,  fyc. 

Hark,  I  am  call'd ;  my  little  spirit,  see, 

Sits  in  a  foggy  cloud,  and  stays  for  me.         [Exit. 

I  }Vilch.  "Come,  let's  make  haste ;  she'll  soon  be 

back  agam.  [Exeunt. 

SCEXE  r J.— Fores.    A  romn  in  the  palace.   En- 
ter Lenox  and  another  Lord. 

Len.   My  former  speeches  have  but  hit  your 
thoughts, 
Which  can  interpret  further :  only,  I  say. 
Things  have  been  strangely  borne :  The  gracious 

Duncr.n 
Was  pitied  of  Macbeth :— marry,  he  was  dead  :— 
And  the  risht-valiant  Bar.quo  walk'd  too  late  ; 
Whom,  you  mav  sav,  if  it  please  you,  Pleance  kill'd, 
For  Fleance  fled.     Men  must  not  waLk  too  late. 
Who  cannot  want  the  thought,  how  monstrous 
It  was  for  Malcolm,  and  for  Donalbain, 
To  kill  their  gracious  father  ?  damned  fact ! 
How  it  did  grieve  Macbeth !  did  he  not  straight. 
In  pious  rage,  the  two  dehnquents  tear, 
That  were  the  slaves  of  drink,  and  thralls  of  sleep? 
Was  not  that  nobly  done  ?  Ay,  and  wisely  too ; 
For  'twould  have  anger'd  any  heart  alive. 
To  hear  the  men  deny  it.    So  that,  I  say, 
He  has  borne  all  things  well:  and  I  do  think, 
That,  had  he  Duncan's  sons  under  his  key 
(As,  an't  please  heaven,  he  shall  not,)  they  should 

find 
What  'twere  to  kill  a  father ;  so  should  Fleance. 
But,  peace ! — for  from  broad  words,  and  'cause  he 

fail'd 
His  prcs-^ncc  at  the  tyrant's  feast,  I  hear 
Macduff  lives  in  disjrrace :  Sir,  can  yoa  tell 
Where  he  bestows  himself? 

Lord.  Tlic  son  of  Duncan, 

From  whom  this  tyrant  holds  the  due  of  birth, 
Lives  in  the  English  court ;  and  is  received 
Of  the  most  pious  Edward  with  such  grace. 
That  the  malevolence  of  fortune  nothing 
Takes  from  his  high  respect :  Thither  Macduff 
Is  gone  to  pray  the  holy  king,  on  his  aid 
To  wake  Northumberland,  and  warlike  Siward : 
That  by  the  help  of  these  (with  Ilim  above 
To  ratify  the  work,)  we  may  again 
Give  to  "our  table  meat,  sleep  to  our  nights  ; 
Free  from  our  feasts  and  banquets  bloody  knives ; 
Do  faithful  homage,  and  receive  free  honours,' 
All  which  we  pine  for  now  :  And  this  report 
Hath  so  exasperate*  the  king,  that  he 
Prepares  for  some  attempt  of  ivar. 

l^n.  Sent  he  to  Macduff? 

Lord.  He  did :  and  with  an  absolute.  Sir,  -not  I, 
The  cloudy  messenger  turns  me  his  back. 
And  hums ;  as  who  should  say,  YouHl  rue  the  time 
That  clogs  me  with  this  answer. 

Len.  And  that  well  might 

Advise  him  to  a  caution,  to  hold  what  distance 
His  wisdom  can  provide.    Some  holy  angel 
Fly  to  the  court  of  England,  and  unfold 
His  message  ere  he  come ;  that  a  swift  blessing 

n )  Honours  freely  bestowed. 
(2)  For  exasperated. 


May  soon  return  to  this  our  suffering  country 
Under  a  hand  accun'd  ! 
Lord.  My  prayers  with  him .' 

[Exeunt, 


ACT  IV. 

SCEJN'E  I. — A  dark  cove.    In  the  middle  a  caul- 
dron boiling.    Thunder.   Enter  three  Witches. 

1  Witch.  Thrice  the  brinded  cat  hath  mew'd. 

2  Witch.  Thrice ;  and  once  the  hedge-pig  whin'd. 

3  Witch.  Harper  cries : — 'Tis  time,  'tis  time. 

1  Witch.  Round  about  the  cauldron  go  ; 

In  the  poison'd  entrails  throw. 

Toad,  that  under  coldest  stone. 

Days  and  nights  hast  thirty-one 
Swelter'd'  venom  sleeping  got. 
Boil  thou  first  i'the  charmed  pot ! 

All.  Double,  double  toil  and  trouble ; 
Fire,  burn;  and,  cauldron,  bubble. 

2  Witch.  Fillet  of  a  fenny  snake. 
In  the  cauldron  boil  and  bake  : 
Eye  of  newt,  and  toe  of  frog. 
Wool  of  bat,  and  tongue  of  dog. 
Adder's  fork,  and  blind-worm's  sting, 
Lizard's  leg,  and  owlet's  wing. 

For  a  charm  of  powerful  trouble. 
Like  a  hell-broth  boil  and  bubble. 

All.  Double,  double  toil  and  trouble. 
Fire,  burn ;  .and,  cauldron,  bubble. 

3  Witch.  Scale  of  dragon,  tooth  of  wolf; 
Witches'  mummy ;  maw,  and  gulf,* 

Of  the  ravin'd'  salt-sea  shark ; 

Root  of  hemlock,  clia;g'd  i'the  dark ; 

Liver  of  blaspheming  Jew ; 

Gall  of  goat,  and  slips  of  yew,  ' 

Slivcr'din  the  moon's  eclipse  ; 

Nose  of  Turk,  and  Tartar's  lips 

Finger  of  birth-strangled  babe, 

Ditch-deliver'd  by  a  drab. 

Make  the  gruel  thick  and  slab : 

Add  thereto  a  tiger's  chaudron," 

For  the  ingredients  of  our  cauldron. 

All.  Double,  double  toil  and  trouble  ; 
Fire,  burn;  and,  cauldron,  bubble. 

2  Witch.  Cool  it  with  a  baboon's  blood. 
Then  the  charm  is  firm  and  good. 

Enter  Hecate,  and  the  other  three  Witches. 
Ilec.  O,  well  dene !  I  commend  your  pains ; 
And  every  one  shall  share  i'the  gains. 
And  now  about  the  cauldron  sing, 
Like  elves  and  fairies  in  a  ring. 
Enchanting  all  that  you  put  in. 
SONG. 
Black  spirits  and  white, 
Red  spirits  and  gre^i ; 
,    J^inglc,  mingle,  mingle. 
You  that  mingle  may. 
2  Witch.  By  the  pricking  of  my  thumbs, 

Something  wicked  this  way  comes  : 

Open,  locks,  whoever  knocks. 

Enter  Macbeth. 

Jlfacft.  How  now,  you  secret,  black,  and  mid- 
night hags  ? 
What  is't  you  do  ? 
All.  A  deed  without  a  name. 

(3)  This  word  is  employed  to  signify  that  the 
animal  was  hot,  and  sweating  with  venom,  although 
slcepinsf  under  a  cold  stone. 

(4)  The  throat.    (5)  Ravenous.    (6)  Entrails. 


SceiU  I. 


MACBETH. 


331 


Macb.  I  c6njiire  you,  by  that  which  you  profess, 
(Howe'er  you  come  to  luiow  it,)  answer  uic : 
TJiough  you  untie  the  winds,  and  let  them  light 
Against  the  churches  ;  though  the  yesty'  waves 
Confound  and  swallow  navigation  up ; 
Though  bladed  corn  be  lodg'd,^  and  trees  blown 

down ; 
Thouirh  castles  topple'  on  their  warders'  heads  ; 
Thoug^h  palaces,  and  pyramids,  do  slope 
Their  lieads  to  their  foundations ;  though  the  trea- 
sure 
Of  nature's  germins*  tumble  all  together, 
Even  till  destruction  sicken,  ans'.vtr  nie 
To  what  I  ask  you. 

1  Witch.  Speak. 

'2  Witch.  Demand. 

3  Witch.  We'll  answer. 

1  Witch.  Say,  if  tliou'd'st  rather  hear  it  from  our 
mouths. 
Or  from  our  masters'  ? 

.Macb.  Call  them,  let  me  see  them. 

1  Witch.  Pour  in  sow's  blood,  that  hath  eaten 
Hcr<nine  farrow ;  grease,  that's  sweatcn 
From  the  murderer's  gibbet,  thro^v 
Into  the  Uamc. 

.III.  Come,  high,  or  low ; 

Thyself,  and  office,  deftly^  show. 

Thunder,    ^in  Apparition  of  an  ta-med  Head  rises. 

Jilacb.  Tell  me,  thou  unknown  power, 

1  Witch.  He  knows  thy  thought ; 

Hear  his  speech,  hut  say  thou  nought. 
-1pp.  Macbeth!   Macbelh !    Macbeth!    beware 
Macdufl"; 
Beware  the  thane  of  Fife. — Dismiss  me : — Enough. 

[Descends. 
^Macb.  ^V'hate'er  thou  art,  for  thy  good  caution, 
thanks  ; 
Tiiou  hast  harp'd'  my  fear  aright : — But  one  word 
more : — 
1  WUch.  He  will  not  be  commanded:  Here's 
another, 
INIore  potent  than  the  first. 

Thunder.    An  Apparition  of  a  bloody  Child  rises. 

Jlpp.  Macbeth!  Macbeth!  Macbeth!— 

Macb.  Had  I  three  ears,  I'd  hear  thee. 

-Ipp.  Be  bloody,  bold, 

.\na  resolute  :  laugh  to  scorn  the  power  of  man. 
For  none  of  woman  born  shall  harm  Macbeth. 

[Descends. 

J\Iacb.  Then  lire,  Macduff;  What  need  I  fear  of 
thee? 
But  yet  I'll  make  assurance  doubly  sure, 
And  take  a  bond  of  fate :  thou  shalt  not  live ; 
That  I  may  tell  pale-hearted  fear,  it  lies. 
And  sleep  in  spite  of  thunder. — VVhat  is  this. 

Thunder.  ,in  Apparition  of  a  Child  crowned,  tcith 

a  tree  in  his  Iiand,  rises. 
That  rises  like  the  issue  of  a  king  ; 
And  wears  upon  his  baby  brow  the  round 
And  top  of  sovereignty  ?' 

-ill.  Listen,  but  speak  not. 

<1pp.  Be  lion-mettled,  proud  ;  and  take  no  care 
Who  chafes,  who  frets,  or  where  conspirers  are : 
Macbeth  shall  never  vanquish'd  be,  until 

(1)  Frothv.  (2)  Laid  flat  by  wind  or  rain. 

(3)  Tumble. 

(4)  Seeds  which  have  begun  to  sprout. 

(5)  Adroitly. 

(C)  Touch'd  on  a  passion  as  a  harper  touches  a 
siring. 


Great  Biinam  \yood  to  high  Dunsinane  hjll 
Shall  come  against  him.  [Descends. 

-Mucb.  That  will  never  be ; 

Who  can  impress  the  forest ;'  bid  the  tree 
UnfLKhis  earth-bound  root  ?  sweet  bodeinents!  good ! 
Rebellious  head,  rise  never,  till  the  wood 
Of  Birnam  rise,  and  our  high-plac'd  Macbeth 
Shall  live  the  lease  of  nature,  pay  his  breatli 
To  time,  and  mortal  custom. — Yet  my  heart 
Tlirobs  to  know  one  thing ;  Tell  me,  (if  your  art 
Can  tell  so  qauch,)  shall  Banquo's  issue  ever 
llcirrn  in  this  kingdom  ? 

-lil.  Seek  to  know  no  more. 

-Macb.  I  will  be  satisfied :  deny  me  this. 
And  an  eternal  curse  fall  on  you !  Let  me  know ; — 
Why  sinks  that  cauldron  ?  and  what  noise*  is  this  ? 

[Hmtbovs. 

1  WUch.  Shew! 

2  W^itch.  Show ! 

3  Witch.  Show ! 

-111.  Show  his  eyes,  and  grieve  liis  heart ; 
Come  like  shadows,  so  depart. 

Eisht  Kirn^s  appear,  end  pass  over  the  slaze  in 
order;  the  last  with  a  glass  in  his  hand;  ^an- 
quofoHowiiis. 

JiJacb.  Thou  art  too  like  the  spirit  of  Banquo ; 
down ! 
Thy  crown  due^  soar  mine  eye-balls : — And  thy  hair, 
Thoti  other  gold-bound  brow,  is  lilvC  the  first : — 
A  third  is  like  the  former : — Filthy  hags  ! 
Why  do  you  show  me  this? — A  fourth?— Start,  eves ! 
What!  will  the  line  stretch  out  to  the  crack  of 

doom?'" 
AnoMicr  yet  ? — A  seventii  ? — I'll  see  no  more : — 
And  yet  the  eighth  apiiears,  who  bears  a  ^lass, 
\Vhich  shows  me  many  more  ;  and  some  I  see. 
That  two-fold  balls  and  treble  sceptres  carrv' : 
Horrible  sight ! — Ay,  now,  I  see,  'tis  true  ; 
For  the  blobd-bolter'd"  Banquo  smiles  upon  me, 
And  points  at  them  for  his. — What,  is  this  so  ? 

1  TVitch.  Ay,  sir,  all  this  is  so  ; — But  why 
Stands  Macbeth  thus  amazedly  ? — 
Come,  sisters,  cheer  we  up  his  sprights," 
And  show  the  best  of  our  delights ; 
I'll  charm  the  air  to  give  a  sound. 
While  you  perform  your  antique  round : 
That  this  great  king  may  kindly  say. 
Our  duties  dic^  his  welcome  pay. 

[-Music.     The  Witches  dance,  and  vanish. 
JUacb.  Where  are  they  ?  Gone  ? — Let  this  perni- 
cious hour 
Stand  aye  accursed  in  the  calendar ! 
Come  in,  without  there  ! 

Enter  Lenox. 

Len.  What's  your  grace's  will  ? 

-Macb.  Saw  you  tlie  wierd  sisters  ? 

Len.  No,  my  lord. 

Macb.  Came  they  not  by  you  ? 

Len,  No,  indeed,  my  lord. 

J\Iacb.  Infected  be  the  air  whereon  they  ride ; 
And  damn'd,  all  those  that  trust  them  !— I  did  hear 
The  gallophij!;-  of  horse :  Who  was't  came  by  ? 

Len.  'Tis  two  or  three,  my  lord,  that  bring  you 
word, 

(7)  The  round  is  that  part  of  a  crown  which  en- 
circles the  head :  the  top  is  the  ornament  which 
rises  above  it. 

(S)  Who  can  command  the  forest  to  sei-ve  him 
like  a  soldier  impressed  ? 

(9)  Music.        (10)  The  dissolution  of  nature. 

(11)  Bcs-ncured  with  blood.      (12)  i.  c.  Spirits. 


S31 


MACBETH. 


Jet  IF. 


Macduif  is  fled  to  England. 

Macb.  Fled  to  England? 

Len.  Ay,  my  good  lord. 

J\Sacb.  Time,    thou   anticipat'st'    my  dread  ex- 
ploits : 
The  flighty  purpose  never  is  o'ertook, 
Unless  the  deed  go  with  it :  From  this  moment, 
The  very  firstlings  of  my  heart  shall  be 
The  firstlings  of  my  hand.    And  even  now 
To  crown  my  thoughts  witli  acts,    be  it  thought 

and  done : 
The  castle  of  MacdufT  I  will  surprise  ;'  I 

.  Seize  upon  Fife  ;  give  to  the  edge  o'the  sword         ' 
His  wife,  his  babes,  and  all  unfortunate  souls 
That  trace^  his  line.     No  boasting  like  a  fool  ; 
This  deed  I'll  do,  before  this  purpose  cool : 
But  no  more  sights ! — Where  are  these  gentlemen  ? 
Come,  bring  me  where  they  are.  [Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E  //.—Fife.    ^  room  iu  Macduff's  castle. 
Enter  Lady  Macduff,  her  Son,  and  Rosse. 

L.  J^acd.  What  had  he  done,  to  make  him  fly 
the  land  ? 

Rosse.  You  must  have  patience,  madam. 

L.  Jdacd.  He  had  none : 

His  flight  was  madness:  When  our  actions  do  not, 
Our  fears  do  make  us  traitors.' 

Rosse.  You  know  not. 

Whether  it  was  his  wisdom,  or  his  fear. 

L.  Macd.  Wisdom     to  leave  his  wife,  to  leave 
his  babes, 
His  mansion,  and  his  titles,  in  a  place 
From  whence  himself  does  fly  ?  He  loves  us  not ; 
He  wants  the  natural  touch  :"'  for  the  poor  wren, 
The  most  diminutive  of  birds,  will  fi?ht. 
Her  young  ones  in  her  nest,  against  the  owl. 
All  is  the  fear,  and  nothing  is  the  love ; 
As  little  is  the  wisdom,  where  the  flight 
So  runs  against  all  reason. 

Rosse,  My  dearest  coz', 

I  pray  you,  school  yourself:  But,  for  your  husband, 
He  is  noble,  wise,  judicious,  and  best  knows 
The  fits  o'the    season.    I  dare   not   speak  much 

further : 
But  cruel  are  the  limes,  when  we  are  traitors. 
And  do  not  know  ourselves  ;  when  we  hold  rumour 
From  what  wc  fear,  yet  know  not  what  we  fear ; 
But  float  upon  a  wild  and  violent  sea. 
Each  way,  and  move. — I  take  my  leave  of  you : 
Shall  not  be  long  but  I'll  be  here  again  : 
Things  at  the  %vorst  will  cease,  or  else  climb  up- 
ward 
^To  what  they  were  before. — My  pretty  cousin, 
Blessinir  upon  you ! 

L.  Macd.  Father'd  he  is,  and  yet  he's  fatherless. 

Rosse.  I  am  so  much  a  fool,  should  I  stay  longer. 
It  would  be  my  disgrace,  and  your  discomfort: 
I  take  my  leave  at  once.  [Exit  Rosse. 

L.  Macd.  Sirrah,'  your  father's  dead ; 

And  what  will  you  do  now  ?  How  will  you  live? 

Son.  As  birds  do,  mother. 

L.  Macd.  What,  with  worms  and  flies  ? 

Son.  With  what  I  get,  I  mean  ;   and  so  do  they. 

L.  Macd.  Poor  bird !  thou'dst  never  fear  the  net, 
nor  lime. 
The  pit-fall,  nor  the  gin. 

Son.  Why  should  I,  mother  ?    Poor  birds  they 
are  not  set  for. 
"My  father  is  not  dead,  for  all  your  saying. 

(1)  Preventest,  by  taking  away  the  opportunity. 
(Z)  Follow. 

(3)  t.  e.  Our  flight  is  considered  as  evidence  of 
our  treason. 


L,  Macd.  Yes,  he  is  dead ;  how  trilt  thou  do  for 
a  father  ? 

Son.  Nay,  how  will  you  do  for  a  husband  ? 

L.  Macd.    Wliy,    I  can  buy  me  twenty  at  any 
market. 

Son.  Then  you'll  buy  'em  to  sell  again. 

L.  Macd.  1  hou  speak'st  with  all  thy  wit ;  and 
yet,  i'faith, 
WiUi  wit  enough  for  thee. 

Son.  Was  my  father  a  traitor,  mother? 

L.  Macd.  Ay,  that  he  was. 

Son.  What  is  a  traitor  ? 

L.  Macd.  Why,  one  that  swears  and  lies. 

Son.  And  be  all  traitors,  that  do  so  ? 

L.  Macd.  Every  one  that  does  so,  is  a  traitor, 
and  must  be  hanged. 

Son.  And  must  they  all  be  hang'd,  that  swear 
and  lie  ? 

L.  Macd.  Every  one. 

Son.  Who  must  hang  them  ? 

L.  Macd.  Why,  the  honest  men. 

Sffii.  Then  the  liars  and  swearers  are  fools :  for 
there  are  liars  and  swearers  enough  to  beat  the 
honest  men,  and  hang  up  them. 

L.  Macd.  Now,  God  nelp  thee,  poor  monkey? 
But  how  wilt  thou  do  for  a  father? 

Son.  If  he  were  dead,  you'd  weep  for  him  :  if  you 
would  not,  it  were  a  good  sign  that  I  should  quick- 
ly have  a  new  father. 

L.  Macd.  Poor  prattler !  how  thou  talk'st ! 
Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  Bless  you,  fair  dame !    I  am  not  to  you 

known, 
Though  in  your  slate  of  honour  I  am  perfect.' 
I  doubt,  some  danfrer  does  approach  you  nearly : 
If  you  will  take  a  homely  man's  advice. 
Be  not  found  l;ere  ;  hence,  with  your  little  ones. 
To  flight  you  thus,  methinks,  I  am  too  savage  ; 
To  do  worse  to  you,  were  fell  cruelty. 
Which  is  too  nigh  your  person.     Heaven  preserve 

you  ! 
I  dare  abide  no  longer.  [Exit  Messenger. 

L.  Macd.  Whither  should  I  fly  ? 

I  have  done  no  harm.     But  I  remember  now 
I  am  in  this  earthly  world  ;  where,  to  do  harm, 
Is  often  laudable  :'to  do  good,  sometime. 
Accounted  dangerous  folly :  Why  then,  alas  ! 
Do  I  put  up  that  womanly  defence. 
To  say  I  have  done  no  harm? — What  are  these 

faces  ? 

Enter  Murderers. 


Mur.   Where  is  your  husband  ? 
L.  Macd.  I  hope  in  no  place  so  unsanctified, 
Where  such  as  thou  may'st  find  him. 
-^lur.  He's  a  traitor. 

Son.  Thou  ly'sl,  thou  shag-ear'd  villain. 
Mw.  What,  you  egg? 

[Stabbing  him. 
t  oung  fry  of  treachery  ? 

Sot*.  He  has  killed  me,  mother  ; 

Run  away,  I  pray  you.  [Dies. 

[Exit  Lady  Macduff,  crying  nmrder, 
and  pursued  by  the  Murderers. 

SCEJ^E  ///.—England.— .«  room  in  the  King's 
palace.    £n/er  Malcolm  and  Macduff. 
Mai.  Let  us  seek  out  some  desolate  shade,  and 
there 

(4)  Natural  affection. 

(5)  Sirrah  was  not  in  our  author's  time  a  term 
of  reproach. 

(6)  I  am  perfectly  acquainted  with  yoarrank. 


Scene  ttt. 


MACBETH. 


333 


Weep  our  sad  bosoms  empty. 

J\Iacd.  Let  us  rather 

Hold  fast  the  mortal  sword  ;  and,  like  pood  men, 
Bestride  our  downfall'n  birthdom  : '     Each  new 

morn, 
New  widows  howl ;  new  orphans  cry ;  new  sorrows 
Strike  heaven  on  the  face,  that  it  resounds 
As  if  it  felt  with  Scotland,  and  3eird  out 
Like  syllable  of  dolour. 

Mai.  What  I  believe,  I'll  wail ; 

What  know,  believe  ;  and,  what  I  can  redress, 
As  I  shall  find  the  time  to  friend,^  I  will. 
What  you  have  spoke,  it  may  be  so,  perchance. 
This  tyrant,  whose  sole  uame  blisters  our  tongue, 
Was  once  thought  honest :  you  have  lov'd  him  well ; 
He  hath  not  touch'd  you  yet.    I  am  young ;  but 

something 
You  may  deserve  of  him  through  me  ;  and  wisdom 
To  offer  up  a  weak,  poor,  innocent  lamb, 
To  appease  an  angry  god. 

J\Iacd.  I  am  not  treacherous. 

Mai.  But  Macbeth  is. 

A  good  and  virtuous  nature  may  recoil, 
In  an  imperial  charge.^    But  'crave  your  pardon  ; 
That  which  you  are,  my  thouchts  cannot  transpose : 
Angels  are  bright  still,  thousrh  the  brightest  fell  : 
Though  all  things  foul  would  wear  the  brows  of 

grace. 
Yet  grace  must  still  look  so. 

Macd.  I  have  lost  my  hopes. 

Mai,  Perchance,  even  there,  where  I  did  find 
my  doubts. 
Why  in  that  rawness  left  you  wife  and  child 
(Those  precious  motives,thosc  strong  knots  of  love,) 
Without  leave-taking  ? — I  pray  vou, 
Let  not  my  jealousies  be  your  dishonours, 
But  mine  own  safiities  : — You  may  be  rightly  just, 
Whatever  I  shall  think. 

Macd.  Bleed,  bleed,  poor  country ! 

Great  tyranny,  lay  thou  thy  basis  sure, 
For  goodness  dares  not  check  thee !  wear  thou  thy 

wrongs,' 
Thy  title  is  affeerM.*— Fare  thee  well,  lord  : 
1  would  not  be  tiie  villain  that  thou  think'st 
For  the  whole  space  that's  in  the  tyrant's  grasp, 
And  the  rich  east  to  boot. 

Mai.  Be  not  offended : 

I  speak  not  as  in  absolute  fear  of  you. 
I  think,  our  country  sinks  beneath  the  yoke ; 
It  weeps,  it  bleeds  ;  and  each  new  day  a  gash 
Is  added  to  her  wounds  :  I  think,  withal, 
There  would  be  hands  uplifted  in  my  right ; 
And  here,  from  gracious  England,  have  I  offer. 
Of  goodly  thousands  :  But,  for  all  this. 
When  I  shall  tread  upon  the  tyrant's  head, 
Or  wear  it  on  my  sword,  yet  my  poor  country 
Shall  have  more  vices  than  it  had  before ; 
More  suffer,  and  more  sundry  ways  than  ever, 
By  him  that  shall  succeed. 

Macd.  What  should  he  be  ? 

Mai,  It  is  myself  I  mean  :  in  whom  I  know 
All  the  particulars  of  vice  so  grafted, 
That,  when  they  shall  be  open'd,  black  Macbeth 
Will  seem  as  pure  as  snow  ;  and  the  poor  state 
Esteem  him  as  a  lamb,  being  compar'd 
With  my  confineless  barms. 

Macd.  Not  in  the  legions 

Of  horrid  hell,  can  come  a.  devil  more  damn'd 
In  evils,  to  top  Macbeth. 

Mai.  I  grant  him  bloody, 

(I)  Birthright.  (2)  Befriend. 

(3)  t.  e.  A  good  mind  may  recede  from  goodness 
|n  the  execution  of  a  royal  commission. 


Luxurious,'  avaricious,  false,  deceitful, 
Sudden,*  malicious  smacking  of  every  sin 
That  has  a  name :  But  there's  no  bottom,  none, 
In  my  voluptuousness :  your  wives,  your  daughters, 
Your  matrons,  and  your  maids,  could  not  fill  up 
The  cistern  of  my  lust ;  and  my  desire 
All  continent  impediments  would  o'er-bear, 
Tliat  did  oppose  my  will :  Better  Macbeth, 
Than  such  a  one  to  reign. 

Macd.  Boundless  intemperance 

In  nature  is  a  tyranny  ;  it  hath  been 
The  untimely  emptying  of  the  happy  throne, 
And  fall  of  many  kmgs.     But  fear  not  yet 
To  take  upon  you  what  is  yours  :  you  may 
Convey  your  pleasures  in  a  spacious  plenty. 
And  yet  seem  cold,  the  time  you  may  so  hood-wink. 
We  have  willing  dames  enough ;  there  cannot  be 
That  vulture  in  you,  to  devour  so  many 
As  will  to  greatness  dedicate  themselves, 
Finding  it  so  inclin'd. 

Mai.  With  this,  there  grows, 

In  my  most  ill-conipos'd  affection,  such 
A  stanchlcss  avarice,  that  were  I  king, 
I  should  cut  off  the  nobles  for  their  lands ; 
Desire  his  jewels,  and  this  other's  house  : 
And  my  more-having  would  be  as  a  sauce 
To  make  me  hunger  more  ;  that  I  should  forge 
Quarrels  unjust  ajrainst  the  good,  and  loyal, 
Destroying  then-,  lor  wealth. 

,J\Iac(!.  This  avarice 

Sticks  deeper ;  grows  witii  more  pernicious  root 
Than  summer-seeding  lust :  and  it  hath  been 
The  sword  of  our  slain  kings  :  Yet  do  not  fear; 
Scotland  hath  foysons'  to  fdl  up  your  will. 
Of  your  mere  own ;  All  these  are  portable,* 
Witli  cither  graces  weigh'd. 

Mai.   But  I  have  none  :    The  king-becoming 
graces. 
As  justice,  verity,  temperance,  stableness, 
Bounty,  perseverance,  mercy,  lowliness, 
Devotion,  patience,  courage,  fortitude, 
I  have  no  relish  of  them  ;  but  abound 
In  the  division  of  each  several  crime, 
Acting  it  many  ways.   Nay,  had  I  power,  I  should 
Pour  the  sweet  milk  of  concord  into  hell, 
LTproar  the  universal  peace,  confound 
All  unity  on  earth. 

Macd.  0  Scotland  !  Scotland  ! 

Mai.  If  such  a  one  be  lit  to  govern,  speak ; 
I  am  as  I  have  spoken. 

Macd.  Fit  to  govern  ! 

No,  not  to  live. — 0  nation  miserable. 
With  an  untitled  tyrant  bloody-scepter'd. 
When  shall  thou  see  thy  wholesome  days  again  ? 
Since  that  the  truest  issue  of  thy  throne 
By  his  own  interdiction  sUinds  accars'd. 
And  does  blaspheme  his  breed  ? — Thy  royal  father 
Was  a  most  samted  king ;  the  queen,  that  bore  thee, 
Of^ner  upon  her  knees  than  on  her  feet. 
Died  every  day  she  lived.    Fare  thee  well ! 
These  evils,  thou  repeat'st  upon  thyself, 
I  lave  banish'd  me  from  Scotland. — 0,  my  "breast. 
Thy  hope  ends  iiere  ! 

Mai.  Macduff,  this  noble  passion, 

Child  of  integrity,  hath  from  my  soul 
Wip'd  the  black  scruples,  reconcil'd  mv  thoughts 
To  thy  good  truth  and  honour.   Devilish  Macbeth 
By  many  of  these  trains  hath  sought  to  win  me 
Into  his  power :  and  modest  wisdom  plucks  me 

(4)  Legally  settled  by  those  who  had  the  final 
adjudication. 

(5)  Lascivious.  (6)  Passionate. 

(7)  Plenty.  (8)  May  be  endured,      . 


33-1 


MACBETH. 


^d  ir. 


From  over-credulous  haste:'  But  God  above 
Deal  between  thee  and  me  !  for  even  now 
1  put  myself  to  thy  direction,  and 
Unspeak  mine  own  detraction,  here  abjure 
The  taints  and  blames  I  laid  upon  myself, 
For  strangers  to  my  nature.     1  am  yet 
Unknown  to  %voma'n  ;  never  was  forsworn  ; 
Scarcely  have  coveted  what  was  mine  own  ; 
At  no  time  broke  my  faith  ;  would  not  betray 
1^        The  devil  to  his  fellow  ;  and  delight 

No  less  in  truth,  than  life  :  my  lirst  false  speaking 
Was  this  upon  myself :  What  I  am  truly, 
Is  thine,  and  my  poor  country's,  to  command: 
Whither,  indeed,  l)efore  thy  here-approach. 
Old  Siward,  with  ten  thousand  warlike  men, 
All  ready  at  a  point,  was  setting  forth  : 
Now  we'll  togellier ;  And  the  ciiance,  of  poodness. 
Be  like  our  warranted  quarrel  I  Why  arc  yon  silent  / 
Macd.  Such  welcome  and  unwelcome  liurigs  at 
once, 
'Tis  hard  to  reconcile. 

Enter  a  Doctor. 

J\fal.  Well ;  more  anon. — Comes  the  king  forth, 
I  pray  you  ? 

Doct.  Ay,  sir:  there  arc  a  crew  of  wretched  souls, 
That  stay  his  cure  :  their  malady  convinces" 
The  great  assay  of  art ;  but,  at  his  touch. 
Such  sanctity  hath  heaven  given  his  hand. 
They  presently  amend. 

Mai.  I  thank  you,  doctor.     \Ex.  Doct. 

Macd.  What  is  tlie  disease  he  means  ? 

Mai.  _     'Tis  call'd  the  evil : 

A  most  miraculous  work  in  this  ^ood  kin;^- ; 
Which  often  since  my  here-remam  in  Enii,land, 
I  have  seen  him  do.     How  he  solicits  heaven. 
Himself  best  knows  :  but  strangely-visited  people, 
All  swoln  and  ulcerous,  pitiful  to  the  eye, 
The  mere  despair  of  surgery,  he  cures  ; 
Hanging  a  golden  stamps  about  their  necks, 
Put  on  with  holy  prayers  :  and  'tis  spoken, 
To  the  succeedinc!;  royalty  he  leaves 
The  healing  benediction.  With  tiiis  strange  virtue. 
He  hath  a  heavenly  gift  of  i)rophccy ; 
And  sundry  blessings  hang  about  his  throne, 
That  speak  him  full  of  grace. 

Enter  Rosse. 

Macd.  See,  ivho  come*  here  ? 

Mai.  My  countryman ;  but  yet  I  know  him  not. 

Macd.  My  evei-genlle  cousin,  welcome  hither. 

Mai.  I  know  hiia  now : — Good  God,  betimes 
remove  ' 

The  means  that  make  us  strangers ! 

Rosse.  Sir,  Amen. 

Macd.  Stands  Scotland  where  it  did  ? 

Rosse.  Alas,  poor  country ; 

Almost  afraid  to  know  itself!  It  cannot 
Be  call'd  our  mother,  but  our  grave :  where  nothing, 
But  who  knows  nothing,  is  once  seen  to  smile ; 
Where  sighs,  and  groans,  and  yhrieks  that  rent  the 

air. 
Arc  made,  not  mark'd :  where  violent  sorrow  seems 
A  modern  ecstasy ;"  the  dead  man's  knell 
Is  there  scarce  ask'd,  for  who ;   and  good  men's 

lives 
Expire  before  the  flowers  in  their  caps, 
Dymg,  or  ere  they  sicken. 

Macd.  O,  relation 

Too  nice,  and  yet  too  true ! 

1)  Over-hasty  credulity. 

2)  Overpowers,  subdues. 

3)  The  coin  called  an  angol, 


Mai.  What  is  the  newest  grief? 

Rosse.    That  of  an  hour's  age  doth  hiss  the 
speaker ; 
Each  minute  teems  a  new  cne. 

Macd.  How  does  my  wife  ? 

Rosse.  Why,  well. 

Macd.  And  all  my  children  ? 

Jlosse.  Well  too. 

Macd.  The  tyrant  has  not  batter'd  at  their  peace  ? 

Rosse.  No;  they  were  well  at  peace,  when  I  did 
leave  them. 

Macd.  Be  not  a  niggard  of  your  speech  ;  How 
goes  it  ? 

Rosse.  AVhen  I  came  hither  to  transport  the 
tidings. 
Which  I  have  heavily  borne,  there  ran  a  rumour 
Of  many  worthy  felloAvs  that  were  out ; 
Which  Avas  to  my  belief  witness'd  the  rather. 
For  tliat  I  saw  the  tyrant's  power  a-lbot : 
Now  is  the  time  of  help  ;  voin"  eye  in  Scotland 
Would  create  soldiers,  make  our  women  light, 
To  doff^  their  dire  distresses. 

Mat.  Be  it  their  comfort. 

We  arc  coming  thither :  «Tacious  England  halh 
Lent  ns  good  Siward,  and  ten  thousand  men ; 
An  older,  and  a  better  soldier,  none. 
That  Christendom  gives  out. 

Ilcsse.  "  'Would  I  coidd  ansv,'er 

This  comfort  with  the  like  !  But  I  have  words. 
That  would  be  howl'd  out  in  the  desert  air. 
Where  hearing  should  not  Inlch'^  them. 

Macd.  _      What  concern  they  ? 

The  general  cause  ?  or  is  it  a  fee-grief,' 
Due  to  some  single  breast  ? 

Rosse.  No  mind,  that's  honest, 

But  in  it  shares  some  wo ;  though  the  main  part 
Pertains  to  you  alone. 

Macd.  If  it  be  mine. 

Keep  it  not  from  me,  quickly  let  me  have  it. 

Rosse.  Let  not  your  ears  despise  my  tongue  for 
ever, 
Which  shall  possess  them  v.ith  the  heaviest  sound, 
That  ever  yet  they  heard. 

Macd.  '  Humjjh !  I  guess  at  it. 

Rosse.  Your  castle  is  suri)ris'd  ;  your  wife,  and 
babes. 
Savagely  slaughter'd  :  to  relate  the  manner. 
Were,  on  the  quarry^  of  these  murder'd  deer, 
To  add  the  death  of  you. 

Mai.  Merciful  heaven ! — 

What,  man !  ne'er  pull  your  hat  upon  your  brows  ; 
Give  sorrow  words :  the  grief,  that  does  not  speak, 
Whispers  the  o'cr-fraught  heart,  and  bids  it  break. 

Macd.  My  children  too  ? 

Rosse.  Wife,  children,  servants,  all 

Tl'.at  could  be  found. 

Macd.  And  I  must  be  from  thence ! 

My  wife  kill'd  too  ? 

Rosse.  I  have  said. 

'^Tal.  Be  comforted : 

Let's  make  us  mcd'eines  of  our  great  revenge. 
To  cure  this  deadly  gri('f. 

Macd.  He  has  no  children. — All  mv  pretty  ones  ? 
Did  you  say,  all  ?— 0,  hell-kite  !— All ! 
What,  all  my  pretty  chickens,  and  their  dam, 
At  one  fell  swoop  ? 

Mat.  Dispute  it  like  a  man. 

Macd.  I  shall  do  so ; 

But  I  must  also  feel  it  as  a  man  : 
I  cannot  but  remember  such  things  were, 

(4^  Common  distress  of  mind.  (5)  Put  off. 

(6)  Catch.    (7)  A  grief  that  has  a  single  owner. 
(8)  The  game  aOer  it  js  killed. 


Sitne  I,  II. 


MACBETIJ. 


m 


That  were  most  precious  to  me.— Did  heaven  look 

on, 
And  would  not  take  their  part  ?  Sinful  Macduff", 
Tiiey  were  all  struck  for  thee  !  naught  that  I  am, 
Not  for  their  own  demerits,  but  for  mine. 
Fell  slauohler  on  their  souls:  Heaven  rest  them 

row! 
Mai.  lie  this  the  whetstone  of  your  sword :  let 

grief 
Convert  to  anger ;  blunt  not  the  heart,  enrage  it. 
Macd.  O,  I  could  play  the  woman  with  mine 

ej'es. 
And  brag^gart  with  my  tongue! — But,  gentle  heaven, 
Cut  short  all  intermission  ;•  front  to  front, 
Bring  thou  this  fiend  of  Scotland,  and  myself; 
Within  my  sword's  length  set  him ;  if  he  'scape, 
Heaven  forgive  him  too  ! 

Mai.     '  This  tune  goes  manly. 

Come,  go  we  to  the  king ;  our  power  is  ready ; 
Our  lack  is  nothing  but  our  leave :  Macbeth 
Is  ripe  for  shaking,  and  the  poivers  above 
Put  on  their  instruments.  Receive  what  cheer  you 

may; 
Tiie  night  is  long,  that  never  finds  tlie  day.    [Exe. 


ACT  V. 

SCEJ^E  I. — Dunsinane.  *5  room  in  the  cantle. 
Enter  a  Doctor  of  Physic,  and  a  waiting  Gen- 
tlewoman. 

Doct.  I  have  two  nights  watched  with  you,  but 
can  perceive  no  truth  in  your  report.  When  was  it 
she  last  %valked  ? 

Gent.  Since  his  majesty  went  into  the  field,  I 
have  seen  her  rise  from  her  bed,  throw  her  night 
gown  upon  her,  unlock  her  closet,  take  forth  paper, 
ibid  it,  write  upon  it,  read  it,  afterwards  seal  it,  and 
again  return  to  bed;  yet  all  this  while  in  a  most 
fast  sleep. 

Doct.  A  great  perturbation  in  nature !  to  receive 
at  once  the  benefit  of  sleep,  and  ilo  the  eflecls  of 
watching. — In  this  slumbry  agitation,  besides  her 
walking,  and  other  actual  performances,  »vhat,  at 
any  time,  have  you  heard  her  say  ? 

Gent.  That,  sir,  which  I  will  not  report  after  her. 

Doct.  You  may,  to  me ;  and  'tis  most  meet  you 
should. 

Gent.  Neither  to  you,  nor  any  one,  having  no 
witness  to  confirm  my  speech. 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth,  with  a  taper. 
Lo  you,  here  she  comes !  This  is  her  very  guise ; 
and,'  upon  my  life,  fast  asleep.  Observe  her ;  stand 
close. 

Doct.  How  came  she  by  that  light  ? 

Gent.  Why,  it  stood  by  her :  slie  has  light  by 
her  continually ;  'tis  her  command. 

Doct.  You  see,  her  eyes  are  open. 

Gent.  Ay,  but  their  sense  is  shut. 

Doct.  What  is  it  she  does  now  ?  Look,  how  she 
rubs  her  hands. 

Gent.  It  is  an  accustomed  action  with  her,  to 
seem  thus  washing  her  hands  ;  I  have  known  her 
continue  in  this  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

Lady  M.  Yet  here's  a  spot. 

Doct.  Hark,  she  speaks :  I  will  set  down  what 
comes  from  her,  to  satisfy  my  remembrance  the 
more  strongly. 

Lady  M.  Out,  damned  spot !  out,  I  say! — One ; 
Two ;  Why,  then  'tis  time  to  do't : — Hell  is  murky  1^ 

,  (1)  All  pause.      (2)  Dark,      (3)  Confounded, 


—Fie,  my  lord,  fie !  a  soldier,  and  afear'd  ?  What 
need  we  fear  who  knows  it,  when  none  can  call  our 
power  to  account  ? — Yet  who  would  have  thought 
the  old  man  to  have  had  so  much  blood  in  him? 

Doct.  Do  you  mark  that? 

Lady  M.  The  thane  of  Fife  had  a  wife ;  Where 
is  she  now? — What,  will  these  hands  ne'er  be 
clean? — No  more  o'that,  my  lord,  no  more  o'that: 
you  mar  all  with  this  starting. 

Doct.  Go  to,  go  to ;  you  have  known  what  you 
should  not. 

Gent,  She  has  spoke  what  she  should  not,  I  am 
sure  of  that :  Heaven  knows  what  she  has  known. 

Ladij  M.  Here's  the  smell  of  the  blood  still :  all 
the  perfumes  of  Arabia  will  not  sweeten  this  little 
hand.    Oh!  oh!  oh! 

Doct.  What  a  sigh  is  there !  The  heart  is  sorely 
charged. 

Gent.  I  would  not  have  such  a  heart  in  my  bo- 
som, for  tlie  dignity  of  the  whole  bodv. 

Doct.  Well,  well,  well,— 

Geiit.  'Pray  God,  it  be,  sir. 

Doct.  This'  disease  is  beyond  my  practice :  Yet 
I  have  known  those  which  have  walked  in  their 
sleep,  who  have  died  holily  in  their  beds. 

Lady  M.  Wasli  your  hands,  put  on  your  night- 
gov/n ;  look  not  so  pale : — I  tell  you  yet  again,  Ban- 
quo's  buried  ;  he  cannot  come  out  of  his  grave. 

Doct.  Even  so  ? 

Lady  M.  To  bed,  to  bed ;  there's  knocking  at 
the  gate.  Come,  come,  come,  come,  give  me  your 
hand  ;  What's  done,  cannot  be  undone  :  To  bed, 
to  bed,  to  bed.  [Exit  Lady  Macbeth. 

Doct.  Will  she  go  now  to  bed  ? 

Gent.  Directly. 

Doct.  Foul  whisperings  arc  abroad :  Unnatural 
deeds 
Do  breed  unnatural  troubles  :  Infected  minds 
To  their  deaf  pillows  will  discharge  their  secrets. 
More  needs  she  the  divine,  than  the  physician. — 
God,  God,  forgive  us  all !    Look  after  her ; 
llemove  from  her  the  means  of  all  annoyance. 
And  still  keep  eyes  upon  her  : — So,  good  night : 
My  mind  she  has  mated,'  and  amaz'd  my  sight: 
I  think,  but  dare  not  speak. 

Gent.  Good  night,  good  doctor. 

[Exeunt, 

SCEJ^^E  II. — The  country  near  jyunninane.  Etu- 
ter,  with  drum  and  colours,  Mentclh,  Cathness, 
Angus,  Lenox,  and  Soldiers. 

Ment.  The  English  power  is  near,  led  on  by 
Malcolm, 
His  uncle  Siward,  and  the  good  Macduff. 
Revenges  burn  in  them  :  for  their  dear  causes 
Would,  to  tlie  bleeding,  and  the  grim  alarm, 
Excite  the  mortified  man.' 

.!?«,?.  Near  Birnam  wood 

Shall  v/c  well  meet  them ;  that  way  are  f  hey  coming. 

Cath.  Who  knows,  if  Donalbain  be  with  his 
brother  ? 

Len.  For  certain,  sir,  he  is  not :  I  have  a  file 
Of  all  the  gentry ;  there  is  Siward's  son. 
And  many  unrough'  youths,  that  even  now. 
Protest  their  first  of  manhood. 

Ment.  What  does  the  tyrant? 

Cath.  Great  Dunsinane  he  stroncrly  fortifies: 
Some  say,  he's  mad  ;  others,  that  lesser  hate  him, 
Do  call  it  valiant  fury :  but,  for  certain, 
He  cannot  buckle  his  distemper'd  cause 
Within  the  belt  of  rule. 

^ng.  Now  does  he  feel 

(4)  A  religious ;  an  ascetic.     (6)  Unbearded, 


^ 


MACBETH. 


Aett. 


His  secret  murders  sticking  in  his  hands  ; 
Now  minutely  revolts  upbraid  his  faith-breach ; 
Those  he  commands,  move  only  in  command, 
Nothing  in  love :  now  does  he  feel  his  title 
Hang  loose  about  him,  like  a  giant's  robe 
Upon  a  dwarfish  thief. 
%  Ment.  Who  then  shall  blame 

His  pester'd  senses  to  recoil,  and  start, 
When  all  that  is  within  him  does  condemn 
Itself,  for  being  there  ? 

Cath.  Well,  march  we  on, 

To  give  obedience  where  'tis  truly  ow'd : 
Meet  %ve  the  medicin'  of  the  sickly  weal ; 
And  with  him  pour  we,  in  our  country's  purge, 
Each  drop  of  us. 

Len.  Or  so  much  as  it  needs. 

To  dew  the  sovereign  flower,  and  drown  the  weeds. 
Make  we  our  march  towards  Birnam. 

[Exeunt,  mtirching. 

SCE^E  ///.— Dunsinane.    A  room  in  the  castle.. 
Enter  Macbeth,  Doctor,  and  attendants. 

J\Sach.  Bring  me  no  more  reports ;  let  them  fly 

all; 
Till  Birnam  wood  remove  to  Dunsinane, 
I  cannot  taint  with  fear.  What's  the  boy  Malcolm  ? 
Was  he  not  born  of  woman?  The  spirits  that  know 
All  mortal  consequents,  pronoune'd  me  thus : 
Fear  not,  JMacbeth;  no  man,  thaVs  horn  of  woman, 
Shall  e'er  have  power  on  thee. Then  fly,  false 

thanes, 
And  Biingle  with  the  Ensrlish  epicures  : 
The  piind  I  sway  by,  and  the  heart  I  bear, 
Shall  never  sagg''  with  doubt,  nor  shake  with  fear, 
Enter  a  Servant. 

The  devil  damn  thee  black,  thou  cream-fac'd  loon  ;' 
Where  got'st  thou  that  goose-look  ? 

Serv.  There  is  ten  thousand 

J^Iacb.  Geese,  villain  ? 

Sere.  Soldiers,  sir, 

Macb.  Go,  prick  thy  face,  and  over-rell  thvfear. 
Thou  lily-liver'd  boy.    What  soldiers,  patch  ?* 
Death  of  thy  soul !  those  linen  cheeks  of  thine 
Are  counsellors  to  fear.  What  soldiers,  whey-face  ? 

Serv.  The  English  force,  so  please  you. 

J\Iacb.  Take   thy  face  hence. — Seyton  ! — I  atn 
sick  at  heart, 
When  I  behold — Seyton,  I  say ! — ^This  push 
Will  cheer  me  ever,  or  disseat  me  now. 
I  have  liv'd  long  enough :  my  way  of  life 
Is  fall'n  into  the  sear,'  the  yellow  leaf: 
And  that  which  should  accompany  old  age. 
As  honour,  love,  obedience,  troops  of  friends, 
I  must  not  look  to  have ;  but,  in  their  stead. 
Curses,  not  loud,  but  deep,  mouth-honour,  breath. 
Which  the  poor  heart  would  fain  deny,  but  dare  not. 

Seyton ! 

Enter  Seytoni 

Sey,  What  is  your  gracious  pleasure  ? 
Macb.  What  news  more  ? 

Sey.  All  is  confirm'd,  my  lord,  which  was  re- 
ported. 
^acb.  I'll  fight,  till  from  my  bones  my  flesh  be 
hack'd. 
Give  me  my  armour. 
Sey.  'Tis  not  needed  yet. 

Macb.  I'll  put  it  on. 
Send  out  more  horses,  skirr*  the  country  round ; 
Hang  those  that  talk  of  fear. — Give  me  mine  ar- 
mour.— 


(1)  The  physician.    (2)  Sink. 
(4)  An  appellation  of  contempt, 


(3)  BasefelloTT. 
(5)  Dry. 


How  does  your  patient,  doctor  ? 

Doct.  Not  so  sick,  my  lord, 

As  she  is  troubled  with  thick-coming  fancies, 
That  keep  her  from  her  rest. 

Macb.  Cure  her  of  that : 

Canst  thou  not  minister  to  a  mind  diseas'd  ; 
Pluck  from  the  memory  a  rooted  sorrow ; 
Raze  out  the  ivritten  troubles  of  the  brain  ; 
And,  tvith  some  sweet  oblivious  antidote. 
Cleanse  the  stuff 'd  bosom  of  that  perilous  stuff 
Which  weighs  upon  the  heart  ? 

Doct.  Therein  the  patient 

Must  minister  to  himself. 

Macb.  Throw  physic  to  the  dogs,  I'll  none  of  it.— 
Come,  put  mine  armour  on  ;  give  me  mv  staft': — 
Seyton,  send  out.— Doctor,  the  thanes  fly'from  me:— 
Come,  sir,  despatch  :— If  thou  could'st,  doctor,  cast 
The  water  of  my  land,  find  her  disease. 
And  purge  it  to  a  sound  and  pristine  health, 
I  would  applaud  thee  to  the  very  echo. 
That  should  applaud  agaui.— Pull't  off,  I  say.— 
What  rhubarb,  senna,  or  what  purgative  drug. 
Would  sc6ur  these  English  hence  ?— Hearesf  thou 
of  them? 

Doct.  Ay,  my  good  lord ;  your  royal  preparation 
Makes  us  near  something. 

Macb.  Bring  it  after  me. 

I  will  not  be  afraid  of  death  and  bane. 

Till  Birnam  forest  come  to  Dunsinane.         [Exit, 

Doct.  Were  I  from  Dunsinane  away  and  clear. 
Profit  again  should  hardly  draw  me  here.       [Exit. 

SCE^E  IV. — CoiHitrt/ near  Dunsinane  :  Axoood 
in  view.  Enter,  with  drum  and  colours,  Mal- 
colm, Old  Siuard  and  his  Son,  Macduff,  Men- 
tc'Ji,  Cathness,  An^us,  Lenox,  Rosse,  and  Sol- 
diers, marching. 

Mai.  Cpusins,  I  hope,  the  days  are  near  at  hand 
That  chambers  nvill  be  safe. 

Mejit.    ^  We  doubt  it  nothing. 

Size.  What  wood  is  this  before  us  ? 

Ment.  The  wood  of  Birnam. 

Mai.  Let  every  soldier  hew  him  down  a  bough, 
And  bcar't  before  him  ;  thereby  shall  we  shadow 
The  numbers  of  our  host,  and  make  discovery 
Err  in  report  of  us. 

Sold.  It  shall  be  done. 

Sijo.  We  learn  no  other,  but  the  confident  tyrant 
Keeps  still  in  Dunsinane,  and  will  endure 
Oui-  setting  down  befor't. 

'^Jal.  'Tis  his  main  hope : 

For  where  there  is  advantage  to  be  given. 
Both  more  and  less'  have  given  him  the  revolt ; 
And  none  serve  with  him  but  constrained  things, 
Whose  hearts  are  absent  too. 

Macd.  Let  our  just  censures 

Attend  the  true  event,  and  put  we  on 
Industrious  soldiership. 

Silt'.  The  time  approaches, 

That  will  with  due  decision  make  us  know 
What  ive  shall  say  we  have,  and  what  ive  owe. 
Thoughts  speculative,  their  unsure  hopes  relate : 
But  certain  issue  strokes  must  arbitrate  :' 
Towards  wliich,  advance  the  war. 

[Exeunt,  marching, 

SCEJ^E  r.— Dunsinane.  Within  the  castle.  En- 
ter, with  drums  and  colours,  Macbeth,  Seyton 
and  Soldiers.  '       ' 

Macb.  Hang  avX  our  banners  on  the  outward 
walb; 

(6J  Scour.       (7)  i,  e.  Greater  and  lew. 
(8)  Determme. 


Seem  rt,  VII. 


MACBETH. 


3Ji; 


The  ery  is  still.  They  come :  Our  castle's  strength 
Will  laugh  a  siege  to  scorn :  here  let  them  lie, 
Till  famine,  and  the  ague,  eat  them  up : 
Were  they  not  forc'd  with  those  that  should  be  ours, 
We  might  have  met  them^dareful,  beard  to  beard, 
And  beat  them  backward  home.  What  is  that  noise? 
[Jlcry  within,  of  women. 

Sey.  It  is  the  cry  of  women,  my  good  lord. 

jMucb.  I  have  almost  forgot  the  taste  of  fears  : 
The  time  has  been,  my  senses  would  have  eool'd 
To  hear  a  night-shriek  ;  and  my  fell'  of  hair 
Would  at  a  dismal  treatise  rouse,  and  stir 
As  life  were  in't :  I  have  supp'd  full  with  horrors ; 
Direness,  familiar  to  my  slaught'rous  thoughts. 
Cannot  once  start  me.— Wherefore  was  that  cry  ? 

Sey.  The  queen,  my  lord,  is  dead. 

Much.  She  should  have  died  hereafter ; 
There  would  have  been  a  time  for  such  a  word. — 
To-morrow,  and  to-morrow,  and  to-morrow, 
Creeps  in  this  petty  pace  from  day  to  day, 
To  the  last  syllable  of  recorded  time  ; 
And  all  our  yesterdays  have  lighted  fools 
The  way  to  ilusty  death.     Out,  out,  brief  candle ! 
Life's  but  a  walking  shadow  ;  a  poor  player. 
That  struts  and  frets  his  hour  upon  the  stage. 
And  then  is  heard  no  more  :  it  is  a  tale 
Told  by  an  idiot,  full  of  sound  and  fury, 
Signifying  nothing. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Thou  com'st  to  use  thy  tongue  ;  thy  story  quickly. 

Mess.  Gracious  my  lord, 
I  shall  report  that  which  I  say  I  saw, 
But  know  not  how  to  do  it. 

Macb,  AV'ell,  say,  sir. 

Mess.  As  I  did  stand  my  watch  upon  the  hill, 
I  look'd  toward  Birnam,  and  anon,  methought, 
The  wood  began  to  move. 

Macb.  Liar,  and  slave ! 

[Striking  him. 

Mess.  Let  me  endure  your  wrath,  if't  be  not  so : 
Within  this  three  mile  may  you  see  it  coming  ; 
1  say,  a  moving  grove. 

Macb.  If  thou  spcak'st  false. 

Upon  the  next  tree  shall  thou  han^  alive, 
Till  famine  cling-  thee  :  if  thy  speech  be  sooth, 
I  care  not  if  thou  dost  for  me  as  much. — 
I  piill  in  resolution ;  and  begin 
To  doubt  the  equivocation  of  the  fiend. 
That  lies  like  truth  :  Fear  not,  till  Birnam  icood 
Do  come  to  Dunsinane ; — and  now  a  wood 
Comes  toward  Dunsinane. — Arm,  arm,  and  out! — 
If  this,  which  he  avouches,  does  appear. 
There  is  nor  flying  hence,  nor  tarrying  here. 
I  'gin  to  be  a- weary  of  the  sun, 
And  wish  the  estate  o'the  world  were  now  undone. — 
Ring  the  alarum  bell : — Blow,  wind  !  come,  wrack ! 
At  least  we'll  die  with  harness^  en  our  back. 

[Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E  VI.— The  same.  .1  plain  before  the  cas- 
tle. Enter,  ivilh  drums  and  colours,  Malcolm. 
Old  Siward,  Macdufl',  fyc.  and  their  army,  with 
boughs. 

Mai.  Now  near  enough;  yourleavyscreensthrow 
down, 

And  show  like  those  you  are  : — You,  worthy  uncle. 
Shall,  with  my  cousin,  your  right-noble  son. 
Lead  our  first  battle :  worthy  Macduff",  and  we, 
Shall  take  upon  us  what  else  remains  to  do, 
According  to  our  order. 
Siw.  Fare  you  well. — 

(1)  Skin.       (2)  Shrivel.       (3)  Armour. 


Do  we  but  find  the  tyrant's  poVer  to-night, 
Let  us  be  beaten,  if  we  cannot  fight. 

Macd.  Make  all  our  trumpets"  speak ;  giTC  them 
all  breath. 
Those  clamorous  harbingers  of  blood  and  death. 
[Exeunt,    tilarums  continued. 

SCEJ^E  VII.— The  same.    Another  part  of  the 
j)lain.    Enter  Macbeth. 

Macb.  They  have  tied  me  to  a  stake  ;  I  cannot  fly, 
But,  bear-like,  I  must  fight  the  course. — What's  he, 
That  was  not  born  of  woman  ?  Such  a  one 
Am  I  to  fear,  or  none. 

Enter  Young  Siward. 
Yo.  Siw.  What  is  thy  name  ? 
Macb.  Thou'lt  be  afraid  to  hear  it. 

Yo.  Siw.  No;  though  thOu  call'st  thyself  a  hot- 
ter name 
Than  any  is  in  hell. 
Macb.  My  name's  Macbeth. 

Yo.  Siw.  The  devil  himself  could  not  pronounce 
a  title 
More  hateful  to  mine  ear. 
Macb.  No,  nor  more  fearful. 

Yo.  Sito.  Thou  liest,  abhorred  tyrant ;  with  mj 
sword 
I'll  prove  the,  lie  thou  speak'st. 

[They  fight,  and  Young  Siward  is  slain. 
Macb,  Thou  wast  born  of  woman. — 

But  swords  I  smile  at,  weapons  laugh  to  scorn, 
Brandish'd  by  man  that's  of  a  woman  born.    [Ear. 
Alarums.   Enter  Macduff". 
Macd.  That  way  the  noise  is: — Tyrant,  show 
thy  face : 
If  thou  be'st  slain,  and  with  no  stroke  of  mine, 
My  wife  and  children's  ghosts  ivill  haunt  me  still. 
I  cannot  strike  at  wretched  kernes,*  whose  arms 
Are  hir'd  to  bear  their  staves ;  either  thou,  Macbeth, 
Or  else  my  sword,  with  an  nnbatter'd  edge, 
I  sheath  again  undeedcd.   There  thou  should'st  be ; 
By  this  great  clatter,  one  of  greatest  note 
Seems  bruited:*  Let  me  find  him,  fortune  ! 
And  more  I  beg  not.  [Exit.  Alanim. 

Enter  Malcolm  and  Old  Siward. 
Siw.  This  way,  my  lord ; — the  castle's  gently 
render'd : 
The  tyrant's  people  on  both  sides  do  fight; 
The  noble  thanes  do  bravely  in  the  war ; 
The  day  almost  itself  professes  yours, 
And  little  is  to  do. 

Mat.  We  have  met  with  foes 

That  strike  beside  us. 
Siic.  Enter,  sir,  the  castle. 

[Exeunt.  Mantm, 
Re-enter  Macbeth. 

Macb.  Why  should  I  play  the  Roman  fool,  and 
die 
On  mine  own  sword  ?  whiles  I  see  lives,  the  gashes 
Do  better  upon  them. 

Re-enter  MacduflT. 

Macd.  Turn,  hell-hound,  turn. 

Macb.  Of  all  men  else  I  have  avoided  thee  : 
But  get  thee  back,  my  soul  is  too  much  charg'd 
With  blood  of  thine  already. 

Macd.  I  have  no  words. 

My  voice  is  in  my  sword ;  thou  bloodier  villain 
Than  terms  can  give  thee  out !  [They  fight. 

Macb.  Thou  loosest  labour : 

(4)  Soldiers.        (5)  Reported  with  clamour. 
SU 


308 


MACBETH. 


Jictr, 


As  easy  may'st  thou  the  entrenchant  air' 
With  thy  keen  sword  impress,  as  make  me  bleed : 
Let  fall  thy  blade  on  vulnerable  crests ; 
I  bear  a  charmed  life,  which  must  not  yield 
To  one  of  woman  born. 

Macd.  Despair  thy  charm  ; 

And  let  the  angel,  whom  thou  still  hast  serv'd, 
Tell  thee,  Macduff  was  from  his  mother's  womb 
Untimely  ripp'd. 

Mach.  Accursed  be  that  tongue  that  tells  me  so, 
For  it  hath  cow'd  my  better  part  of  man  ! 
And  be  these  juggling  fiends  no  more  believ'd, 
That  palter*  with  us  in  a  double  sense  ; 
That  keep  the  word  of  promise  to  our  ear. 
And  brealc  it  to  our  hope. — I'll  not  fight  with  thee. 

Macd.  Then  yield  thee,  coward. 
And  live  to  be  the  show  and  gaze  o'the  time. 
We'll  have  thee,  as  our  rarer  monsters  art', 
Painted  upon  a  pole  ;  and  underwrit, 
Here  mmj  you  see  the  tyrant. 

Mach.  I'll  not  yield. 

To  kiss  the  ground  before  young  Malcolm's  feet. 
And  to  be  baited  with  the  rabble's  curse. 
Though  Birnam  wood  be  come  to  Dunsinanc, 
And  thou  oppos'd,  bein^of  no  woman  born. 
Yet  I  will  try  the  last :  Before  my  body 
I  throw  my  warlike  shield  :  lay  on,  Macduft'; 
And  damn'd  be  him  that  first  cries.  Hold,  enough. 
[Exeunt,  fighiing. 

Jtelreat.     Flourish.     Re-enter,   tcith  drum  and 

colours,  Malcolm,   Old  Siward,  Rosse,  Lenox, 

^ngus,  Cathness,  Menteth,  and  soldiers, 

Mai.  I  would,  the  friends  we  miss  were  safe  ar- 
riv'd. 

Siw.  Some  must  go  off:  and  yet,  by  these,  I  see, 
So  great  a  day  as  this  is  cheaply  bought. 

Mai,  Macd.uff  is  missing,  and  your  noble  son. 

Rosse,  Your  son,  my  lord,  has  paid  a  soldier's 
debt ; 
He  only  liv'd  but  till  he  was  a  man ; 
The  which  no  sooner  had  his  prowess  confirm'd 
In  the  unshrinking  station  where  he  fought, 
But  like  a  man  he  died. 

Siw.  Then  he  is  dead  ? 

Rosse,  Ay,  and  brought  off  the  field ;  your  cause 
of  sorrow 
Must  not  be  measur'd  by  Iiis  worth,  for  then 
It  hath  no  end. 

Siw,  Had  he  his  hurts  before  ? 

Rosse,  Aye,  on  the  front. 

Siw,  Why  then,  God's  soldier  be  he  ! 

Had  I  as  many  sons  as  I  have  hairs, 
I  would  not  wish  them  to  a  fairer  death : 
And  so  his  knell  is  knoU'd. 

(1)  The  air,  which  cannot  be  cut.    (2)  ShuiSe. 


Mai.  He's  worth  more  sorrow, 

And  that  I'll  spend  for  him. 

Siw.  He's  worth  no  more ; 

They  say,  he  parted  well,  and  paid  his  score : 
So,  God  be  with  him ! — Here  comes  newer  comfort. 

Re-enter  Macduff;  icith  Macbeth's  head  on  a  pole. 

Macd,   Hail,  king !    for  so  thou  art :   Behold, 
where  stands 
The  usurper's  cursed  head :  the  time  is  free : 
I  see  thee  compass'd  with  thy  kingdom's  pearl,' 
That  speak  my  salutation  in'their  minds  ; 
Whose  voices  I  desire ^iloud  with  mine, — 
Hail,  king  of  Scotland  ! 

.^W.  King  of  Scotland,  hail ! 

[Flourish. 

Mai.  We  shall  not  spend  a  large  expense  of  time, 
Before  we  reckon  with  your  several  loves. 
And  make  us  even  with  yon.     ^ly  thanes  and  kins- 
men, 
Henceforth  be  earls,  the  first  that  ever  Scotland 
In  such  an  honour  nam'd.    What's  more  to  do. 
Which  would  be  planted  ne\>ly  with  the  time, — 
As  calling  home  our  exil'd  friends  abroad. 
That  fled  the  snares  of  watchful  tyranny  ; 
Producing  forth  the  cniel  ministers 
Of  this  dead  butcher,  and  his  fiend-like  queen  ; 
Who,  as  'tis  thought,  by  self  and  violent  hiinds 
Took  off  her  life  ;— This,  and  what  needful  else 
That  calls  upon  us,  by  the  grace  of  Grace, 
We  will  ))orform  in  measure,  time,  and  place  : 
So  thanks  to  all  at  once,  and  to  each  one, 
Whom  wc  invite  to  see  us  crown'd  at  Scone. 

[Flourish.   Exeunt. 


This  play  is  deservedly  celebrated  for  the  pro- 
priety of  its  fiction,  and  solemnity,  grandeur,  and 
variety  of  its  action ;  but  it  has  no  nice  discrimina- 
tions of  character  ;  the  events  arc  too  great  lo  ad- 
mit the  influence  of  particular  dispositions,  ar.dthe 
course  of  the  action  necessarily  determines  the  con- 
duct of  the  agents. 

The  danger  of  ambition  is  well  descriLed  ;  and 
I  know  not  whether  it  may  not  be  said,  m  defence 
of  some  parts  which  now  seem  improbable,  that 
in  Shakspeare's  time  it  was  necessary  to  warn  cre- 
dulity against  vain  and  illusive  predictions. 

The  passions  are  directed  to  their  true  end.  Lady 
Macbeth  is  merely  detested ;  and  though  the  cou- 
rage of  Macbeth  preserves  some  esteem,  yet  every 
reader  rejoices  at  his  fall. 

JOHNSON. 
(3)  The  kingdom's  wealth  or  ornament. 


(   33y   )       * 
KING  JOHN, 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


Lewis,  the  daupkm. 
Arch-duke  of  Austria. 
Cardinal  Pandulph,  the  papers  legale. 
Meliin,  a  French  lord. 
jChatiilon,  ambassador  from  France  to  King  John. 

Elinor,  the  tcidoic  of  King  Henry  II.  and  mother  of 
j  King  John. 

Constance,  luolker  to  Jirlhxir. 
j  Blanch,  daughter  to  Mphcnso,  king  of  Castilt,  and 

niece  to  King  John. 
;Lady  Faiilconbridge,  mother  to  the  bastard,  and 
1  Robert  Fuidconbridge. 

Philip  Faulconbridge.  his  half-hrolher,  bastard  ami' Lords,  ladies,  citizens  of  ^ingiers,  sheriff,  heralds^ 
to  King  Richard  the  i''"'. ,      ^  . ,  officers,  soldiers,  inessengers,  and  other  attend- 

James  Gurney,  servant  to  Lady  laiaconbridge,  ants. 

Teler  otFomtret,  a  prophet.  ■         .     r,     , 

Scene,  somelimes  m  Englmid,  and  sometimes  in 
Philip,  king  of  France.  '  France. 


King  John. 

Prince  Henrv,  his  so^i ;  cflencard  King  Henry  III. 

Arthur,  duke'  of  Bretngne,  son  of  Geffrey,  late  duke 

of  Bretagne,  the  elder  brother  vf  King 

John. 
William  Marshall,  earl  of  Pembroke. 
Geffrey  Filz-Peter,  earl  of  Essex,  chief  justiciary 

of  England. 
William  l.onesword,  earl  of  Salisbury. 
Robert  Bigot,' eaW  o/Aoj->/A-. 
Hubert  de  Burgh,  chamberlain  to  the  k-ingt 
Robert  Faulconbrldge,  sou  cf  Sir  Robert  Findcon- 

bridsre. 


ACT    I.  |The  thunder  of  my  cnnnon  shall  be  heard : 

'So,  hence!  Be  thou  the  trumpet  of  our  wrath, 
SCEXE  /.—Northampton.    .?  room  of  stale  tnlAnd  sullen  presaee  of  vour  own  decay.— 
the  palace.    Enter  Kin^  John,  Queen  Elinor, ]  An  honourable  conduct  let  him  have  :— 
Pembroke,  Essex,  Salisbury,  and  otlurs,  tciiA|Pembrolie,  look  to't .  Farewell,  Chatillon. 
Chatillon.  [Exeunt  Chatillon  and  Pembroke. 


King  John. 
i  OW,  say,  Chatillon,  what  would  France  with 


Chat.  Thus,  after  greefin!;,  spealcs  the  king  ofi 
France, 
In  my  behaviour,'  to  the  majesty. 
The  borrow'd  majesty  of  England  hen-. 
Eli.  A  strange  begmninir ; — borroiv'd  majesty ! 
A'.  John.  Silence,  good  moliier ;   hear  the  em^ 
bassv. 


Eli.  What  now,  my  son  ?  have  I  not  ever  said, 
"Yj  -  How  that  ambitious  tons'ance  would  not  cease, 

iN  OW,  say,  Chatillon,  what  would  France  with  Till  she  had  kindled  France,  aiid  all  the  world. 

Upon  the  rijht  and  party  of  her  son  ? 
This  might  have  been  prevented,  and  made  whole, 
'With  very  easy  arguments  of  love  ; 
1  Which  now  the  manage^  of  two  kingdoms  must 
i  With  fearful  bloody  issue  arbitrate. 
I     K.  John.  Our  strong  possession,  and  our  right 
for  US. 
Eli.  Your  strong  possession,  much  more  than 
Chal.  Philip  of  France,  in  risl'.t  and  true  behalf  .    your  right ; 

Of  thy  decca-sed  brother  Gefli-cy's  son,  i  Or  else  it  must  go  w  rong  with  you,  and  me  : 

Arthur  PlanUL'cnet,  lays  most  lawful  claim  ;  So  much  my  conscience  whispers  in  your  ear : 

To  this  fair  island,  and  tlie  territories  ;  ^^  Wch  none  but  heaven,  and  you,  and  I,  shall  hear. 

To  Ireland,  Poictiers,  Anjou,  Tourajnc,  Maine : 
Desiring  thee  to  lay  aside  the  sword. 
Which  sways  usurpingly  these  several  titles  ; 
.\nd  put  the  same  into  youn^  .\rthur'3  hand, 
Thy  nephew,  and  right  royal  soverciirn. 

A'.  John.  What  followsj  if  we  disallow  of  this  ? 

Chat.  The  proud  control  of  tierce  and  bloody  w  ar. 

To  enforce  these  rights  so  forcibly  wilhlieid.  ] 

A*.  John.  Here  have  we  war  fJr  war,  and  blood] j.,.^^^  Sheriff,  vilh  Robert  Faulconbridge,  and 
for  blood,  f  Vhilip,  his  bastard  brother. 

Controlment  for  controlment :  so  answer  France.   | 

Chat.  Then  take  my  king's  dcHancc  from  my  I  This  expedition's  charge. — What  men  are  you  ? 
mouth,  I     Bast.  Vour  faithful  subject  I,  a  gentleman. 

The  furthest  limit  of  my  embassy.  Born  in  Northamptonshire ;  and  eldest  son, 

K.John.  Bear  mine  to  him,  and  so  depart  inAs  I  suppose,  to  Robert  Faulconbridge ; 
peace :  _  _  'A  soldier,  by  the  honour-giving  hand 


Enter  the  Sheriff  of  Xorlhamptonshire,  who  whis- 
pers Essex. 

£ss£x.  My  liege,  hcreistliestrangest  controversy. 
Come  from  the  country  to  be  judged  by  you, 
That  ere  I  heard :  Shall  I  produce  the  men  ? 

A'.  Jo/j)i.  Let  thorn  approach. —      [Exit  Sheriff! 
Our  abbie^,  and  our  priories,  shall  pay 


Be  thou  as  lightning  in  the  ejes  of  France ; 
For  ere  thou  canst  report  1  will  be  there, 

(1)  In  the  manner  I  now  dw. ' 


Of  Copur-de-lion  knighted  in  the  field. 
K.  John.  What  art  thou  .' 

(2)  Cooduct,  administration. 


340 


KING  JOHN. 


^ctl. 


Rob.  The  son  and  heir  to  tliat  same  Faulcon- 
bridge. 

K.  John.  Is  that  the  elder,  and  art  thou  the  heir  ? 
You  came  not  of  one  mother  then,  it  seems. 

Bast.  Most  certain  of  one  molhcr,  mighty  kinf^. 
That  is  well  known  ;  and,  as  I  tliink,  one  father  : 
But,  for  the  certain  knowledge  of  that  truth, 
I  put  you  o'er  to  heaven,  and  to  my  mother ; 
Of  that  1  doubt,  as  all  men's  children  may. 

Eli.  Out  on  thee,  rude  man !  thou  dost  shame 
thy  mother. 
And  wound  her  honour  with  this  diffidence. 

Boat.  I,  madam  ?  no,  I  have  no  reason  for  it ; 
That  is  my  brother's  plea,  and  none  of  mine  ; 
The  which  if  he  can  prove,  'a  pops  me  out 
At  least  from  fair  five  hundred  pound  a  year  ; 
Heaven  guard  my  mother's  honour,  and  my  land! 

K.  John.    A  good  blunt  fellow: — Why,'  being 
younger  born. 
Doth  he  lay  claim  to  thme  inheritance  ? 

Bast.  I  know  not  ivhj-,  except  to  get  the  land. 
But  once  he  slandcr'd  me  witli  bastardy : 
But  whe'r'  I  be  as  true  begot,  or  no, 
'Phat  still  I  lay  upon  my  mother's  head  ; 
Butj  that  I  am  as  well  begot,  my  liege, 
(Fair  fall  the  bones  that  took  the  pams  for  me ! ) 
Compare  our  faces,  and  be  judge  yourself. 
If  old  sir  Robert  did  beget  us  botli. 
And  were  our  father,  and  this  son  like  him  ; — 
O,  old  sir  Robert,  father,  oii  my  knee 
I  give  heaven  thanks,  I  was  not  like  to  thee. 

K.  John.  Why,  ivhat  a  madcap  hath  heaven  lent 
us  here ! 

Eli.  He  hath  a  trick'  of  Ccsur-de-Iion's  Hico, 
The  accent  of  his  tongue  aft'ecteth  him : 
Do  you  not  read  some  tokens  of  my  .••■on 
In  the  large  composition  of  this  man  ? 

K.  John.  Mine  eye  hath  well  examined  his  parts. 

And  finds  them  perfect  Richard. Sirrah,  speak. 

What  doth  move  you  to  claim  your  brother's  land  ? 

Bast.  Because  he  hath  a  half-face,  'ike  my  father ; 
With  that  half-face  would  lie  have  all  my  land : 
A  half-fac'd  groat  five  hundred  pound  a  year! 

Rob.  My  gracious  liege,  ^vhen  that  my  ftither  liv'd, 
Your  brother  did  employ  my  father  much ; — 

Bast.  Well,  sir,  by  th>s  you  cannot  get  my  land; 
Your  tale  must  be,  how  he  employ'd  my  mother. 

Rob.  And  once  despatch'd  him  in  an  embassy 
To  Germnny,  there,  witli  the  emperor. 
To  treat  of  high  afi'airs  touching  that  time  : 
The  advantage  of  his  absence  took  the  king, 
And  in  the  mean  time  sojourn'd  at  my  father's ; 
W^here  how  he  did  prevail,  I  shame  to  speak : 
But  truth  is  truth  ;  large  lengths  of  seas  and  shores 
Between  my  father  and  my  mother  lay 
(As  I  have  heard  my  father  speak  himself,) 
When  this  same  lusty  gentleman  was  got. 
Upon  his  death-bed  ne  by  vvill  bequeath'd 
His  lands  to  me  ;  and  took  it,  o:i  his  death, 
That  this,  my  mother's  son,  was  none  of  his; 
And,  if  he  were,  he  came  into  the  world 
Full  fourteen  weeks  before  tiie  course  of  time. 
Then,  good  my  liege,  let  me  have  v.hat  is  mine, 
Mv  father's  land,  as  was  my  father's  will. 

"K.  John.  Sirrah,  your  brother  is  legitimate  ; 
Your  father's  wife  did,  after  wedlock,  bear  him: 
And,  if  she  did  play  false,  the  fault  was  hers  ; 
Which  fault  lies  on  the  hazards  of  all  husbands 
That  marry  wives.    Tell  me,  how  if  my  brother, 
Who,  as  you  sav,  took  pains  to  get  this  son, 
Had  of  your  father  claim'd  this  son  for  his  ? 

(1)  Whether.         (2)  Trace,  outline. 
C3)  Dignity  of  appearance. 


In  sooth,  good  friend,  your  father  might  have  kept 
This  calf,  bred  from  his  cow,  from  all  the  world  ; 
In  sooth,  he  might :  then,  if  he  were  my  brother's. 
My  brother  might  not  claim  him  ;  nor  your  father, 
Being  none  of  his,  refuse  him  :  This  concludes, — 
My  mother's  son  did  get  your  father's  heir : 
Your  father's  heir  must  have  your  father's  land. 

Rob.  Shall  then  my  father's  will  be  of  no  force, 
To  dispossess  that  child  which  is  not  his  ? 

Bast.  Of  no  more  force  to  dispossess  me,  sir. 
Than  was  his  will  to  get  me,  as  I  think. 
Eli.  Whether  hadst  thou  rather, — be  a  Faulcon 
bridge. 
And  like  thy  brother,  to  enjoy  thy  land  ; 
Or  the  reputed  son  of  Ccpur-de-lion, 
Lord  of  thv  presence,^  and  no  land  beside? 

Bast.  jNladam,  an  if  my  brother  had  my  shape. 
And  I  had  his,  sir  Robert  his,  like  him  ; 
And  if  my  legs  were  two  such  riding- rods, 
My  arms  such  eel-skins  stuflPd  ;  my  face  so  thin, 
That  in  mine  car  I  durst  not  stick  a  rose, 
Lest  men  should  say.  Look,  where  three-farthings 

goes ! 
And,  to  his  shape,  were  heir  to  all  this  land, 
'AVould  I  might  never  stir  from  off  this  place, 
I'd  give  it  every  foot  to  have  this  face  ; 
I  would  not  be  sir  Nob*  in  anv  case. 
Ell.  I  like  thee  well ;  Wilt  "thou  forsake  thy  for- 
tune. 
Bequeath  thy  land  to  him,  and  follow  me  ? 
lama  soldier,  and  now  bound  to  France. 
Bast.  Brother,  take  you  my  land,  I'll  take  my 
chance : 
Your  f'.ce  hath  got  five  hundred  poimds  a  year ; 
JYet  sell  your  face  for  live  pence,  and  'tis  dear. — 
Madam,  I'll  follow  you  unto  the  death. 
E^'.  Nay,  I  ^vould  have  you  go  before  me  thither. 
Bast.  Our  country  manners  give  our  betters  way. 
I     K.  John.  What  is  thy  name  ? 
!     Ba.ll.  Philip,  my  liege  ;  so  is  my  name  begun ; 
|Phi!ip,  good  old  sir  Robert's  wife's  eldest  son. 
I    A'.  John.  From  henceforth  bear  his  name  whose 
'  form  thou  bear'st: 

iKnoel  thou  down  Philip,  but  arise  more  great; 
'Arise  sir  Richard,  and  Plantagenet. 

Bast.   Brotlier,  by  the  mother's  side,  give  me 
your  hand ; 
My  father  gave  me  honour,  your's  gave  land  : — 
Now  blessed  be  the  hour,  by  night  or  day, 
When  I  v.'as  got,  sir  Robert  was  away. 

Eli.  The  very  spirit  of  Plantagenet! — 
I  am  thy  erandame,  Richard  ;  call  me  so. 
Bast.  Madam,  by  chance,  but  not  by  truth: 
What  though  ? 
Something  about,  a  little  from  the  right. 

In  at  the  window,  or  else  o'er  the  hatch : 
Who  dares  not  stir  by  day,  must  walk  by  night; 

And  have  is  have,  however  men  do  catch  : 
Near  or  far  off,  well  won  is  still  well  shot ; 
And  I  am  I,  howe'er  I  was  begot. 
K,  John.   Go,  Faulconbridge ;   now  hast  thou 
thy  desire, 
A  landless  knight  makes  thee  a  landed  'squire. — 
Come,  madam,  and  come,  Richard  ;  we  must  speed 
For  France,  for  France :  for  it  is  more  than  need. 
Bast.  Brother,  adieu ;  Good  fortune  come  to  thee! 
For  thou  wast  got  i'the  way  of  honesty. 

[Exeimt  all  but  the  Bastard. 
A  foot  of  honour  better  than  I  was  ; 
But  many  a  many  foot  of  land  the  worse. 

Well,  now  can  I  make  any  Joan  a  lady : 

Good  den,''  sir  Richard, — God-tt-mercy,feUou!i— 


(4)  Robert. 


(5)  Good  erening. 


Bctne  I. 


KING  JOHN. 


341 


And  if  his  name  be  George,  I'll  call  him  Peter: 
For  new-made  honour  doth  forget  men's  names  ; 
'Tis  too  respective,'  and  too  sociable, 
For  your  conversion.^    Now  your  traveller, — 
He  and  his  tooth-pick  at  my  worship's  mess  ; 
And  when  ray  knightly  stomach  is  sutfic'd, 
Why  then  I  suck  my  teeth,  and  catee'nise 

Mv  picked  man  of  countries  :' Jay  dear  sir, 

rfhxis,  leaning  on  mine  elbow,  I  beg^in,) 
i  shall  beseech  you — That  is  question  now  ; 
And  then  comes  answer  like  an  ABC-book:* — 
O,  sir,  says  answer,  at  your  best  command ; 

.it  your  empioymetit ;  at  your  service,  sir : 

»Vo  sir,  says  question,  /,  sweet  sir,  at  yours : 

And  so,  ere  answer  knows  what  question  would 

(Saving  in  dialogue  of  compliment; 

And  talkinp^  of  the  Alps,  and  Apennines, 

The  Pyrenean,  and  llie  river  Po,) 

It  draws  towards  supper  in  conclusion  so. 

But  this  is  worshipful  society, 

And  fits  the  mounting  spirit,' like  myself: 

For  he  is  but  a  bastard  to  the  time,' 

That  doth  not  smack  of  observation 

(And  so  am  I,  whetiier  I  smack,  or  no  ;) 

And  not  alone  in  habit  and  device. 

Exterior  Ibrm^  outward  accoutrement ; 

But  from  the  inward  motion  to  deliver 

Sweet,  sweet,  sweet  poison  for  the  age's  tooth : 

AV'hich,  though  I  will  not  practise  to  deceive, 

'i'et,  to  avoid  deceit,  I  mean  to  learn : 

For  it  shall  strew  the  footsteps  of  my  rising. — 

But  who  conies  in  such  haste,  in  riding  rubes  ? 

What  woman-post  is  this  ?  hath  siie  no  husband. 

That  will  take  pauis  to  blow  a  horn  before  her  / 

Enter  Lady  Faulconbridge  and  James  Gumey. 
O  me !  it  is  my  mother : — Hotv  now,  good  lady  ? 
What  brings  you  here  to  court  so  hastily  / 

Ladu  f.  Where  is  that  slave,  thv  brother?  where 
IS  he  • 
That  holds  in  chase  mine  honour  up  and  down  ? 

Bast.  My  brother  Robert  ?  old  sir  Robert's  son  ? 
Colbrand  the  giant,  that  same  mighty  man  ? 
Is  it  sir  Robert's  son,  that  you  seek  so  ? 

Lady  F.  Sir  Robert's  son !  Ay,  thou  unreverend 
boy. 
Sir  Robert's  son :  ^\Xv  sconi'st  thou  at  sir  Robert? 
He  is  sir  Robert's  son  ;  and  :-o  art  thou. 

Bast.  James  Gurney,  wilt  thou  give  us  leave  a 
while  ? 

Gur.  Good  leave,  good  Philip. 

Bast.  Philip  / — sparrow  ! — James, 

There's  toys'  abroad ;  anon  I'll  tell  thee  more. 

[Exit  Gurney. 
Madam,  I  was  not  old  sir  Robert's  son  ; 
Sir  Robert  mijrht  have  eat  his  part  in  me 
Upon  Good-Friday,  and  ne'er  broke  his  fast : 
Sir  Robert  could  do  well ;  Marry  (to  confess !) 
Could  he  get  me  ?  Sir  Robert  could  not  do  it ; 
We    know   his    handy- work  : — Therefore,    good 

moUier, 
To  whom  am  I  beholden  for  these  limbs  ? 
Sir  Robert  never  holp  to  make  this  leg. 

Lady  F.  Hast  thou  conspired  with  thy  brother  too. 
That  for  thine  own  gain  should'st  defend  mhie 

honour? 
What  means  this  scorn,  thou  most  untoward  knave  ? 

Bast.  Knight,  knight,  good  mother, — Basilisco- 
like:« 
What !  I  am  dubb'd ;  I  have  it  on  my  shoulder. 

(1)  Respectable.        (2)  Change  of  condition. 
Is)  Mv  travelled  fop.        (4)  Catechism. 
(5)  Idle  reports. 


But,  mother,  I  am  not  sir  Robert's  son  ; 

I  have  disclaim'd  sir  Robert,  and  my  land ; 

Legitimation,  name,  and  all  is  gone : 

Then,  good  my  mother,  let  me  know  my  father ; 

Some  proper  man,  I  hope  ;  Who  was  it,  mother  ? 

Lady  i-.  Hast  thou  denied  thyself  a  Faulcon- 
bridge ? 

Bast.  As  faithfully  as  I  deny  the  devil. 

Lady  F.  King  Richard  Coeur-de-lion  was  tliy 
father ; 
By  lonpr  and  vehement  suit  I  was  seduc'd 

To  make  room  for  hiin  in  my  husband's  bed : 

Heaven  lay  not  my  transgression  to  my  charge  ! 

Thou  art  the  issue  of  my  dear  offence. 

Which  v.as  so  strongly  urg'd,  past  my  defence. 

Bast.  Now,  bv  this  light,  were  I  to  get  again, 
Madam,  I  would  not  wish  a  better  father. 
Some  sins  do  bear  their  privilege  on  earth. 
And  so  doth  yours  ;  your  fault  was  not  your  folly  : 
Needs  must  vou  lay  your  heart  at  his  dispose, — 
Subjected  trioute  to  commanding  love, — 
Against  whose  fury  and  unmatched  force 
The  awkss  iion  could  not  wage  the  fight. 
Nor  keep  his  princely  heart  from  Richard's  hand. 
He,  tliat  perforce  robs  lions  of  their  hearts. 
May  easily  win  a  woman's.    Ay,  my  mother, 
Wiih  all  ray  heart  I  thank  thee  for  my  father ! 
Who  lives  and  dares  but  say,  thou  didst  not  well 
When  I  was  got,  I'll  send  his  soul  to  hell. 
Come,  Jady,  I  will  show  thee  to  my  kin  ; 

And  they  shall  sav,  when  Richard  me  begot, 
If  thou  had'st  said  him  nay,  it  had  been  sin  : 

Who  says  it  was,  he  lies ;  I  say,  'twas  not.  [Exe. 


ACT  II. 

SCE^i''E  /.—France.  Before  the  walls  of  An- 
giers.  Enter,  on  one  side,  the  Archdtike  of  k\is- 
tria,  and  forces  ;  on  the  other,  Philip,  Kine  of 
France,  and  farces ;  Lewis,  Constance,  Arthur, 
and  attendants. 

Lei:;.  Before  Anglers  well  met,  brave  Austria. — 
Arthur,  that  great  forerunner  of  thy  blood, 
Richard,  that  robb'd  the  lion  of  his  heart. 
And  fought  the  holy  wars  in  Palestine, 
By  this  brave  dakecame  earljf  to  his  grave : 
And,  for  amends  to  his  posterity, 
At  our  importance,'  hither  is  he  come. 
To  spread  his  colours,  boy,  in  thy  behalf; 
And  to  rebuke  the  usurpation 
Of  thy  unnatural  uncle,  English  John  : 
Embrace  him,  love  him,  give  him  welcome  hither. 

.Irih.  God  shall  forgive  you  Coeur-de-lion's  deatli. 
The  rather,  that  you  give*  his  offspring  life. 
Shadowing  theirright  umder  your  wiiigs  of  war: 
I  give  you  welcome  with  a  powerless  hand. 
But  With  a  heart  full  of  unstained  love : 
Welcome  before  the  gates  of  Anglers,  duke. 

Lcto.  A  noble  boy !  Who  would  not  do  thee  right  ? 

Atist.  Upon  thy  cheek  lay  I  this  zealous  kiss, 
As  seal  to  this  indenture  of  my  love ; 
That  to  my  home  I  will  no  more  return. 
Till  Anglers,  and  the  right  thou  hast  in  France, 
Together  with  that  pale,  that  white-fae'd  shore. 
Whose  foot  spurns  back  the  ocean's  roaring  tides, 
And  coops  from  other  lands  her  islanders. 
Even  till  that  England,  hedg'd  in  with  the  main. 
That  water-walled  bulwark,  still  secure 

(6)  A  character  in  an  old  drama,  called  SoUman 
and  Perseda. 

(7)  ImDortunitj. 


343 


KING  JOHN. 


dct  H. 


And  confident  from  foreign  purposes,  [Whiles  %ve,  God's  wratiiful  agent,  do  correct 

Even  till  that  utmost  comer  of  the  west  [Their  proud  contempt  that  beat  his  peace  to  heaven . 

Salute  thee  for  her  king :  till  then,  fair  boy,  K.  Phi.  Peace  be  to  England  ;  if  that  war  return 

Will  I  not  think  of  home,  but  follow  arms.  From  France  to  England,  there  to  live  in  peace  ! 

Const.  O,  take  his  mother's  thanks,  a  widow's  "England  we  love  ;  and,  for  that  England's  sake, 
thanks.  With  burden  of  our  armour  here  we  sweat: 

Till  jourstronj  hand  shall  helpto^ivehim  strength,;  This  toil  of  ours  should  be  a  work  of  thine  ; 
To  make  a  more  requital  to  your  love.  jBut  thou  from  loving  England  art  so  far, 

^lust.  The  peace  of  heaven  is  theirs,  that  lift  That  thou  hast  under-wroughtMiis  lawful  king, 
their  swords  Cut  off  the  sequence'^  of  posterity, 

III  such  a  just  and  charitable  war.  'Outfaced  infant  state,  and  done  a  rape 

A'.  Phi.  Well  then,  to  work:  our  cannon  shall;Upon  the  maiden  virtue  of  the  croivn. 

be  bent  ILook  here  upon  thy  brother  Gelfrcy's  face ; — 

Against  the  brows  of  this  resisting  town. These  eyes,  these  brows,  were  moulded  out  of  his: 

Call  for  our  chiefest  men  of  discipline,  f^'''?  '^tt'e  abstract  doth  contain  that  large, 

To  cull  the  plots  of  best  advantages:' —  |Which  died  in  GeftVey  ;  and  the  hand  of  time 

We'll  lay  before  this  town  our  royal  bones,  j Shall  draw  this  brier  into  as  huge  a  volume. 

AVade  to  the  market-place  in  Frenchmen's  blood,   JThat  Geifrey  was  thy  elder  brother  born, 
But  we  will  make  it  subject  to  this  boy.  j  And  this  his  son  ;  England  was  Geffrey's  right, 

Const.  Stay  for  an  answer  to  your  embassy.         And  this  is  Geffrey's  :  In  the  name  of  God, 
Lest  unadvis'd  you  stain  your  swords  with  blood  :  [How  comes  it  then,  that  thou  art  call'd  a  king, 
My  lord  Chatillon  may  from  England  bring  When  living  blootl  doth  in  these  temples  beat. 

That  right  in  peace,  which  here  we  urge  in  war ;     Which  owe  Ihc  crown  th:it  thou  o'er-.masterest? 
And  then  we  shall  repent  each  drop  of  blood, 
That  hot  rash  haste  so  indirectly  shed. 


Enter  Chatillon. 

K.  Phi.  A  wonder,  Indy  I — lo,  upon  thy  wish, 
Onr  messenger  Chatillon  is  arriv'd. — 
AV^hat  England  says,  say  briefly,  gentle  lord, 
\>'it  coldly  pause  for  thee ;  ChaOllon,  speal 


K.  Joh.i.  From  nhom  iiast  thou  this  great  com- 
niission,  France, 
To  draw  my  ansH  er  from  thy  articles  ? 
K.  Phi.  "From  that  supernal*  judge,  that  stirs 
good  thoughts 
I  In  any  breast  of  strong  aut'.iorjty, 
|To  look  into  the  blots  and  stainis  of  riffht. 
That  judge  hath  mnde  me  guardian  tol.his  boy: 


^  •;;  coiuiy  pause  lor  i:ice  :   ^iiaLiiiuii,  speai;.  rT   y      P  Z  i-^ ■  V> 

riial.  Thcnturn  vo.ir  forces  from  this  pall.  V  siege,  V  J   u^^"'^°J"  '^j"'^""!'  ^  ""Peaeh  thy  wrong  ; 
•...<i  stir  them  up  against  a  mishtier  tal...    '  -^""J.  by  whose  hrlp  1  mean  to  chastise  it._ 


ip  ag 

Cnglani!,  impatirnl  tif  your  just  demand?, 
Hath  put  himself  ill  anus  ;  the  adverse  wind?. 
Whose  leisure  I  have  staid,  have  given  him  time 
To  land  his  legions  all  as  soon  as  I : 
liis  marches  are  expcdicnl-  to  this  town, 
His  forces  strong,  his  soldiers  confident. 
AVith  him  along  is  coine  the  mother-queen, 
An  At^,^  stirring  him  to  blood  and  strife  ; 
With  her  her  niece,  the  lady  Blanch  of  Spain  ; 
'With  them  a  bastard  of  the  kin.''  deceas'd  : 
And  all  the  unsettled  humours  of  the  land, — 
Rnsh,  inconsiderate,  fiery  voluntaries, 
AVilh  ladies'  faces,  and  fierce  dragons'  spleens, — 
Have  sold  their  fortunes  at  their  native  homes. 
Bearing  their  birthrights  proudly  on  their  backs. 
To  make  a  hazard  of  new  fortunes  here. 
In  brief,  a  braver  choice  of  dauntless  spirits. 
Than  now  the  English  bottoms  have  waft  o'er. 
Did  never  float  upon  the  swelling  tide. 
To  do  offence  ami  seath''  in  Christendom. 
The  interruption  of  their  churlish  drums 

[Dnims  beat. 
Cuts  off  more  circumstance  :  they  are  at  hand, 
To  parley,  or  to  fight ;  therefore,  prepare. 

A.  Phi.  How  much  unlook'd  for  is  this  expedi- 
tion ! 

.Iiisl.  By  how  much  unexpected,  by  so  much 
We  must  awake  endeavour  for  defence ; 
For  courage  moiinteth  with  occasion  : 
Let  them  alone  be  welcome  then,  we  are  prepar'd. 
£»i/tr  King  John,  Elinor,  Blancli,  the  Bastard, 
Pembroke,  and  forces. 

K.  John.   Peace  be  to  France  ;    if  France  in 
peace  permit 
Our  just  and  lineal  entrance  to  our  own  ! 
If  not ;  bleed  France,  and  peace  ascend  to  heaven ! 

(1)  Best  stations  to  over-awe  the  town. 

(2^  Immediate,  expeditions. 

13)  The  goddess  of  revenge,         ('I)  Mifchicf. 


K.  John.  Alack,  tliou  dost  usurp  authority 
I     K.Phi.  l^Ncuse  ;  it  is  to  beat  usurping  down. 

EU.  W  iij  is  it,  thou  dost  call  usurper,  France  7 
I     Const.  Let  inc  make  answer ; — thy  usurping  son. 
j     Eli.  Out,  insolent !  thy  bastard  shall  be  kincr ; 
[That  thou  may'st  be  a  queen,  and  check  the  world  ! 

Const.  My  bed  was  ever  lo  thy  son  as  true, 
As  thine  was  to  thy  husband  :  and  this  boy 
Liker  in  feature  to" his  father  Geffrey, 
Than  thou  and  John  in  manners ;  being  as  like, 
As  rain  to  water,  or  devil  to  his  dam. 
My  hoy  a  bastard !  By  my  soul,  I  think, 
His  father  never  was  so  true  begot ; 
It  cannot  be,  an  if  thou  wert  his  mother. 
Eli,  There's  a  good  mother,  boy,  that  blots  thy 

father. 
Const.    There's    a   good    grandam,  boy,  that 

would  blot  thee. 
.5((s(.  Peace! 

Bast.  Hear  the  crier. 

-Inst.  What  the  devil  art  thou  ? 

Bust.    One   that  will   play  the  devil,  sir,  with 
you. 
An  'a  may  calch  your  hide  and  you  alone. 
You  are  the  hare  of  whom  the  proverb  goes. 
Whose  valour  plucks  dead  lions  by  the  beard; 
I'il  smoke  your  skin-coal,»  an  I  ca'eli  you  right ; 
Sirrah,  look  to't ;  i'faith,  I  will,  i'faith. 

Blanch.  O,  well  did  he  become  that  lion's  robe. 
That  did  disrobe  the  lion  of  that  robe  ! 

Bast.  It  lies  as  sightly  on  the  back  of  him, 
As  great  Alcides'  shoes  upon  an  ass : — 
But,  ass,  I'll  take  that  burden  from  your  back  ; 
Or  lay  on  tliat,  shall  miikc  your  shoulders  crack. 
^iicst.  What  cracker  is  tliis  same,  that  deafs  oui 
ears 
With  this  abundance  of  superfluous  breath? 

(5)  Undermined,  (6)  Succession. 

(7^  A  short  writing.  (8)  Celestial, 

'91  Austria  wears  a  lion's  slnn, 


Scene  I. 


KING  JOHN. 


343 


K.  PM.  Lewis,  determine  what  we  shall  do 
straight. 

Lew.  Women  and  fools,  break  off  your  confer- 
ence.— 
Kinff  John,  this  is  the  very  sum  of  all, — 
England,  and  Ireland,  Anjou,  Touraine,  Maine, 
In  riji;ht  of  Arthur  do  I  claim  of  thee : 
Wilt  thou  resign  them,  and  lay  down  thy  arms  ? 

K.  John.   My  life  as  soon : — I  do  defy  thee, 
France. 
Arthur  of  Bretagrne,  yield  thee  to  my  hand  ; 
And,  out  of  my  dear  love,  I'll  give  thee  more 
Than  e'er  the  coward  hand  of  France  can  win  : 
Submit  thee,  boy. 

Eli.  Come  to  thy  grandam,  child. 

Cmist.  Do,  child,  po  to  it'  grandam,  child ; 
Give  ffrandam  kingdom,  and  it'  grandam  will 
Give  it  a  plum,  a  cherry,  and  a  fig  : 
There's  a  good  grandam. 

^Irth.  Good  my  mother,  peace ! 

I  would,  Ihat  I  were  low  laid  in  my  grave  ; 
I  am  not  worth  this  coil'  that's  made  for  me. 

EH.  His  mother  shames  him  so,  poor  boy,  he 
weeps. 

Conal.  Now  shame  upon  you,  whe'r-  slic  does, 
or  no ! 
His  crrandam's  wrongs,  and  not  his  mother's  shames, 
Draw  those  heaven-moving  pearls  from  his  poor 

eyes. 
Which  heaven  sliall  take  in  nature  of  a  fee  ; 
Ay,  with  these  crystal  beads  heaven  shall  be  brib'd 
To  do  him  justice,  and  revenge  on  you. 

Eli.  Thou  monstrous  slanderer  of  heaven  and 
earth ! 

Const.  Thou  monstrous  injurer  of  heaven  and 
earth ! 
Call  not  me  slanderer :  Ihou,  and  thine,  usurp 
The  dominations,  royalties,  and  rights, 
f)f  this  oppressed  boy  :  This  is  thy  eldest  son's  son, 
Iiifortunnte  in  nothing  but  in  thee ; 
Thy  sins  are  visited  in  this  poor  child  ; 
The  canon  of  the  law  is  laid  on  him, 
Being  but  the  second  generation 
Removed  from  thy  sin-coneeiving  womb. 

K.  John.  Bedlam,  have  done. 

Const.  I  have  but  this  to  say, — 

That  he's  not  only  plagued  for  her  sin, 
But  God  hath  made  her  sin  and  her  the  plague 
On  this  removed  issue,  plagu'd  for  her. 
And  with  her  plague,  her  sin  ;  his  injury 
Her  injury, — the  beadle  to  her  sin  ; 
All  pniiish'd  in  the  person  of  this  ciiild. 
And  all  for  her ;  A  plague  upon  her ! 

Eli.  Thou  unadvised  scold,  I  can  produce 
A  will,  that  bars  the  title  of  thy  son.  ' 

Const.  Ay,  who  doubts  that  ?  a  will !  a  wicked  will ; 
A  woman's  will ;  a  eanker'd  grandam's  will ! 

K.  Phi.  Peace,  lady  ;  pause,  or  be  more  tempe- 
rate : 
It  ill  beseems  this  presence,  to  cry  aim'' 
To  these  ill-tuned  repetitions. — 
Some  trumpet  summon  hither  to  the  walls 
These  men  of  Anglers ;  let  us  hear  th.em  speak. 
Whose  title  they  admit,  Arthur's  or  John's. 

Tyumpels  sound.    Enter  Citizens  upon  the  %oalls. 

1  at.  Who  is  it,  that  hath  warn'd  us  to  the  walls  ? 

K.  Phi.  'Tis  France,  for  F.ngland. 

A'.  John.  England,  for  itself: 

Von  men  of  Anglers,  and  my  loving  subjects, — 

K.  Phi.  You  loving  men  of  Anglers,  Arthur's 
subjects, 

(1)  Bustle,    (r?)  Wlielher.     (3)  To  encourage. 


Our  trumpet call'd  you  to  this  gentle  parlc* 
K.  John.  For  our  advantage ; — Therefore,  hear 

us  first. 

These  flags  of  France,  that  are  advanced  here 
Before  the  eye  and  prospect  of  your  town, 
Have  hither  march'd  to  your  endamagement : 
The  cannons  have  their  bowels  full  ofwrath ; 
And  ready  mounted  are  they,  to  spit  forth 
Their  iron  indignation  'gainst  your  walls : 
All  preparation  for  a  bloody  siege. 
And  merciless  proceeding  by  these  French, 
Confront  your  city's  eyes,  your  winking  gates  ;  / 
And,  but  ibr  our  approach,  those  sleeping  stones. 
That  as  a  waist  do  girdle  you  about. 
By  the  compulsion  of  their  ordnance 
By  this  time  from  their  fixed  beds  of  lime 
Had  been  dishabited,  and  wide  havoc  made 
For  bloody  power  to  rush  upon  your  peace. 
But,  on  the  sight  of  us,  your  lawful  king,—- — 
Who  painfully,  with  much  expedient  march, 
Have  brought  a  countercheck  before  your  gates, 
To  save  unscratch'd  your  city's  threaten'd  cheeks, — 
Behold,  the  French,  aihaz'd,  vouchsafe  a  parle  : 
And  now,  instead  of  bullets  wrapp'd  in  fire. 
To  make  a  shaking  fever  in  your  walls, 
They  shoot  but  calm  words,  folded  up  in  smoke, 
To  make  a  faithless  error  in  your  ears : 
Which  trust  accordingly,  kind  citizens. 
And  let  us  in,  your  king ;  whose  labour'd  spirits, 
Forwearied'  in  this  action  of  swift  speed. 
Crave  harbourage  witliin  your  city  walls. 
A'.  Phi.  When  I  have  said,  make  answer  to  us 

both. 
Lo,  in  this  right  hand,  whose  protection 
Is  most  divinely  vow'd  upon  the  right 
Of  him  it  holds,  stands  young  Plantagenet ; 
Son  to  the  elder  brother  of  this  man. 
And  king  o'er  him,  and  all  that  he  enjoys : 
F'or  this  down-trodden  equity,  we  tread 
In  warlike  march  these  greens  before  your  town : 
Being  no  further  enemy  to  you. 
Than  the  constraint  of  hospitable  zeal, 
In  the  relief  of  this  oppressed  child, 
Keligiously  provokes.    Be  pleased  then 
To  pay  that  duty,  which  you  truly  owe, 
To  liim  that  owes"  it ;  namely,  this  young  prince : 
And  then  our  arms,  like  to  a  muzzled  bear, 
Save  in  aspect,  have  all  offence  seal'd  up  ; 
Our  cannons'  malice  vainly  shall  be  spent 
Against  the  invulnerable  clouds  of  heaven  ; 
And,  with  a  blessed  and  unvex'd  retire. 
With  unhaek'd  swords,  and  helmets  all  unbruis'd, 
We  will  bear  home  that  lusty  blood  again. 
Which  here  we  came  to  spout  against  your  town, 
And  leave  your  children,  ivives,  and  you,  in  peace. 
But  if  you  fondly  pass  our  profier'd  offer, 
'Tis  not  the  rondure'  of  your  old-fac'd  walls 
Can  hide  you  from  our  messengers  of  war  ; 
Though  all  these  English,  and  their  discipline, 
VV'ere  harbour'd  in  their  rude  circumference. 
Tiien,  tell  us,  shall  your  city  call  us  lord. 
In  tliat  behalf  which  we  have  challeng'd  it? 
Or  shall  we  give  the  signal  to  our  rage, 
And  stalk  in  blood  to  our  possession  .' 
I  at.   In  brief,  we  are  the  king  of  England's 

subjects ; 
For  him,  and  in  his  riglit,  we  hold  this  town. 
K.  John.   Acknowledge  then  the  king,  and  let 

me  in. 
I  at.  That  can  we  not :  but  he  that  proTes  the 

king. 


(4)  Conference. 
(6)  Own?. 


(5)  Worn  out. 
(7)Circl?. 


344 


KING  JOHN. 


^tn. 


To  him  will  we  prove  loyal ;  till  thai  time, 
Have  we  ramm'd  up  our  gates  against  the  world. 
K.  John.  Doth  not  the  crown  of  England  prove 
the  king  ? 
And,  if  not  that,  I  bring  you  witnesses, 
Twice  fifteen  thousand  hearts  of  England's  breed, — 
Bait.  Bastards,  and  else. 
K.  John.  To  Terify  our  title  with  their  lives. 
K.  Phi.  As  many,  and  as  well-born  bloods  as 

those, 

Bast.  Some  bastards  too. 

K.  Phi.  Stand  in  his  face,  to  contradict  his  claim. 
1  bit.  Tillyoucompoundwhoserightisworthiest, 
We,  for  the  worthiest,  hold  the  right  from  both. 
A.  John.  Then  God  forgive  the  sin  of  all  those 
souls, 
That  to  their  everlasting  residence, 
Before  the  dew  of  evening  fall,  shall  fleet. 
In  dreadful  trial  of  our  kingdom's  king ! 
K.  Phi.  Amen,  Amen !— Mount,  chevaliers !  to 

arms! 
Bast.  St.  George,— that  swing'd  the  dragon,  and 
e'er  since. 
Sits  on  his  horseback  at  mine  hostess'  door. 
Teach  us  some  fence ! — Sirrah,  were  I  at  home. 
At  your  den,    sirrah,   [To  Austria,]  with    your 

lioness, 
I'd  set  an  ox  head  to  your  lion's  hide, 
And  make  a  monster  of  you. 
^usl.  Peace ;  no  more.^ 

Bast.  0,  tremble  ;  for  you  hear  the  lion  roar. " 
K.  John.  Up  higher  to  the  plain ;  where  we'll 
set  forth. 
In  best  appointment,  all  our  regiments. 
Bast.  Speed  then,  to  take  advantage  of  the  field. 
K.  Phi.  It  shall  be  so  ; — [To Lewis.]  and  at  the 
other  hill 
Command  the  rest  to  stand. — God,  and  our  right ! 

[Exeunt. 

SCEJfE  11. — The  same.    Alarums  and  Excur- 
sions ;  then  a  Retreat.    Enter  a  French  Herald, 
with  trumpets,  to  the  gates. 
F.  Her.  You  men  of  Anglers,  open  wide  your 
gates, 
And  let  young  Arthur,  duke  of  Bretagne,  in ; 
Who,  by  the  hand  of  France,  this  day  hath  made 
Much  work  for  tears  in  many  an  English  mother. 
Whose  sons  lie  scatter'd  on  the  bleeding  ground : 
Many  a  widow's  husband  grovelling  lies. 
Coldly  embracing  the  discolour'd  earth  ; 
And  victory,  with  little  loss,  doth  play 
Upon  the  dancing  banners  of  the  French ; 
Who  are  at  hand,  triumphantly  display'd. 
To  enter  conquerors,  and  to  proclaim 
Arthur  of  Bretagne,  England's  king,  and  yours. 

Enter  an  English  Herald,  with  trumpets. 

E.  Her.  Rejoice,  y6u  men  of  Angiers,  ring  your 

bells ; 
King  John,  your  king  and  England's,  doth  approach. 
Commander  of  this  not  malicious  day ! 
Their  armours,  that  march'd  hence  so  silver-bright, 
Hither  return  all  gilt  with  Frenchmen's  blood ; 
There  stuck  no  plume  in  any  English  crest. 
That  is  removed  by  a  staff  of  France  ; 
Our  colours  do  return  in  those  same  hands 
That  did  display  them  when  we  first  march'd  forth ; 
And,  like  a  jolly  troop  of  huntsmen,  come 
Our  lusty  English,  all  with  purpled  hands, 
Dyed  in  the  dying  slaughter  of  their  foes : 
Open  your  gates,  and  give  the  victors  way. 

(I)  Judged,  determined.     _    (2)  Potentates. 


Cit.  Heralds,  from  off  our  towers  we  might  behpld. 
From  first  to  last,  the  onset  and  retire 
Of  both  your  armies  ;  whose  equality 
By  our  best  eyes  cannot  be  censured : ' 
Blood  hath  bought  blood,  and  blows  have  answer'd 

blows ; 
Strength  match'd  with  strength,  and  power  con- 
fronted power : 
Both  are  alike ;  and  both  alike  we  like. 
One  must  prove  greatest :  while  they  weigh  so  even. 
We  hold  our  town  for  neither ;  yet  for  both. 

Enter,  at  one  side.  King  John,  with  his  power ; 
Elinor,  Blanch,  and  the  Bastard ;  at  the  other. 
King  Philip,  Lewis,  Austria,  and  forces. 

K.  John.  France,  hast  thou  yet  more  blood  to 
*  cast  away  ? 
Say,  shall  the  current  of  our  right  run  on? 
Whose  passage,  vex'd  with  thy  impediment, 
Shall  leave  his  native  channel,  and  o'er-swell 
With  course  disturb'd  even  thy  confining  shores ; 
Unless  thou  let  his  silver  water  keep 
A  peaceful  progress  to  the  ocean. 
K.  Phi.  England,  thou  hast  not  sav'd  one  drop 

of  blood, 
In  this  hot  trial,  more  than  we  of  France  ; 
Rather,  lost  more :  And  by  this  hand  I  swear. 
That  sways  the  earth  tliis  climate  overlooks, — 
Before  we  will  lay  down  our  just-borne  arms, 
We'll  put  thee  down,  'gainst  whom  these  arms  we 

bear. 
Or  add  a  royal  number  to  the  dead ; 
Gracing  the' scroll,  that  tells  of  this  war's  loss, 
With  slaughter  coupled  to  the  name  of  kings. 

Bast.  Ha,  majesty!  how  high  thy  glory  towers, 
When  the  rich  blood  of  kings  is  set  on  fire  ! 
O,  now  doth  death  line  his  dead  chaps  with  si  eel ; 
The  swords  of  soldiers  are  his  teeth,  his  fangs  ; 
And  now  he  feasts,  mouthing  the  flesh  of  men. 
In  undetermin'd  differences  of  kings. — 
Why  stand  these  royal  fronts  amazed  thus  ? 
Cry,  havoc,  kings  !  back  to  the  stained  field. 
You  equal  potcnts,^  fiery-kindled  spirits  ! 
Then  let  confusion  of  one  part  confirm 
The  other's  peace;  till  then,  blows,  blood,  and 

death  ! 
K.  John.   Whose  party  do  the  townsmen  yet 

admit  ? 
K.  Phi.   Speak,  citizens,  for  England ;  who's 

your  king  ? 
1  Cit.  The  king  of  England,  when  we  know  the 

king, 
K.  Phi.  Know  him  in  us,  that  here  hold  up  his 

right. 
K.  John.  In  usj  that  are  our  own  great  deputy, 
And  bear  possession  of  our  person  here ; 
Lord  of  our  presence,  Angiers,  and  of  you. 

1  Cit.  A  greater  power  than  we,  denies  all  this ; 
And,  till  it  be  undoubted,  we  do  lock 
Our  former  scruple  in  our  strong-bair'd  gates  : 
King'd  of  our  fears  ;  until  our  fears,  resolv'd. 
Be  by  some  certain  king  purg'd  and  depos'd. 
Bast.  By  heaven,  these  scroyles'  of  Angiers  flout 

you,  kiuM  ; 
And  stand  securely  on  their  battlements, 
As  in  a  theatre,  whence  they  gape  and  point 
At  your  industrious  scenes  and  acts  of  death. 
Your  royal  presences  be  rul'd  by  me  ; 
Do  like  the  mutines*  of  Jerusalem. 
Be  friends  a  while,  and  both  conjointly  bend 
Your  sharpest  deeds  of  malice  on  this  town  : 
By  east  and  west  let  France  and  England  mount 

(3)  Scabby  fellows.  (4)  Mutineers. 


Setntl. 


KING  JOHN. 


ais 


Their  battering  cannon,  charged  to  the  mouths ; 

Till  their  soul-fearing  clamours  have  brawl'd  down 

The  flintj-  ribs  of  this  contemptuous  city : 

I'd  play  mcessantly  upon  these  jades, 

Even  till  unfenced  desolation 

Leave  them  as  naked  as  the  vulgar  air. 

That  done,  dissever  }'Our  united  strengths, 

And  part  your  mingled  colours  once  again ; 

Turn  face  to  face,  and  bloody  point  to  point : 

Then,  in  a  moment,  fortune  shall  cull  forth 

Out  of  one  side  her  happy  minion ; 

To  whom  in  favour  she  shall  give  the  day, 

And  kiss  him  with  a  glorious  victory. 

How  like  you  this  wifd  counsel,  ntighty  states  ? 

Smacks  it  not  something  of  the  policy .' 

K.  John.  Now,  by  the  sky  that  hangs  above  our 
heads, 
I  like  it  well ; — France,  shall  we  knit  our  powers, 
And  lay  this  Angiers  even  with  the  ground  ; 
Then,  after,  fight  who  shall  be  Icing  of  it? 

Bast.  An  if  thou  hast  the  mettle  of  a  kinx, — 
Being  wrong'd,  as  we  are,  by  this  peevish  town, — 
Turn  thou  the  mouth  of  thy  artillery, 
As  we  will  ours,  against  these  saucy  walls  : 
And  when  that  we  nave  dash'd  them  to  the  ground. 
Why,  then  defy  each  other  ;  and,  pell-mell. 
Make  work  upon  ourselves,  for  heaven,  or  hell. 

K.  Phi.   Let  it  be  so : — Say,  where  will  you 
assault? 

A'.  John.  AVe  from  the  west  will  send  destruction 
Into  the  citv's  bosom. 

.iitsf.  I  Irom  the  north. 

K.  Phi,  Our  thunder  from  Uie  south, 

Shall  rain  their  drift  of  bullets  on  tliis  town. 

Bast.  O  prudent  discipline !  From  north  to  south, 
Austria  and  France  shoot  in  each  other's  mouth  : 

[^Iside. 
I'll  stir  them  to  it : — ComCj  away,  away ! 

1  at.  Hear  us,  great  kings:  vouchsafe  a  while 
to  stay. 
And  I  shall  show  you  peace,  and  fair-faced  league ; 
Win  you  this  city' without  stroke,  or  wound  ; 
Rescue  those  breatliing  lives  to  die  in  beds, 
That  here  come  sacrifices  for  the  field  : 
Persdver  not,  but  hear  me,  mighty  kings. 

K.  John,  apeak  on,  wilh  favour;  we  are  bent 
to  hear. 

1  at.  That  daughter  there  of  Spain,  the  lady 
Blanch, 
Is  near  to  England  ;  Look  upon  tlie  years 
Of  Lewis  the  Dauphin,  and  that  lovely  maid : 
If  lusty  love  should  go  in  quest  of  beauty, 
Where  should  he  find  it  fairer  than  in  Blanch  ? 
If  zealous'  love  should  go  in  search  of  virtue, 
Where  should  he  find  it  purer  than  in  Blanch  / 
If  love  ambitious  sought  a  match  of  birth, 
Whose  veins  bound  richer  blood  than  lady  Blanch? 
Such  as  she  is,  in  beauty,  virtue,  birth. 
Is  the  youn^  Dauphin  every  way  complete  : 
If  not  complete,  0  say,  he  is  not  she  ; 
And  she  again  wants  nothing,  to  name  want. 
If  want  it  bn  not,  that  she  is  not  he : 
He  is  the  half  part  of  a  blessed  man. 
Left  to  be  finished  by  such  a  she ; 
And  she  a  fair  divided  excellencej 
Whose  fulness  of  perfection  lies  ni  him. 
O,  two  such  silver  currents,  when  they  join. 
Do  glorify  the  banks  that  bound  them  in : 
And  two  such  shores  to  two  such  streams  made  one. 
Two  such  controlling  bounds  shall  you  be,  kings, 
To  these  two  princes,  if  you  marry  them. 
This  union  shall  do  more  than  battery  can, 


(1)  Pious. 


(2)  Speed. 


(3)  Picture. 


To  our  fast-closed  gates  ;  for,  at  tliis  match. 
With  swifter  spleen'^  than  powder  can  enforce, 
The  mouth  of  passage  shall  we  fling  wide  ope, 
And  give  you  entrance ;  but,  without  this  match, 
The  sea  enraged  is  not  half  so  deaf. 
Lions  more  confident,  mountains  and  rocks 
More  free  from  motion  ;  no,  not  death  himself 
In  mortal  fury  half  so  peremptory, 
As  we  to  keep  this  city. 

Bast.  Here's  a  stay, 

That  shakes  the  rotten  carcase  of  old  death 
Out  of  his  rags !  Here's  a  large  mouth,  indeed, 
That  spits  forth  death,  and  mountains,  rocks,  and 

seas ; 
Talks  as  familiarly  of  roaring  lions, 
As  maids  of  thirteen  do  of  puppy-dogs  ! 
What  cannoneer  begot  this  lusty  blood  ? 
He  speaks  plain  cannon,  fire,  and  smoke,  and 

bounce ; 
He  gives  the  bastinado  with  his  tongue  • 
Our  ears  arc  cudgcl'd ;  not  a  word  of  hjs, 
But  butiets  better  than  a  fist  of  France : 
Zounds !  I  was  never  so  bethump'd  with  words, 
Since  I  lirst  call'd  my  brother's  father,  dad. 

Eli.  Son,  list  to  this  conjunction,  make  this  match ; 
Give  with  our  niece  a  dowry  large  enough : 
For  by  this  kr.ol  thou  shalt  so  surely  tie 
Thy  now  unsur'd  assurance  to  the  crown, 
That  yon  green  boy  shall  have  no  sun  to  ripe 
T^e  bloom  that  promiseth  a  niiglity  fruit. 
I  see  a  yielding  in  the  looks  of  France ; 
Mark,  now  they  whisper:  urge  them,  while  their 

souls 
Are  capable  of  this  ambition : 
Lest  zeal,  now  melted,  by  the  windy  breath 
Of  soft  petitions,  pity,  and  remorse. 
Cool  and  congeal  again  to  what  it  was. 

1  at.  Why  answer  not  the  double  majesties 
This  friendly  treaty  of  our  Uireaten'd  town  ? 

K.  Pki.   Speak  England  first,  that  hath  been 
forward  first 
To  speak  unto  this  city :  W'hat  say  you  ? 

K.  John.  If  that  the  Dauphin  there,  thy  princely 
son, 
Can  in  this  book  of  beauty  read,  I  love. 
Her  dowry  shall  weigh  equal  with  a  queen  : 
For  Anjou,  and  fair  Touraine,  Maine,  and  Poictiers, 
And  all  that  we  upon  this  side  the  sea 
(Except  this  city  new  by  us  besieg'd,) 
Find-liable  to  our  crown  and  dignity, 
Shall  gild  her  bridal  bed ;  and  make  her  rich 
In  titles,  honours,  and  promotions. 
As  she  in  beauty,  education,  blooa. 
Holds  hand  with  any  princess  of  the  world. 

K.  Phi.  What  say'st  thou,  boy  ?  look  in  the  lady's 
face. 

Leiv.  I  do,  my  lord,  and  in  her  eye  I  find 
A  wonder,  or  a  wondrous  miracle, 
The  shadow  of  myself  form'd  in  her  eye ; 
Which,  being  but  the  shadow  of  your  son. 
Becomes  a  sun,  and  makes  your  son  a  shadow : 
I  do  protest,  I  never  lov'd  myself. 
Till  now  inlixed  I  beheld  myself^  ' 

Drawn  in  the  flatteruig  table'  of  her  eye. 

[Whispers  tcitH  Blanch. 

Bast.  Drawn  in  the  flattering  table  of  her  eye ! — 
Hang'd  in  the  frowning  wrinkle  of  her  brow ! — 
And  quarterd  in  her  heart !— he  doth  espy 

Himself  love's  traitor :  This  is  pity  now, 
That  hang'd,    and  drawn,    and  quarter'd,    there 

should  be, 
In  such  a  love,  so  vile  a  lout  as  he. 

Blanch.  My  uncle's  will,  in  this  respect,  is  mine  x 
If  he  sec  aught  in  you,  that  makes  him  like, 
2X 


546 


KING  XOHN. 


Jlct  III. 


That  any  thing  he  sees,  which  mores  his  liking, 
I  can  with  ease  translate  it  to  my  wU  ; 
Or,  if  you  will^  (to  speak  more  properly,) 
J  will  enforce  it  easily  to  my  love. 
Further  I  will  not  flatter  you,  my  lord. 
That  all  I  see  in  you  is  worthy  love, 
Tlian  this, — that  nothing  do  1  see  in  you 
(Though  churlish  Uioughts  themselves  should  be 

your  judge,) 
That  I  can  find  should  merit  any  hate 

K.John.  What  say  these  young  ones?   What 
say  vou,  my  niece  ? 

Blanch.  Tliat  she  is  bound  in  honour  still  to  do 
What  you  in  wisdom  shall  vouchsafe  to  say. 

K.  John.  Speak  then,  prince  Dauphin  ;  can  you 
love  this  lady? 

Lew.  Nay,  ask  me  if  I  can  refrain  from  love, 
For  I  do  love  her  most  unfeignedly. 

K.  John.  Then  do  I  give  Volquessen,  Touraine, 
Maine, 
Poictiers,  and  Anjon,  these  five  provinces, 
With  her  to  thee ;  and  this  addition  more^ 
Full  thirty  thousand  marks  of  English  com. — 
Philip  of  France,  if  thou  bo  pleas'd  withal. 
Command  thy  son  and  daughter  to  join  liands. 

K.  Phi.  It  likes  us  well ; — Young  princes,  close 
jour  hands. 

Aiist.  And  yonr  lips  too ;  for,  I  am  well  assur'd. 
That  I  did  so,  when  I  w;is  lirst  assur'd.' 

K.  Phi.  Now,  citizens  of  Angiers,  ope  j'our  gates, 
Let  in  that  amity  which  you  have  made  ; 
For  at  saint  Mary's  chapel,  presently, 
The  rites  of  marriage  shall  be  solemniz'd. — 
Is  not  the  lady  Constance  in  this  troop  ? — 
I  know,  she  is  not ;  for  this  match,  made  up, 
Her  presence  would  have  interrupted  much : — 
Where  is  she  and  her  son  ?  tell  me,  who  knows. 

Lew.  She  is  sad  and  passionate-  at  your  high- 
ness' tent. 

K.  Phi.  And,  by  my  faith,  this  league,  that  we 
have  made. 
Will  give  her  sadness  very  little  cure. 
Brother  of  F.nffland,  how  may  we  content 
This  widow  ladv  ?  In  her  right  we  came  ; 
Which  we,  God  knows,  have  turned  another  way. 
To  our  own  vantage.^ 


That  smooth-faced  gentleman,  tickling  commo- 
dity,'— 
Commodity,  the  bias  of  the  world  ; 
The  world,  who  of  itself  is  peised"  well, 
Made  to  run  even,  upon  even  ground  ; 
Till  this  advantage,  this  vile  drawing  bias, 
This  sway  of  motion,  this  commodity. 
Makes  it  take  head  from  all  indifierency. 
From  all  direction,  purpose,  course,  intent : 
And  this  same  bias,  this  commodity. 
This  bawd,  this  broker,  this  all-changing  word, 
Clapp'd  on  the  outward  eye  of  fickle  France, 
Hath  drawn  him  from  his'  own  determin'd  aid. 
From  a  resolv'd  and  honourable  war, 
To  a  most  base  and  vile-concluded  peace. — 
And  why  rail  I  on  this  commodity  ? 
But  for  because  he  hath  not  woo'ci  me  yet : 
Not  that  I  have  the  power  to  clutch'  my  hand. 
When  his  fair  angels'  would  salute  my  palm : 
But  for  my  hand,  as  unattempted  yet, 
Like  a  poor  beggar,  raileth  on  the  rich. 
Well,  whiles  I  am  a  beggar,  I  will  rail. 
And  say, — there  is  no  sin,  but  to  be  rich ; 
And  being  rich,  my  virtue  then  shall  be, 
To  say, — there  is  no  vice,  but  beggary : 
Since  Kings  break  faith  upon  commodity, 
Gain,  be  my  lord !  for  I  will  worship  tliee !  [Exit. 


ACT  III. 

SCEME  L—  The  same.     The  French  kingU  tent. 
Enter  Constance,  Arthur,  and  Sallsburj'. 

Const.  Gone  to  be  married !  gone  to  swear  a 
peace ! 
False  blood  to  false  blood  join'd !   Gone  to  be 

friends  ! 

Shall  Lewis  have  Blanch  ?  and  Blanch  those  pro- 
vinces ? 
It  is  not  so ;  thou  hast  misspoke,  misheard  ; 
Be  well  advis'd.  tell  o'er  thy  tale  again  : 
It  cannot  be ;  tnou  dost  but  say,  'tis  so  : 
I  trust,  I  may  not  trust  thee ;  for  thy  word 
Is  but  the  vain  breath  of  a  common  man  : 
Believe  me,  I  do  not  believe  thee,  man  ; 


K.  John.  We  Avill  heal  up  all 

For  Ave'll  create  young  Arthur  duke  of  Bretagne,  |I  have  a  king's  oath  to  the  contrary. 
And  earl  of  Richmond  ;  and  this  rich  fair  town       |  Thou  shalt  be  punish'd  for  thus  frighting  me, 
We  make  him  lord  of. — Call  the  lady  Constance ;  !For  I  am  sick,  and  capable"  of  fenfs 


Some  speedy  messenger  bid  her  repair 
To  our  solemnity: — I  trust  we  shall. 
If  not  fill  up  the  measure  of  her  will. 
Yet  in  some  measure  satisfy  her  so. 
That  we  shall  stop  her  exclamation. 
Go  we,  as  well  as  haste  will  suffer  us, 
To  this  unlook'd  for,  unprcuared  poiiiii. 

[Exeunt  all  but  the  Bastard. — The  Citizens!  VVhy  dost  thou  look  so  sadly  on  my  soii  ? 

retire  from  the  icails.  i  What  means  that  hand  upon  that  breast  of  thine  ? 

Bast.  Mad  world!  mad  kings !  mad  composition !  1  Why  holds  thine  eye  that  lamentable  rheum, 
John,  to  stop  Arthur's  title  in  the  whole,  ILike  a  proud  river  peering'"  o'er  his  bounds  ? 

Hath  willingly  departed  with  a  part :  |  Be  these  sad  signs  confirmers  of  thy  words  ? 

And  France  (whose  armour  conscience  buckled  on ;  Then  speak  again  ;  not  all  thv  former  tale. 

But  tiiis  one  ivord,  whether  thy  tale  be  true. 


Oppress'd  with  wrongs,  and  therefore  full  of  fears ; 

A  widow,  husbandless,  subject  to  fears  ; 

A  woman,  naturally  born  to  fears  ; 

And  though  thou  now  confess,  thou  didst  but  jest, 

With  my  vex'd  spirits  I  cannot  take  a  truce, 

But  they  will  quake  and  tremble  all  this  day. 

What  dost  thou  mean  bv  shaking  of  thv  head  ? 


Whom  zeal  and  charity  broupht  to  the  field. 
As  God's  own  soldier,)  rounded*  in  the  ear 
With  that  same  purpose-changer,  that  sly  devil ; 
That  broker,  that  still  breaks  the  pate  of  faitli ; 
That  daily  break-vow  ;  he  that  wins  of  all, 
Of  kings,  of  beggars,  old  men,  young  men,  maids ; — 
Who  having  no  external  thins:  to  lose 
But  the  word  maid, — cheats  the  poor  maid  of  that; 

(1 )  Affianced,     (i)  Mournful.     (3)  Advantage. 
(4)  Conspired,  (5)  Interest. 


Sal.  As  true,  as,  I  believe,  you  think  them  false. 
That  (.Mve  vou  cause  to  prove  my  snyinjr  true. 

Const.  0,  if  thou  teach  me  to  believe  this  sorrow. 
Teach  thou  this  sorrow  how  to  make  me  die  ; 
And  let  belief  and  life  encounter  so. 
As  doth  the  fury  of  two  desperate  men. 
Which,  in  the  very  meeting,  fall,  and  die. —     ' 

(6)  Poised,  balanced.  (7)  Clasp. 

(S)  Coin,    (9)  Susceptible.    (10)  Appearing. 


Scene  I. 


■itlNG  JOHN. 


347 


Lewis  marry  Blanch !  O,  boy,  tiien  where  art  thou  ?      K.  Phi.  By  heaven,  lady,  you  shall  haTC  no  cause 
France  friend  with   England!    what  becomes  of;  To  curse  the  fair  proceedings  of  this  day : 


Have  I  not  pawn'd  to  you  my  majesty  ? 

Const.  You  have  beguil'd  me  with  "a  counterfeit. 
Resembling  majesty ;  which,  being  touch'd,  and 

tried. 
Proves  valueless :  You  are  forsworn,  forsworn  ; 
You  came  in  arms  to  spill  mine  enemies'  blood, 
But  now  in  arms  you  strengthen  it  with  yours : 
The  prrappling'  vigour  and  rough  frown  of  war, 
Const.  If  thou,  that  bid'st  me  lie  content,  werllls  cold  in  amity  and  painted  peace, 

grim,  '      And  our  oppression  hath  made  up  this  league : — 

Uglv,  and  sland'rous  to  thy  mother's  womb,  'Arm,  arm,  you  heavens,  against  these  perjur'd 

Fulf  of  unpleasing  blots,  and  sightless'  stains,         '  kin2;s " 


me  ? — 

Fellow,  be  gone ;  I  cannot  brook  thy  sight; 
This  news  hath  made  thee  a  most  ugly  man. 

Sal.  What  other  harm  have  I,  good  lady,  done. 
But  spoke  the  harm  that  is  by  others  done  .' 

Const.  Which  harm  within  itself  so  heinous  is, 
As  it  makes  harmful  all  that  speak  of  it. 

»4rf/».  I  do  beseech  you,  madam,  be  content. 


Lame,  foolish,  crooked,  swart,  prodigious,* 
Patch'd  with  Ibul  moles,  and  eyc-ofiending  marks, 
I  would  not  care,  I  then  would  be  coiitent ; 
For  then  I  should  not  love  thee  ;  no,  nor  thou 
Become  thy  great  birth,  nor  deserve  a  crown. 
But  thou  art  lair  ;  and  at  thy  birth,  dear  boy  ! 
Is'atm-e  and  fortune  join'd  to  make  tliee  great : 
Of  nature's  gifts  thou  may'st  with  lilies  boast, 
And  with  the  half-i)lown  iose  :  but  fortune,  O  ! 
!She  is  corrupted,  i-hang'd,  and  won  from  thee  ; 
Slic  adulterates  hourly  with  thine  uncle  John  ; 


A  widow  cncs  ;  be  husband  to  me,  heavens ! 
Let  not  the  hours  of  this  ungodly  day 
Wear  out  the  day  in  peace  ;  but,  ere  sunset, 
Set  armed  discord  'twixt  these  perjur'd  kings ! 
Hear  me,  0,  hear  me ! 

.?Hsf.  Lady  Constance,  peace. 

Const.  War !  war  !  no  ix?ace !  peace  is  to  me 
war. 
OLvmogcs!  O  Austria!  thou  dost  shame  $!tS^ 

That  bloody  spoil :  Thuui  slave,  thou  v.  retch,  thoU       ' 
coward  ; 


And  with  her  golden  hand  hath  pluck'd  on  France i Thou  little  valiant,  "rcat  in  villany  ! 


To  tread  down  fair  respect  of  sovereignty. 
And  made  his  majesty  the  bawd  to  theirs. 
France  is  a  bawd  to  fortune,  and  king  John  ; 
That  strumpet  fortune,  that  usurpin-:^  John  ; — 
Tell  me,  thou  fellow,  is  not  France  forsworn  ? 
Envenom  him  with  words  ;  or  get  thee  gone. 
And  leave  those  ivoes  alone,  which  I  alooe 
Am  bound  to  under-bear. 

Sal.  Pardon  me,  madam, 

I  mav  not  go  without  vou  to  the  kinirs. 


iTiou  ever  strong  upon  the  stronger  side  ! 
JTIiou  fortune's  champion,  that  dost  never  fight    • 
'  But  when  her  humorous  ladyship  is  by 

To  teach  thee  safely  !  thou  art  perjur'd  too, 
I  And  sooth'st  up  greatness.    What  a  fool  art  thou, 

A  ramping  fool ;  to  brag,  and  stamp,  and  swear, 
j  Upon  my  party !  Thou  cold-blooded  slave, 
[Hast  tiiou  not  spoke  like  thunder  on  my  side  ? 
I  Been  sworn  my  soldier  ?  bidding  me  depend 

Upon  thy  stars,  thy  fort  une,  and  thy  strength  ? 


Const.  Thou  may'st,  thou  shalt,  I  will  not  go  with  And  dost  thou  now  fall  over  to  my  foes  ? 


thee : 
I  will  instruct  my  sorrows  to  be  proud  ; 
For  grief  is  proud,  and  makes  his  owner  stout. 
To  me,  and  to  the  slate'  of  my  great  grief. 
Let  kings  assemble  ;  for  my  grief's  so  great, 
That  no  supporter  but  the  huge  firm  earth 
Can  hold  it  up  :  here  I  and  sorrow  sit ; 
Here  is  my  throne,  bid  kings  come  Bow  to  it. 

[She  throics  herself  on  the  ground. 

Enter  Kin^  John,  Kins;  Philip,  Lewis,  Blanch, 
Elinor,  Bastard,  Austria,  and  alteitdants. 

K.  Phi.  'Tis  true,  fair  daughter ;  and  this  bless- 
ed day. 
Ever  in  France  shall  be  kept  festival : 
To  solemnize  this  day,  the  glorious  sun 
Stays  in  his  course,  and  plays  the  alchemist; 
Turning,  with  splendour  of  his  precious  eye, 
The  meagre  cloddy  earth  to  glittering  gold  : 
The  yearly  course,  that  brings  this  day  about. 
Shall  never  see  it  but  a  holyday. 

Const.  A  wicked  day,  and  not  a  holyday ! 

[Rising. 
What  hath  this  day  deserv'd  ?   what  hath  it  done ; 
That  it  in  golden  letters  should  be  set, 
Among  the  high  tides,*  in  the  kalendar? 
Nay,  rather,  turn  this  day  out  of  the  week  ; 
This  day  of  shame,  oppression,  perjury : 
Or,  if  it'must  stand  still,  let  wives  with  child 
Praj-,  that  their  burdens  may  not  fall  this  day. 
Lest  that  their  hopes  prodigiously  be  cross'd : 
But  on  this  day,  let  seamen  fear  no  wreck  ; 
No  bargains  break,  that  are  not  this  day  made : 
This  day  all  things  begun  come  to  ill  end ; 
Yea,  faith  itself  to  hollow  falsehood  change ! 


I  Thou  wear  a  lion's  hide  !  dofl'^  it  for  shame, 
,  And  hang  a  calf 's-skin  on  those  recreant  limbs. 
wittst,  0,  that  a  man  should  speak  those  words 

to  me ! 
Bast.  And  hang  a  calf's-skin  on  those  recreant 

limbs, 
.^usf.  Thou  dar'st  not  say  so,  villain,  for  thy  life. 
Bast.  And  hang  a  calf's-skin  on  those  recreant 

limbs. 
K.  John.  Wc  like  not  this ;   thou  dost  forget 

tjiysclf. 

Enter  Pandulph. 

K.  Phi.  Here  comes  the  holy  legate  of  the  pope. 

Pand.  Hail,  you  anointed  deputies  of  heaven  I— 
To  thee,  king  John,  iny  holy  errand  is. 
I  Pandulph,  of  fair  Milan  cardinal. 
And  from  pope  Innocent  the  legate  here. 
Do,  in  his  name,  religiously  demand. 
Why  thou  against  the  church,  our  holy  mother, 
So  wilfully  dost  spurn  ;  and,  force  perforce, 
Keep  Stephen  Langton,  chosen  archbishop 
Of  Canterbury-,  from  that  holy  see  ? 
This,  in  our  'foresaid  holy  father's  name, 
Po]>e  Innocent,  I  do  demand  of  thee. 

K.  John.  What  earthly  name  to  interrogatoricB, 
Can  task  the  free  breath  of  a  sacred  king?  ■ 
Thou  canst  not,  cardinal,  devise  a  name 
So  slight,  unworthy,  and  ridiculous. 
To  charge  me  to  an  answer,  as  the  pope. 
Tell  him  this  tale ;  and  tVoni  the  mouth  of  England| 
Add  thus  much  more, — That  no  Italian  priest 
Shall  tithe  or  toll  in  our  dominions ; 
But  as  we  under  heaven  are  supreme  head. 
So,  under  him,  that  great  supremacy. 


(1)  Unsightly.  (2)  Portentous.  (3)  Seated  in  state. 


(4)  Solemn  seasons 


(5)  Do  off, 


348 


KING  JOHN. 


^cl  III. 


Where  we  do  reign,  we  will  ulone  uphoU, 
Without  the  assistance  of  a  mortal  hand : 
So  tell  the  pope  ;  all  reverence  set  apart, 
To  him,  and  his  usurp'd  authority. 

K.  Phi.  Brother  of  England,  vou  blaspheme  in 
this. 

K.  John.   Though  you,  and  all  the  kings   of 
Ciiristendom, 
Arc  led  so  G:rossly  by  this  meddling'  priest, 
Dreading  the  curse  that  money  may  buy  out ; 
And,  by  the  merit  of  vile  gold,  dross,  dust, 
Purchase  corrupted  pardon  of  a  man, 
Who,  in  that  sale,  sells  pardon  from  himself: 
Though  you,  and  all  the  rest,  so  grossly  led. 
This  juscsjfling  witchcraft,  with  revenue  cherish ; 
Yet  I,  alone,  alone  do  me  oppose 
Against  the  pope,  and  count  his  friends  my  foes. 

Pand.  Then,  by  the  lawful  power  that  I  have, 
Thou  shalt  stand  curs'd,  and  excommunicate  : 
And  blessed  shall  he  be,  that  doth  revolt 
From  his  allegiance  to  a  heretic  ; 
And  meritorious  shall  that  hand  be  call'd, 
Canonized,  and  worsitipi/d  as  a  saint, 
That  takes  away  by  any  secret  course 
Thv  hateful  life. 

Const.  O,  lawful  let  it  be. 

That  I  have  room  with  ilome  to  curse  a  while  ! 
Good  father  cardinal,  cry  thou,  amen. 
To  my  keen  curses  ;  for,  ^^  itliout  my  wrong-, 


That  need  must  needs  infer  this  principle, 

That  faith  ivould  live  again  by  death  of  need ; 
O,  then,  tread  down  mv  need,  and  faith  mounts  up ; 
Keep  my  need  up.  and  faith  is  trodden  down. 
K.  John.  The  king  is  mov'd,  and  answers  not 

to  this. 
Cmist.  O,  be  rcmov'd  from  him,  and  answer  well. 
.lust.  Do  so,  kinjr  Philip ;  hansr  no  more  in  doubt. 
Bast.  Hang  nothing  but  a  caU  's-skin,  most  sweet 

lout. 
,K.  Phi.  I  am  pcrplex'd,  and  know  not  w  hat  to  say. 
Pand.  What  can'st  thou  say,  but  will  perplex 
thee  mort'. 
If  thou  stand  excommunicate,  and  curs'd? 
K.  Phi.  Good  reverend  father,  make  my  person 
yours. 
And  tell  me,  how  you  would  bestow  yourself. 
This  royal  hand  and  mine  are  newly  Knit ; 
And  the  conjunction  of  our  inward  souls 
Married  in  leasue,  coupled  and  link'd  togetlier 
With  all  rclijfious  strength  of  sacred  vows  ; 
The  latest  breath  that  gave  the  sound  of  words, 
Was  deep-sworn  faith,  peace,  amity,  true  love. 
Between  our  kingdoms,  and  our  royal  selves  ; 
j  And  even  before  this  truce,  but  new  before, — 
No  longer  than  we  well  could  wash  our  hands, 
To  clap  this  royal  bargain  up  of  peace, — 
I  Heaven  knoivs,  they  -were  bcsmear'd  and  over- 
stain'd 


There  is  no  tonsrue  hath  power  to  curse  him  right.  |  With  slauj'hter's  pencil ;  where  revenge  did  paint 
Pand.  There's  law  and  warrant,  lady,  for  myjThe  fearful  diflcrence  of  incensed  kings: 

curse.  (And  shall  these  hands,  so  lately  purg'd  of  blood, 

Const.  And  for  mine  too  ;  when  law  can  do  noiSo  newly  join'd  in  love,  so  strong  in'both, 

' "^  Unyoke  this  scizinc,  and  this  kind  regreet  ?' 


right, 
Let  it  be  lawful,  that  law  bar  no  ivrong: 
Law  cannot  give  my  child  his  kingdom  here  ; 
For  he,  that  holds  his  kinsdom,  holds  the  law  : 
Therefore,  since  law  itself  is  perfect  wrong. 
How  can  the  law  forbid  my  tongue  to  curse  ? 
Pand.  Piiilip  of  France,  on  peril  of  a  curse, 
Let  go  the  hand  of  that  arch-heretic  ; 
And  raise  the  power  of  France  upon  his  head, 
Unless  lie  do  submit  himself  to  Rome. 
Eli.  Look'st  thou  pale,  France  ?  do  not  let  go 

thv  hand. 
Const.    Look  to  that,  devil !    lest  that  France 
repent. 
And,  by  disjoining  hands,  hell  lose  a  soul. 
^Iiist.  King  Philij),  listen  to  the  cardinal. 
Bast.  And  hang  a  calf's-skin  on   his  recreant 

limbs. 
vitist.   Well,  rulFian,   I  must  pocket  up  these 
wrong's, 

Because 

Bast.  Vour  breeches  best  may  carry  them. 

K.  John.  Philip,  what  say'st  thou  to  the  car- 
dinal ? 


I  Play  fast  and  loose  with  faith  ?  so  jesfM  ith  heaven, 
;  Make  such  unconstant  children  of  ourselves, 
j  As  now  again  to  snatch  our  palm  from  palm  ; 
iUnswear  faith  sworn  ;  and  on  the  marriage  bed 
Of  smiling  peace  to  march  a  bloody  host, 
And  make  a  riot  on  the  gentle  brow 
Of  true  sincerity  ?  O  holy  sir, 
My  reverend  father,  let  it  not  be  so  : 
Out  of  your  grace,  devise,  ordain,  impose 
Some  gentle  order ;  and  then  we  shall  be  blcss'd 
To  do  your  pleasure,  and  continue  friends. 

Pand.  All  form  is  formless,  order  orderless, 
Save  what  is  opposite  to  England's  love. 
Therefore,  to  arms  !  be  champion  of  our  church  ! 
Or  let  the  church,  our  mother,  breathe  her  curse, 
A  mother's  curse,  on  her  revolting  son. 
France,  thou  may'st  hold  a  serpent  by  the  tongue, 
A  cased  lion  by  the  mortal  paw, 
A  fasting  tiger  safer  by  the  tooth, 
Thiin  keep  in  peace  that  hand  which  thou  dost  hold. 

A'.  Phi.  I  may  disjoin  my  hand,  but  not  my  faith. 

Pand,  So  mak'st  thou  faiUi  an  enemy  to  faith  ; 
And,  like  a  civil  war,  set'st  oalh  to  oath. 


Const.  What  should  he  say,  but  as  the  cardinal  ?  Thy  tongue  against  thv  tongue.     O,  let  thy  vow 


Lew.  Bethink  you,  father ;  for  the  difference 
Is,  purchase  of  a  heavy  curse  from  Rome, 
Or  the  light  loss  of  England  for  a  friend : 
Forego  the  easier. 

Blanch.  That's  the  curse  of  Rome 


First  made  to  heaven,  first  be  to  heaven  perform'd  ; 
That  io,  to  be  the  elianipion  of  our  church  ! 
What  since  thou  swor'st,  is  sworn  against  thyself, 
And  may  not  be  performed  by  thyself: 
I  For  that,  which  tnou  hast  sworn  to  do  amiss, 


Const.  O  Lewis,  stand  fast;  the  devil  tempts  I  Is  not  amiss  when  it  is  truly  done; 


thee  here 
In  likeness  of  a  new  untrimmed'  bride. 

Blanch.  The  lady  Constance  speaks  not  from 
her  faith. 
But  from  her  need. 

Const.  0,  if  thou  grant  my  need, 

Which  only  lives  but  by  the  death  of  faith, 

(1)  '  When  unadorn'd,  adorn'd  the  most.' 

Thomson's  ^uttmm,  206. 


And  being  not  done,  where  doing  tends  to  ill, 
The  truth  is  then  most  done  not  doing  it : 
The  better  act  of  purposes  mistook 
Is,  to  mistake  again  ;  though  indirect. 
Yet  indirection  thereby  grows  direct. 
And  falseliood  falsehood  cures  ;  as  tire  cools  fire. 
Within  the  scorched  veins  of  one  new  burn'd. 
It  is  religion,  that  doth  make  vows  kept ; 

(2)  Erxchange  of  salutation. 


Sctne  TIL 


KING  JOHN. 


349 


But  thou  hast  sworn  aofaiiist  religion  ; 

By  what  thou  swear'st,   against  the  thin 

swear'st ; 
And  mak'st  an  oath  the  surety  for  thy  truth 
Against  an  oath  :  The  truth  thou  art  unsure 
To  swear,  swear  only  not  to  be  forsworn  ; 
Else,  what  a  mockery  should  it  be  to  swear! 
But  thou  dost  swear  only  to  be  forsworn  ; 
And  most  forsworn,  to  keep  what  thou  dost  swear. 
Therefore,  thy  latter  vows,  ag-ainst  thy  first, 
Is  in  thyself  rebellion  to  thyself; 
And  better  conquest  ncvcr'canst  thou  make. 
Than  arm  thy  constant  and  thy  nobler  parts 
Ajrainst  those  giddy  loose  suggestions  : 
Upon  which  better' part  our  prayers  come  in, 
If  thou  vouchsafe  them  ;  but,  if  not,  then  know, 
The  peril  of  our  curses  li£;ht  on  thee  ; 
So  heavy,  as  thou  shalt  not  shake  them  off. 
But,  in  despair,  die  under  their  black  weight. 

JIust.  Rebellion,  flat  rebellion  ! 

Bast.  Will't  not  be  ? 

Will  not  a  calf's-skin  stop  that  mouth  of  thine  ? 

LeiP.  Father,  to  arms  ! 


France,  I  am  burn'd  up  with  inflaming  wrath ; 
thou  A  rage,  whose  heat  hath  tliis  condition, 
That  nothing  can  allay,  nothing  but  blood, 
The  blood,  and  dearest- valu'd  blood,  of  France. 
K.  Phi.  Thy  rage  shall  burn  thee  up,  and  thou 
shalt  turn 
To  ashes,  ere  our  blood  shall  quench  that  fire  : 
Look  to  thyself,  thou  art  in  jeopardy. 
A'.  Johi.   No  more  than  he  that  threats. — To 
arms  let's  hie  !  [Exeunt. 


SCE,?i/'E   II. — The  same.    Plains  near  Angiers. 

Jllarums,  Exaasicns.    Enter  the  Bastard,  tvith 

Austria's  head. 

Bast.   Noxv,  by  my  life,  this  day  grows  won- 
drous hot ; 
Some  airy  devil  hovers  in  the  sky, 
And  pours  down  niiscliief.  Austria's  head  lie  there ; 
Wliile  Philip  breathes. 

I  Enter  King  John,  Arthur,  and  Hubert. 

I     K.  John.  Hubert,  keep  this  boy: — Philip,  make 
up : 


Blanch.  Upon  thv  wedding  day  ?  My  mother  is  assailed  in  our  tent, 

Atramst  the  blood  that  thou  hast  married  ?  1  And  ta'en,  I  fear. 

What,  shall  our  feast  be  kept  with  slaushter'd  men  ? '     -«««'•  My  lord,  I  rescu'd  her  ; 

Shall  braving  trumpets,  and  loud  churlish  drums,—  Her  highness  is  in  safety,  fear  you  not ; 
Clamours^  of  hell— be  measures'  to  our  pomp  1        ^  But  on,  my  Iiege  :  for  very  httle  pains 
O  husband,  hear  me  !— ah,  alack,  hov,-  new  j^'^ "»  brmg  this  labour  to  a  happy  end.      [Exeunt. 

SCEJ\''E  III.— The  same.  Alarums;  Excur- 
.sions ;  Retreat.  Enter  King  John,  Elinor, 
Arthur,   the  Bastard,    Hubert,"  and  Lords. 


K.  John.  So  shall  it  be ;  your  grace  shall  stay 
behind,  [To  Elinor. 

So  strongly  guarded. — Cousin,  look  not  sad  : 

[To  Arthur. 


Is  husband  in  my  mouth ! — even  tor  that  name, 
Which  till  this  time  nij'  tongue  did  ne'er  pronounce. 
Upon  my  knee  I  beg,  go  not  to  arms 
Against  mhie  uncle. 

Const.  0,  upon  my  kTiee, 

Made  hard  with  kneeling,  I  do  pray  to  thee. 
Thou  virtuous  dauphin,  alter  not  the  doom 
Fore-thought  by  heavc^n. 

Blanch.  Now  shall  I  sec  thy  love  ;  What  motive  Thy  grandam  loves  thee  ;  and  thy  uncle  will 
may  _  JAs  dear  be  to  thee  as  thy  father  was. 

Be  stronger  with  thee  than  the  name  of  wife  ?  \    Arth.  O,  this  will  make  my  mother  die  with  grief. 

Const.    That  which    upholdeth  him   that  thee'     K.  John.  Cousin,   [To  the  Bastard.]  away  for 
upholds,  i  England ;  haste  before : 

His  honour :  O,  thine  honour,  Lewis,  thine  honour !  And,  ere  our  coming,  sec  thou  shake  the  bags 

Lew.  I  muse,*»  your  majesty  dcth  seem  so  cold,    lOf  hoarding  abbots  :  angels'*  imprisoned 
When  such  profound  respects  do  pull  you  on.         jSet  thou  at  liberty :  the  fat  ribs  of  peace 

Pand.  I  will  denoimee  a  curse  upon  his  head.      I  Must  by  the  hungry  now  be  fed  upon  : 

K.  Phi.  Thou  shalt  not  need: — England,  I'll  falljUse  our  commission  in  his  utmost  force. 

from  thee.  j    Basf.  Bell,  book,  and  candle,  shall  not  driTCBJi 

Const.  O  fair  return  of  banish'd  majesty  !  I  back, 

Kli.  O  foul  revolt  of  French  inconstancy !  [When  gold  and  silver  becks  me  to  come  on. 

K.  John.  France,  thou  shalt  rue  this  hour  within  I  leave  your  highness  : — Grandam,  I  will  pray 


this  hou 

Bast.  Old  time  the  clock-setter,  that  bald  sexton 
time. 
Is  it  as  he  will  ?  well  then,  France  shall  rue. 
Blanch.  The  sun's  o'crcast  with  blood  :    Fair 
day,  adieu ! 
Which  is  the  side  that  I  must  go  withal  ? 
I  am  with  both  :  each  army  hath  a  hand  ; 
And,  in  their  rage,  I  having  hold  of  both. 
They  whirl  asunder,  and  dismember  me. 
Husband,  I  cannot  pray  that  thou  may'st  win  ; 
Uncle,  I  needs  must  pray  that  thou  may'st  lose  ; 
Father,  I  may  not  wish  the  fortune  thine  ; 
Grandam,  1  will  not  ^vish  thy  wishes  thrive  : 
Whoever  wins,  on  that  side  shall  I  lose ; 
Assured  loss,  before  the  m;iteh  be  play'd. 
Lew.  Lady,  with  me ;  with  me  thy  fortune  lies. 
Blanch.  There  where  my  fortune  lives,  there  my 

life  dies. 
K.  John.   Cousin,  go  draw  our  puissance'  to- 
gether.— [Exit  Bastard. 


t If  ever  I  remember  to  be  holy) 
'or  your  fair  safety  ;  so  I  kiss  your  hand. 
Eil.  Farenell,  my  gentle  cousin. 
A'.  John.  Coz,  farewell. 

[Exit  Bastard. 
I  Ell.  Come  hither,  little  kinsman ;  nark,  a  word. 
j  [She  takes  Arthur  aside. 

K.  John.  Come  hither,  Hubert.     O  my  gentle 
I  Hubert, 

j  We  owe  thee  much ;  within  this  wall  of  flesh 
jThere  is  a  soul,  counts  thee  her  creditor, 
I  And  with  advantage  means  to  pay  thy  love  : 
lAnd,  my  good  friend,  thy  voluntary  oath     • 
'Lives  in  this  bosom,  dearly  cherished. 
Give  nie  thy  hand.     I  had'  a  thing  to  say, — 
But  I  will  iit  it  with  some  better  time. 
By  heaven,  Hubert,  I  am  almost  asham'd 
To  say  what  good  respect  I  have  of  thee. 
Hub.  I  am  much  bounden  to  your  majesty. 
K.  John.  Good  friend,  thou  hast  no  cause  to  say 
so  yet : 


(I)  Music  for  dancing. 


(2)  Wonder. 


(S)  Force 


(4)  Gold  coin» 


380 


KING  JOHN. 


^d  nu 


But  thou  shalt  have  ;  and  creep  time  ne'er  so  slow, 

Vet  it  shall  come,  for  me  to  do  thee  good. 

I  had  a  thing  to  say, — But  let  it  go  : 

The  sun  is  in  the  heaven,  and  the  proud  day. 

Attended  with  the  pleasures  cf  the  world. 

Is  all  too  wanton,  and  too  full  oi"  srawds,' 

To  give  me  audience  : — If  the  midnight  bell 

Did,  with  his  iron  tongue  and  brazen  mouth, 

Sound  one  unto  the  drowsy  race  of  night ; 

If  this  same  were  a  church-yard  where  we  stand, 

And  thou  possessed  with  a  thousand  wrongs  ; 

Or  if  that  surly  spirit,  melancholy. 

Had  bak'd  thy  blood,  and  made  it  heavy-thick, 

iWhicli,  else,' runs  tickling  up  and  down  the  veins, 
laking  that  idiot,  lauirlifcr,  keep  men's  eyes. 
And  strain  their  cliceks  to  idle  merriment, 
A  passion  hateful  to  my  purposes  ; ) 
Or  if  that  thou  could'st  see  me  without  eyes, 
Hear  me  without  thine  ears,  and  make  reply 
Witiiout  a  tongue,  using  conceit-  alone. 
Without  eves,  ears,  and  harmful  sound  of  words  ; 
Then,  in  despite  of  brooded  watchful  day, 
I  would  into  thy  bosom  povir  my  thoughts : 
But  ah,  I  will  not :— Yet  I  love  thee  well ; 
And,  by  my  troth,  I  think,  thou  lov'st  me  wc!!. 

Huh.  So  well,    that  what  you  bid  me  under- 
take. 
Though  that  my  death  were  adjunct'  to  my  act, 
By  heaven,  I'd  do't. 

K.  John.  Do  not  I  know,  thou  would'st? 

Good  Hubert,  liubert,  Hubert,  throw  thine  eye 
On   yon  young    boy :    I'll  tell   thee  what,  my 

friend, 
He  is  a  very  serpent  in  my  way : 
And,  wheresoe'er  this  foot  of  mine  doth  tread, 
He  lies  before  me :  Dost  thou  understand  me  i 
Thou  art  his  keeper. 

Hub.  And  I  will  keep  him  so, 

That  he  shall  not  offend  your  majesty. 

A'.  Johti.  Death. 

Hub.  My  lord  ? 

K.  John.  A  ?rave. 

Hub.  He  shall  not  live. 

JiT.  John.  Enough. 

I  could  be  merry  now :  Hubert,  I  love  thee ; 
Well,  I'll  not  say  what  I  intend  for  thee : 
Remember. — Madam,  fare  you  well : 
I'll  send  those  powers  o'er  to  your  majesty. 

Ell.  My  blessing  go  with  thee  ! 

K.  John.  For  England,  cousin : 

Hubert  shall  be  your  man,  attend  on  you 
With  all  true  duty. — On  toward  Calais,  ho ! 

•  [Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E  IV.— The.  same.  The  French  king's 
tent.  Enter  Kins;  Philip,  Lewis,  P;indulph, 
and  attendants. 

K.  Phi.  So,  by  a  roaring  tempest  on  the  flood, 
A  whole  armado*  of  convicted^  sail 
Is  scatter'd  and  disjoin'd  from  fellowship. 

Pand.  Courage  and  comfort!    all  shall  yet  go 
well. 

K.  Phi.  What  can  go  well,  v.hen  wc  have  run 
so  ill  ? 
Are  we  not  beaten  ?  Is  not  Angicrs  lost  ? 
Arthur  ta'en  prisoner?  divers  dear  friends  slain? 
And  bloody  England  into  England  gone, 
O'erbearing  interruption,  spite  of  France  ? 

Lew.  What  he  hath  won,  that  hath  he  fortified : 
So  hot  a  speed  with  such  advice  dispos'd. 
Such  temperate  order  in  so  fierce  a  cause, 


(1)  Showy  ornaments. 
(S)  Joined. 


(2)  Conception. 
(4)  Fleet  of  war, 


Doth  want  example :  Who  hath  t-ead,  or  heard. 
Of  anv  kindred  action  like  to  this  ? 
K.  'Phi.  Well  could  I  bear  that  England  had 
this  praise, 
So  wc  could  find  some  pattern  of  our  shame. 

Enter  Constance. 

Lookj  who  comes  here !  a  grave  unto  a  soul ; 
Holdmg  the  eternal  spirit,  against  her  will, 
In  the  vile  prison  of  afflicted  breath  : — 
I  pr'ythee,  lady,  go  away  with  me. 

Cmist.ho.  now!  now  seethe  issue  of  your  peace! 

A'.  Phi.  Patience,  good  lady!  comfort,  gentle 
Constance ! 

Const.  No,  I  dcfy*^  all  counsel,  all  redress, 
But  that  which  ends  all  counsel,  true  redress, 
Death,  death  : — O  amiabic  lovely  death  I 
Thou  odoriferous  sterich  !  sound  rottenness  ! 
Arise  forth  from  the  couch  of  lasting  night, 
Thou  hate  and  terror  to  prosperity. 
And  I  will  kiss  thy  detestable  bones ; 
And  put  my  eye-balls  in  thy  vaulty  brows  ; 
And  ring  these  fingers  witii  thy  household  worms  ; 
And  stop  this  gap  of  breath  witli  fulsome  dust, 
And  be  a  carrion  monster  like  thvself : 
Come,  grin  on  me  ;  and  I  will  think  thou  smil'st, 
And  buss  thee  as  thy  wife  !    Misery's  love, 
0,  come  to  me ! 

K.  Phi.  O  fiir  aflliction,  peace. 

Const.  No,  no,  I  will  not,  having  breath  to  cry : — 
O,  that  my  tongue  w-erc  in  the  thunder's  mouth  ! 
Then  with  a  passion  would  I  shake  the  world ; 
And  rouse  from  sleep  that  fell  anatomy. 
Which  cannot  hear  a  lady's  feeble  voice, 
Wliich  scorns  a  modern'  invocation. 

Pand.  Lady,  you  utter  madness,  and  not  sorrow. 

Const.  Thou  art  not  holy  to  belie  me  so  ; 
I  am  not  mad :  this  hair  I  tear,  is  mine  ; 
My  name  is  Constance ;  I  ivas  Geflrey's  wife ; 
Young  Arthur  is  my  son,  and  he  is  lost : 
I  am  not  mad  ; — I  would  to  heaven,  I  were  ! 
For  then,  'tis  like  I  should  forget  myself: 
O,  if  I  could,  what  grief  should  I  forget ! — 
Preach  some  philosophy  lo  make  me"mad. 
And  thou  shalt  be  canoniz'd,  cardinal ; 
For,  being  not  mad,  but  sensible  of  grief. 
My  reasonable  part  produces  reason 
How  I  may  be  delivcr'd  of  these  woes. 
And  teaches  me  to  kill  or  hang  myself ; 
If  i  were  mad,  I  should  forget  my  son  ; 
Or  madly  think,  a  babe  of  clouts  were  he  : 
I  am  not  mad  ;  too  well,  too  well  I  feel 
The  diflcrent  plague  of  each  calaniitv. 

K.  Phi.  Bind  up  those  tresses :  O,  what  love  I 
note 
In  the  fair  multitude  of  those  her  hairs  ! 
Where  but  by  chance  a  silver  drop  hath  fallen. 
Even  to  that  drop  ten  thousand  wiry  friends 
Do  glew  themselves  in  sociable  grief; 
Like  true,  inseparable,  faithful  loves. 
Sticking  tnirether  in  calamity. 

Const.  To  England,  if  you  will. 

K.  Phi.  Bind  np  your  hairs. 

Const.  Yes,  that  I  will ;  and  wherefore  will  I  do  it  ? 
I  tore  them  from  their  bonds  ;  and  cried  aloud, 
O  that  these  hands  could  so  redeem  my  son, 
.Is  they  have  given  these  hairs  their  liberty  ! 
But  now  I  envy  at  their  liberty. 
And  will  again  commit  them  to  their  bonds, 

Because  my  pooi-  child  is  a  prisoner. 

And,  father  cardinal,  I  have  heard  you  say, 
That  we  shall  see  and  know  our  friends  in  heaven 

(5)  Orercome.      (6)  Refuse,      (7). Common, 


I 


Sienei. 


KING  JOHN. 


351 


If  that  be  true,  1  shall  see  my  boy  again  ; 
For,  since  the  birth  of  Cain,  the  first  male  child, 
To  him  that  did  but  yesterday  suspire,' 
There  was  not  such  a  jjracious-  creature  born. 
But  nov.-  v.ill  canker  sorrow  eat  my  bud. 
And  chasi>  the  native  beauty  from  his  cheek. 
And  he  i.  ill  look  as  hollow  as  a  ghost ; 
As  dim  and  meagre  as  an  ague's  fit ; 
And  so  he'll  die  ;  and,  rising  so  again, 
When  I  shall  meet  him  in  the  court  of  heaven, 
I  shall  not  know  him :  therefore  never,  never 
Must  I  behold  my  pretty  Arthur  more. 

Pond.  You  hold  foo  heinous  a  respect  of  grief. 

Const.  He  talks  to  me,  that  never  had  a  son. 

K.  Phi.  You  are  as  fond  of  grief,  as  of  your  child. 

Const.  Grief  fills  the  room  up  of  my  absent  child, 
Lies  in  his  bed,  walks  up  and  down  with  me  ; 
Puts  on  liis  pretty  looks,  repeats  his  words, 
Remembers  me  of  all  his  gracious  parts, 
Stufis  out  his  vacant  garments  with  his  form ; 
Then,  have  I  reason  to  be  fond  of  grief. 
Fare  tou  well :  had  j'ou  such  a  loss  as  I, 
I  could  give  better  comfort  than  you  do. — 
I  will  not  keep  this  form  upon  my  head, 

[Tern-ins  off  her  head-dress. 
When  there  is  such  disorder  in  my  wit. 
O  lord  !  my  boy,  my  Arthur,  my  "fair  son  I 
My  life,  my  joy,  my  food,  my  all  the  world ! 
My  widow-comfort,  and  my  sorrows'  cure !  [Exit. 

K.  Phi.  1  fear  some  outrage,  and  I'll  follow  her. 

[Exit. 

Lew.  There's  nothing  in  this  world,  can  make 
me  joy : 
Life  is  as  tedious  as  a  twice-told  tale. 
Vexing  the  dull  ear  of  a  drow^sy  nmn  ; 
And  bitter  shame  hath  spoird  the  sweet  ivorld's 

taste. 
That  it  yields  nought,  but  shame,  and  bitterness. 

Pand.  Before  the  curing  of  a  strong  disease, 
Even  in  the  instant  of  repair  and  health, 
The  fit  is  strongest ;  evils,  that  take  leave. 
On  their  departure  most  of  all  show  evil : 
W'hat  have  you  lost  by  losing  of  this  day  ? 

I^w.  All  days  of  glory,  joy,  and  happuiess. 

Pand.  If  you  have  won  it,  certainly  you  had. 
No,  no :  wiien  fortune  means  to  men  most  good, 
She  looks  upon  tliein  with  a  threatening  eye. 
'Tis  stranie,  to  think  how  much  king  John  hath  lost 
In  this  which  he  accounts  so  clearly  won  : 
Are  not  you  grieved,  that  Arthur  is  his  prisoner? 

Lew.  As  heartily,  as  he  is  glad  he  hath  him. 

Pand.  Your  mind  is  all  as  youthful  as  your  blood. 
Now  hear  me  speak  with  a  prophetic  spirit  ; 
For  even  the  breatli  of  what  1  mean  to  speak 
Shall  blow  each  dust,  each  straw,  each  little  rub, 
Out  of  the  path  which  shall  directly  lead 
Thy  foot  to  England's  throne ;  and,  therefore,  mark. 
John  hath  seiz'd  Arthur ;  and  it  cannot  be. 
That,  whiles  warm  life  plays  in  that  infant's  veins, 
The  misplac'd  John  should  entertain  an  hour. 
One  minute,  nay,  one  quiet  breath  of  rest : 
A  sceptre,  snatch'd  with  an  unruly  hand. 
Must  be  as  boisterously  maintain'd  as  gain'd  : 
And  he,  that  stands  upon  a  slippery  place. 
Makes  nice  of  no  vile  hold  to  stay' him  up : 
That  John  may  stand,  then  Arthur  needs  must  fail ; 
So  be  it,  for  it  cannot  be  but  so. 

Lew.  But  what  shall  I  gain  by  young  Arthur's 
fall? 

Pand.  You,  in  the  right  of  lady  Blanch,  your 
wife. 
May  then  make  all  the  claim  that  Arthur  did. 

(1)  Breathe,  _  (2)  Graceful.      (3)  Tapestry. 


I     Letc.  And  lose  it,  life  and  all,  as  Arthur  did. 
I    Pand.  How  green  are  you,  and  fresh  in  this  old 
I  world ! 

;  John  lays  you  plots  ;  the  times  conspire  with  vou : 
[For  he,  that  steeps  his  safety  in  true  blood, 
;  Shall  find  but  bloody  safety^  and  untrue. 
•This  act,  so  evilly  born,  shall  cool  the  heart? 
!<)f  all  his  people,  and  freeze  up  their  zeal ; 
That  none  so  small  advantage  shall  step  forth, 
To  check  his  reign,  but  they  will  cherish  it: 
No  natural  exhalation  in  the  skj-. 
No  'scape  of  nature,  no  distemper'd  day, 
No  common  wind,  no  customed  event, 
But  they  will  pluck  away  his  natural  cause, 
And  call  them  meteors,  prodigies,  and  signs, 
Abortives,  presages,  and  tongues  of  heaven, 
Plainly  denouncnig  vengeance  upon  John. 

Lew.  May  be,  he  will  not  touch  voung  Arthur's 
life. 
But  hold  himself  safe  in  his  prisonment. 

Pand.   O,  sir,  when  he  shall  hear  of  your  ap* 
proach. 
If  that  young  Arthur  be  not  gone  alreadv. 
Even  at  that  news  he  dies  :  and  then  the'hearta 
Of  all  liis  people  shall  revolt  from  him. 
And  kiss  the  lips  of  unacquainted  change  ; 
Ami  pick  strong  matter  of  revolt,  and  wrath, 
Out  of  the  bloody  fingers'  ends  of  John. 
Metliinks,  I  see  this  hurly  all  on  foot ; 
And,  O,  what  better  matter  breeds  for  vou. 
Than  I  have  nam'd  !— The  bastard  Faulconbridge 
Is  now  in  England,  ransacking  the  church, 
Oflcnding  charity :  If  but  a  dozen  French 
Were  there  in  arms,  they  would  be  as  a  call 
To  train  ten  thousand  English  to  their  si<le  ; 
Or,  as  a  little  snow,  tumbled  about, 
Anon  becomes  a  mountain.     O  noble  Dauphin, 
Go  with  me  to  the  king:  'Tis  wonderful. 
What  may  be  wrought  out  of  their  discontent : 
Now  that  their  souls  are  topful  of  offence. 
For  England  go  ;  I  will  w  het  on  the  king. 

Leic.  Strong  reasons  make  strong  actions :  Let 
us  go ; 
If  you  say,  ay,  tho  king  will  not  sav,  no.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  IV. 

SCEJs'E  /. — Northampton.    AroMninllucaaUt. 
Enter  Hubert  and  two  Attendants. 

Hub.  Heat  mc  these  irons  hot :  and,  look  thou 
stand 
\yithin  the  arras  :'  when  I  strike  mv  foot 
Upon  the  bosom  of  the  ground,  rush  forth  : 
And  bind  the  boy,  which  you  shall  find  witii  me, 
Fast  to  the  chair :  be  hee'dful :  hence,  and  watch. 
1  Attend.    I  hope,  your  warrant  will  bear  out 

the  deed. 
Hub.   Uncleanly  scruples  !  Fear  not  vou :  look 
to't.—  [Exeunt  Attendants. 

\  oung  lad,  come  forth  ;  I  have  to  say  with  you. 

Enter  Arthur. 

Arth.  Good  morrow,  Hubert. 

Hub.  Good  morrow,  little  prince. 

Arth.  As  little  prince  (having  so  great  a  title 
To  be  more  prince)  as  may  be.— You  are  sad. 

Hub.  Indeed,  I  have  been  merrier. 

Arth.  Mercy  on  me  | 

Methinks,  nobody  should  be  sad  but  I : 
Yet,  I  remember,  when  I  was  in  France, 
Young  gentlemen  would  be  as  sad  as  night, 


d52 


KING  JOHN. 


Act  IV, 


Only  for  wantonness.    By  my  Christendom, 

So  I  were  out  of  prison,  and  kept  sheep, 

I  should  be  as  merry  as  the  day  is  long ; 

And  so  I  would  be  here,  but  that  1  doubt 

My  uncle  practises  more  harm  to  me : 

He  is  afraid  of  me,  and  I  of  him : 

Is  it  my  fault  that  I  was  Geffrey's  son? 

No,  indeed,  is't  not ;  And  I  would  to  heaven, 

I  were  your  son,  so  you  would  love  me,  Hubert. 

Hub.  If  I  talk  to  him,  with  his  innocent  prate 
He  will  awake  my  mercy,  which  lies  dead : 
Therefore  I  will  be  sudden,  and  despatch,    [^iside. 

Arlh.  Are  you  sick,  Hubert  ?  you  look  pale  to- 
day: 
In  sooth,  I  would  vou  were  a  little  sick ; 
That  I  might  sit  all  nigfht,  and  watch  with  you : 


Hxib.  Give  me  the  iron,  I  say,  and  bind  him  here. 

Arth,   Alas,  what  need  you  be  so  boist'rous 
rough? 
I  will  not  struggle,  I  will  stand  stone-still. 
For  heaven's  sake,  Hubert,  let  me  not  be  bound ! 
Nay,  hear  me,  Hubert !  drive  these  men  away, 
And  I  ivill  sit  as  quiet  as  a  lamb  ; 
I  will  not  stir,  nor  wince,  nor  speak  a  word, 
Nor  look  upon  the  iron  angerly  : 
Thrust  but  these  men  away,  and  I'll  forgive  you, 
Whatever  torment  you  do  put  me  to. 

Huh.  Go,  stand  within ;  let  me  alone  with  him. 

1  Jlttend,  I  am  best  pleas'd  to  be  from  such  a 
deed.  [Exeunl  Attendants. 

Arth.  Alas  !  I  then  have  chid  away  my  friend ; 
He  hath  a  stern  look,  but  a  gentle  heart  :- 


1  warrantj'l  love  you  more  than  you  do  me.  Xet  him  come  back,  that  his  compassion  may 

Ht^.  His  words  do  take  possession  of  any  bo-  Give  life  to  yours. 

som. —  ,  !     Hub,  Come,  boy,  prepare  yourself. 

Read  here,  young  Arthur.    [Sliowing  ft  paper.]  ■    Arth.  Is  there  no  remedy  ? 

How  now,  foolish  rheum  ?  \Aside.\    Hub.  None,  but  to  lose  your  eyes. 

Turning  dispiteous  torture  out  of  door!  |     Arth.  O  hearen ! — that  there  were  but  a  mote 

I  must  be  brief ;  lest  resolution  drop  j  in  yours, 

A  grain,  a  dust,  a  gnat,  a  wand'ring  hair, 
Any  annoyance  in  that  precious  sense  ! 


Out  at  mine  eyes,  in  tender  womanish  tears. 

Can  you  not  read  it?  is  it  not  fair  writ  ? 

Arth.  Too  fairly,  Hubert,  for  so  foul  effect: 
Must  you  with  hot  irons  burn  out  both  mine  eyes? 

Hiio.  Young  boy,  1  must. 

Arth.  '  And  will  vou  ? 

Hub.  "And  I  will. 

Arth.   Have  you  the  heart?  When  your  head 
did  but  ache, 
I  knit  my  handkerchief  about  your  brows, 
(The  best  I  had,  a  princess  wrought  it  me,) 
And  I  did  never  ask  it  you  a2;ain  : 
And  with  my  hand  at  midnight  held  your  head; 
And,  like  the  watchful  minutes  to  the  hour, 
Still  and  anon  cheer'd  up  the  heavT  time  ; 
Saying,  What  lack  you  ?   and,  Where  lies  your 

grief? 
Or,  What  good  love  may  I  perform  for  you  ? 
Many  a  poor  man's  son  would  have  lain  still, 
And  ne'er  have  spoke  a  loving  word  to  you ; 
But  you  at  your  sick  service  had  a  prince. 
Nay,  you  may  think,  my  love  was  crafty  love, 
And  call  it  cunning  ;  Do,  an  if  you  will  : 
If  heaven  be  pleas'd  that  vou  must  use  me  ill, 
Why,  then  you  must. — ^\Vill  you  put  out  mine 

eyes  ? 
These  eyes,  that  never  did,  nor  never  shall, 
So  much  as  frown  on  you  ? 

Hub.  I  have  sworn  to  do  it ; 

And  with  hot  irons  must  I  burn  them  out. 

Arth.  Ah,  none,  but  in  this  iron  age,  would  do  it ! 
The  iron  of  itself,  though  heat  red-hot, 
Approaching  near  these  eyes,   would  drink  my 

tears, 
And  quench  his  fiery  indignation, 
Even  in  the  matter  of  mine  innocence  : 
Nay,  after  that,  consume  away  in  rust, 
But  for  containing  fire  to  harm  mine  eye. 
Are  vou  more  stubborn-hard  than  hanimer'd  iron? 
An  if  an  angel  should  have  come  to  me, 
And  told  me,  Hubert  should  put  out  mine  eyes, 
I  would  not  have  believ'd  no  tongue,  but  Hubert's. 

Huh.  Come  forth.  [Stamps. 

Re-entei-  Attendants,  with  cord,  irons,  if'C, 

Do  as  I  bid  you  no. 
Arth.  O,  save  me,  Hubert,  save  me!  my  eyes 
are  out. 
Etch  with  the  fierce  looks  of  these  bloody  men. 

(1 )  In  crueltT  I  hare  not  deserted. 


Then,  feehng  what  small  things  are  boist'rous  there, 
Your  vile  intent  must  needs  seem  horrible. 

Hub.  Is  tliis  your  promise?  go  to,  hold  your 
tongue. 

Arlh.  Hubert,  the  utterance  of  a  brace  of  tongues 
Must  needs  want  pleading  for  a  pair  of  eyes : 
Let  me  not  hold  my  tongue;  let  me  not,' Hubert! 
Or,  Hubert,  if  you  will,  cut  out  my  tongue, 
So  I  may  keep  mine  eyes  :  O,  spare  mine  eyes  ; 
Though  to  no  use,  but  still  to  look  on  you  I 
Lo,  by  my  troth,  the  instrument  is  cold, 
And  would  not  harm  me. 

Hub.  I  can  heat  it,  boy. 

Arth.  No,  in  good  sooth;  the  fire  is  dead  with 
grief, 
Bemg  create  lor  comfort,  to  be  us'd 
In  undeserv'd  extremes  :  •  See  else  yourself ; 
There  is  no  malice  in  this  burning  coal ; 
The  breath  of  licaven  hath  blown  his  spirit  out, 
And  strew'd  repentant  ashes  on  his  head. 

Hub.  But  v.ith  my  breath  I  can  revive  it,  boy. 

Arth.  And  if  you  do,  you  Avill  but  make  it  blush, 
And  glow  with  shame  of  your  proceedings,  Hubert : 
Nay,  it,  perchance,  will  sparkle  in  your  eyes  ; 
And,  like  a  dog  that  is  compell'd  to  fight,' 
Snatch  at  his  master  that  doth  tarre-  him  on. 
All  things,  that  you  should  use  to  do  me  wrong. 
Deny  their  office :  only  you  do  lack 
That  mercy,  which  fierce  fire,  and  iron,  extends, 
Creatures  of  note,  for  mercy-lacking  uses. 

Hub.  Well,  see  to  live ;  1  will  not  touch  thine 
eyes 
For  all  the  trca:sures  that  thine  uncle  owes :' 
Yet  am  I  sworn,  and  I  did  purpose,  boy. 
With  this  same  very  iron  to  burn  them  out 

Arth.  O,  now  yon  look  like  Hubert!  all  this 
while 
You  were  disguised. 

Huh.  Peace  :  no  more.    Adieu ; 

Your  uncle  must  not  know  but  you  are  dead: 
I'll  fill  these  docrged  spies  with  false  reports. 
And,  pretty  child,  sleep  doubtless,  and  secure, 
That  Hul)ert,  for  the  wealth  of  all  the  world. 
Will  not  offend  thee. 

Arth.  O  heaven  !— I  thank  you,  Hubert. 

Hub.  Silence;  no  more:  Go  closely*  in  with  me; 
Much  danger  do  I  undergo  for  thee.  [Exnmt, 

(2)  Set  him  on.      (3)  Owns.       (4)  Secretly, 


Seent  tt. 


KING  JOHN. 


318 


SCEJ^E  II.— The  same.    A  room  qf  state  in  the 

palace.    Enter  King  John,  crowned  ;  Pembroke, 

Salisbury,  and  other  lords.    The  king  takes  his 

stcUe. 

K.  John.  Here  once  again  we  sit,  once  again 
crown'd, 
And  look'd  upon,  I  hope,  with  cheerful  eyes. 

Pern.  This  once  again,  but  that  your  highness 
pleas'd, 
Was  once  superfluous :  you  were  crown'd  before, 
And  that  high  royalty  was  ne'er  pluck'd  off; 
The  faiths  of  men  ne'er  stained  with  revolt; 
Fresh  expectation  troubled  not  the  land. 
With  any  long'd-for  change,  or  better  state. 

Sal.  Therefore,  to  be  possess'd  with  double  pomp. 
To  guard'  a  title  that  was  rich  before, 
To  gild  refined  gold,  to  paint  the  lily. 
To  throw  a  peruime^on  the  violet, 
To  smooth  the  ice,  or  add  another  hue 
Unto  the  rainbow,  or  with  taper-light 
To  seek  the  beauteous  eye  of  heaven  to  garnish,* 
Is  wasteful,  and  ridiculous  excess. 

Pern.  But  that  your  royal  pleasure  must  be  done, 
This  act  is  as  an  ancient  tale  new  told  ; 
And,  in  the  last  repeating,  troublesome, 
Being  urged  at  a  time  unseasonable. 

Sal.  In  this,  the  antique  and  well-noted  face 
Of  plain  old  form  is  much  disfigured : 
And,  like  a  shifted  wind  unto  a  sail, 
It  makes  the  course  of  thoughts  to  fetch  about ; 
Startles  and  frights  consideration  ; 
Makes  sound  opinion  sick,  and  truth  suspected. 
For  putting  on  so  new  a  fashion'd  robe. 

Pem.  When  workmen  strive  to  do  better  than 
well. 
They  do  confound  their  skill  in  covetousness :' 
And,  oftentimes,  excusing  of  a  fault. 
Doth  make  the  fault  the  worse  by  the  excuse  ; 
As  patches,  set  upon  a  little  breach, 
Discredit  more  in  hidhig  of  the  fault, 
Than  did  the  fault  before  it  was  so  patch'd. 

Sal.  To  this  effect,  before  you  were  new-crown'd. 
We  breath'd  our  counsel :  but  it  pleas'd  your  high- 
ness 
To  overbear  it ;  and  we  are  all  well  pleas'd ; 
Since  all  and  every  part  of  what  we  would. 
Doth  make  a  stand  at  what  your  highness  will. 

K.  John.  Some  reasons  of  this  double  coronation 
I  have  possess'd  you  with,  and  think  them  strong  ; 
And  more,  more  strong  (when  lesser  is  my  fear,) 
I  shall  indue  you  with  :  Meantime,  but  ask 
What  you  would  have  reform'd,  that  is  not  well ; 
And  well  shall  you  perceive,  how  willinp-ly 
I  will  both  hear  and  grant  you  your  requests. 

Pem.  Then  I,  (as  one  that  am  the  tongue  of  these. 
To  sound*  the  purposes  of  all  their  hearts,) 
Both  for  myself,  and  them,  (but,  chief  of  all, 
Your  safety,  for  the  which  myself  and  them 
Bend  their  best  studies,)  heartily  request 
The  enfranchisement'  of  Arthur ;  whose  restraint 
Doth  move  the  murmuring  lips  of  discontent, 
To  break  into  this  dangerous  argument, — 
If,  what  in  rest  you  have,  in  right  you  hold. 
Why  then  your  fears  (which,  as  they  say,  attend 
The  steps  of  wrong,)  should  move  you  to  mew  up 
Your  tender  kinsman,  and  to  choke  his  days 
With  barbarous  ignorance,  and  deny  his  youth 
The  rich  advantage  of  good  exercise  ? 
That  the  time's  enemies  may  not  have  this 
To  grace  occasions,  let  it  be  our  suit, 
That  you  have  bid  us  ask  his  liberty , 

(1)  Lace.  (2)  Decorate. 

(3)  Desire  of  excelling.  (4)  Fubliah, 


Which  for  our  goods  we  do  no  further  ask. 
Than  whereupon  our  weal,  on  you  depen£ng, 
Counts  it  your  weal,  he  have  his  liberty. 
K.  John.  Let  it  be  so ;  I  do  commit  his  youth 

Enter  Hubert. 

To  your  direction.— Hubert,  what  news  with  you  ? 

Pem.  This  is  the  man  should  do  the  bloody  deed ; 
He  show'd  his  warrant  to  a  friend  of  mine: 
The  image  of  a  wicked  heinous  fault 
Lives  in  his  eye ;  that  close  aspect  of  his 
Does  show  the  mood  of  a  much-troubled  breast ; 
And  I  do  fearfully  believe,  'lis  done. 
What  we  so  fear'd  he  had  a  charge  to  do. 

Sal.  The  colour  of  the  king  doth  come  and  go, 
Between  his  purpose  and  his  conscience. 
Like  heralds  'twixt  two  dreadful  battles  set: 
His  passion  is  so  ripe,  it  needs  must  break. 

Pem.  And,  when  it  breaks,  I  fear,  will  issue 
thence 
The  foul  corruption  of  a  sweet  child's  death. 

K.  John.   We  cannot  hold  mortality's  strong 
hand : — 
Good  lords,  although  my  will  to  give  is  living. 
The  suit  which  you  demand  is  gone  and  dead : 
He  tells  us,  Arthur  is  deceas'd  to-night, 

Sal.  Indeed,  we  fear'd,  his  sickness  was  past  cure. 

Pem.  Indeed  we  heard  how  near  his  death  he  was, 
Before  the  child  lumself  felt  he  was  sick : 
This  must  be  answer'd,  either  here,  or  hence. 

K.  John.  Why  do  you  bend  such  solemn  brows 
on  me  7 
Think  you,  I  bear  the  shears  of  destiny  ? 
Have  I  commandment  on  the  pulse  of  life? 

Sal.  It  is  apparent  foul  play  :  and  'tis  shame, 
That  greatness  should  so  grossly  offer  it : 
So  thrive  it  in  your  game !  and  so  farewell ! 

Pem.  Stay  yet,  lord  Salisbury ;  I'll  go  with  thee. 
And  find  the  inheritance  of  this  poor  child. 
His  little  kingdom  of  a  forced  grave. 
That  blood,  which  ow'd^  the  breath  of  all  this  isle. 
Three  foot  of  it  doth  hold  ;  Bad  world  the  while  ! 
This  must  not  be  thus  borne  :  this  will  break  out 
To  all  our  sorrows,  and  ere  long,  I  doubt. 

[Exeunt  Lords. 

K.  John.  They  burn  in  indignation  ;  I  repent ; 
There  is  no  sure  foundation  set  on  blood ; 
No  certain  life  achiev'd  by  others'  death.—— 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
A  fearful  eye  thou  hast ;  Where  is  that  blood, 
That  I  have  seen  inhabit  in  those  cheeks  ? 
So  foul  a  sky  clears  not  without  a  storm : 
Pour  down  thy  weather :  — How  goes  all  in  France  ? 

Mess.  From  France  to  England. — Never  such  a 
/power' 
For  any  foreign  preparation, 
Was  levied  in  the  body  of  a  land  ! 
The  copy  of  your  speed  is  learn'd  by  them ; 
For,  when  you  should  be  told  they  do  prepare, 
The  tidings  come,  that  they  are  all  arriv'o. 

K.  John.  O,  where  hath  our  intelligence  been 
drunk? 
Where  hath  it  slept  ?  Where  is  my  mother's  care ; 
That  such  an  army  could  be  drawn  in  France, 
And  she  not  hear  of  it  ? 

Mess.  TVIy  liege,  her  ear 

Is  stopp'd  with  dust ;  the  first  of  April,  died 
Your  noble  mother :  And,  as  I  hear,  my  lord, 
The  lady  Constance  in  a  frenzy  died 
Three  days  before :  but  this  from  rumour's  tongue 
I  idly  heard;  if  true,  or  false,  I  know  not. 


(5)  Beleuement. 


(6)  Owned. 
8Y 


(7)  Force. 


354 


KING  JOHN. 


^ct  ir. 


n 


K.  John.  Withliold  thy  speed,  dreadful  occasion 
O,  make  a  league  with  me,  till  I  have  pleas' d 
My  discontented  peers ! — What !  mother  dead  ? 
How  wildly  then  walks  my  estate  in  France ! — 
Under  whose  conduct  came  those  powers  of  France, 
That  thou  for  truth  pv'st  out,  are  landed  here  ? 

Mess.  Under  the  dauphin. 
Enter  tke  Bastard,  and  Peter  of  Pomfret. 

K.  John.  Thou  hast  made  me  giddy 

With  these  ill  tidings. — Now,  what  says  the  world 
To  your  proceedings  ?  do  not  seek  to  stuff 
My  head  with  more  ill  news,  for  it  is  full. 

Bast.  But,  if  you  be  afeard  to  hear  the  worst, 
Then  let  the  worst,  unheard,  fall  on  your  head. 

K.  John.  Bear  with  me,  cousin ;  for  I  was  amaz'd' 
Under  the  tide  :  but  noAV  I  breathe  agam 
Aloft  the  flood  ;  and  can  ^ive  audience 
To  any  Tongue,  speak  it  ol  what  it  will. 

Bast.  How  I  have  sped  among  the  clergyman. 
The  sums  I  have  collected  shall  express. 
But,  as  I  travelled  hither  through  the  land, 
I  find  the  people  strangely  fantasicd  ; 
Possess'd  with  rumours,  lull  of  idle  dreams ; 
]Sot  knowing  what  they  fear,  but  full  of  fear : 
And  here's  a  prophet,  that  I  brought  with  me 
From  forth  the  streets  of  Pomfret,  whom  I  found 
With  many  hundreds  treading  on  his  heels  ; 
To  whom  he  sung,  in  rude  harsh-sounding  rhymes, 
That,  ere  the  next  Ascension-day  at  noon. 
Your  highness  should  deliver  up  your  crown. 

K.  John.  Thou  idle  dreamer,  wherefore  didst 
thou  so  ? 

Peter.  Foreknowing  that  the  truth  will  fall  out  so. 

K.  John.  Hubert,  away  with  him ;  imprison  him  ; 
And  on  that  day,  at  noon,  whereon  he  says 
I  shall  yield  up  my  crown,  let  him  be  hang'd: 
Deliver  him  to  safety,''  and  return, 
For  I  must  use  thee. — O  mv  gentle  cousin, 

[Ent  Hubert  toith  Peter. 
Hear'st  thou  the  news  abroad,  who  are  arriv'd  ? 

Bast.  The  French,  my  lord ;  men's  mouths  are 
full  of  it: 
Besides,  I  met  lord  Bigot,  and  lord^Salisbury, 
^With  eyes  as  red  as  new-enkindled  fire,) 
And  others  more,  going  to  seek  the  grave 
Of  Arthur,  who,  they  say,  is  kill'd  to-night 
On  your  suggestion. 

A.  John.  Gentle  kinsman,  go, 

And  thrust  thyself  into  their  companies : 
I  have  a  way  to  win  their  loves  again  ; 
Bring  them  before  me. 

Bast.  I  will  seek  them  out. 

K.  John.  Nay,  but  make  haste ;  the  better  foot 

before. 

O,  let  me  have  no  subject  enemies, 

VVhen  adverse  foreigners  affright  my  towns 

With  dreadful  pomp  of  stout  mvasion  ! — 

Be  Mercury,  set  feathers  to  thy  heels ; 

And  fly,  like  thought,  from  them  to  me  again. 

Bast.  The  spirit  of  the  time  shall  teach  me  speed. 

[Exit. 

K.  John.  Spoke  like  a  sprightful  noble  gentle- 
man.— 
Go  afler  him ;  for  he,  perhaps,  shall  need 
Some  messenger  betwixt  me  and  the  peers ; 
And  be  thou  he. 

Mess.  With  all  my  heart,  my  liege.   [Exit. 

K.  John.  My  mother  dead ! 

Re-enter  Hubert. 

Huh.  My  lord,  they  say,  five  moons  were  seen 
to-night : 

(1)  Stunned,  confound«^t  (2)  Cu9t<>dy,    , 


Four  fixed ;  and  the  fifth  did  whirl  about 
The  other  four,  in  wond'rous  motion. 

K.  John.  Five  moons  ? 

Hub.  Old  men,  and  bedlams, 

in  the  streets 
Do  prophesy  upon  it  dangerously : 
Young  Arthur's  death  is  common  in  their  mouths : 
And  when  they  talk  of  him,  they  shake  their  heads, 
And  whisper  one  another  in  the  ear  ; 
And  he,  that  speaks,  doth  gripe  the  hearer's  wrist ; 
Whilst  he,  that  hears,  makes  fearful  action. 
With  wrinkled  brows,  with   nods,  with   rolling 

eyes. 
I  saw  a  smith  stind  with  liis  hammer,  thus, 
The  whilst  his  iron  did  on  the  anvil  cool. 
With  open  mouth  swallowing  a  tailor's  news  ; 
Who,  with  his  shears  and  measure  in  his  hand, 
Standing  on  slippers  (which  his  nimble  haste 
Had  falsely  thrust  upon  contr&ry  feet,) 
Told  of  a  many  thousand  warlike  French, 
That  were  embattled,  and  rank'd  in  Kent : 
Another  lean  unwash'd  artificer 
Cuts  off  his  tale,  and  talks  of  Arthur's  death. 

K.  John.  Why  seek'st  thou  tc  possess  me  with 
these  fears  ? 
Why  urgest  thou  so  ofl  young  Arthur's  death  ? 
Thy  hand  hath  murder'd  him :  I  had  mighty  cause 
To  wish  him  dead,  but  thou  hadst  none  to  kill  him. 

Hub.  Had  none,  my  lord  !  why,  did  you  not  pro- 
voke me  ? 

K.  John.  It  is  the  curse  of  kings,  to  be  attended 
By  slaves  that  take  their  humours  for  a  warrant 
To  break  within  the  bloody  house  of  life : 
And,  on  the  winking  of  authority. 
To  understand  a  law  ;  to  know  the  meaning 
Of  dangerous  majesty,  when,  perchance,  it  frowns 
More  upon  humour  than  advis'd  respect.^ 

Hub.  Here  is  your  hand  and  seal  for  what  i 
did. 

K.  John.  O,  when  the  last  account  'twixt  heaven 
and  earth 
Is  to  be  made,  then  shall  this  hand  and  seal 
Witness  against  us  to  damnation  ! 
How  oft  the  sight  of  means  to  do  ill  deeds. 
Makes  deeds  ill  done  !  Hadest  not  thou  been  by, 
A  fellow  by  the  hand  of  nature  mark'd. 
Quoted,''  and  sign'd,  to  do  a  deed  of  shame, 
This  murder  had  not  come  into  my  mind : 
But,  taking  note  of  thy  abhorr'd  aspect. 
Finding  thee  fit  for  bloody  villany. 
Apt,  liable,  to  be  employ'd  in  danger, 
I  faintly  broke  with  thee  of  Arthur's  death ; 
And  thou,  to  be  endeared  to  a  king. 
Made  it  no  consciaice  to  destroy  a  prince. 

Hub.  My  lord,-— 

K.  John.    Hadst  thou  but  shook  thy  head,  ot 
made  a  pause. 
When  I  spake  darkly  ivhat  I  purposed  ; 
Or  turn'd  an  eye  of  doubt  upon  my  face, 
As  bid  me  tell  my  tale  in  express  words ; 
Deep  shame  had  struck  me  dumb,  made  me  break 

off. 
And  those  thy  fears  might  have  wrought  fears  in 

me: 
But  thou  didst  understand  me  by  my  signs, 
And  didst  in  signs  again  parley  v/iih  sin ; 
Yea,  without  stop,  didst  let  thy  heart  consent. 
And,  consequently,  thy  rude  hand  to  act 
The  deed,  which  both  our  tongues  held  vile  to 

name. — 

Out  of  my  sight,  and  never  see  me  more ! 
My  nobles  leave  me ;  and  my  state  is  brav'd, 

(3)  Deliberate  consideration,      (4)  Observed, 


$iene  III. 


KING  JOHN. 


356 


Even  at  my  gates,  with  ranks  of  foreign  powers  ; 

Nay,  in  the  Body  of  this  fleshly  land, ' 

This  kingdom,  this  confine  of  blood  and  breath, 

Hostility  and  civil  tumult  reigns 

Between  my  conscience,  and  my  cousin's  death. 

Hub.  Ann  you  against  your  other  enemies, 
I'll  make  a  peace  between  your  soul  and  you. 
Young  Arthur  is  alive  :  This  hand  of  mine 
Is  3'et  a  maiden  atid  an  irmocent  hand, 
Not  painted  witli  the  crimson  spots  of  blood. 
AVithin  this  bosom  never  enter'd  yet 
The  dreadful  motion  of  a  murd'rous  thought, 
And  you  have  slander'd  nature  in  my  form  ; 
Which,  howsoever  rude  exteriorly, 
Is  yet  the  cover  of  a  fairer  mind 
Than  to  be  butcher  of  an  innocent  child. 

A'.  John.  Doth  Arthur  live  >   O,  haste  thee  to 
the  peers. 
Throw  this  report  on  their  incensed  rage, 
And  make  them  tame  to  their  obedience ! 
Forgive  the  comment  that  my  passion  made 
Upon  thv  feature  ;  for  my  rage  was  blind, 
And  fouf  imaginary  eyes  of  blood 
Presented  thee  more  hideous  than  thou  art. 
0,  answer  not ;  but  to  my  closet  bring 
The  angry  lords,  with  all  expedient^  haste  : 
f  c6njure  thee  but  slowly  ;  run  more  fast.       [Exe. 

aCRN'E  III.— The  same.    Before  the  caslle.   En- 
ter Arthur,  en  the  irnlls. 
Arth.   The  wall  is  high;   and  yet  will  I  leap 
down  : — 
Good  ground,  be  pitiful,  and  hurt  rae  not ! — 
There's  few,  or  none,  do  know  me  ;  if  they  did, 
This  ship-boy's  semblance  hath  disguis'd  me  quite. 
I  am  afraid ;  and  yet  I'll  venture  it. 
If  I  get  down,  and  do  not  break  my  limbs, 
I'll  find  a  thousand  shifts  to  get  away : 
As  good  to  die,  and  go,  as  die,  and  star. 

[Len/js  doicn. 
0  me  !  my  uncle's  spirit  is  in  these  stones : — 
Heaven  take  my  soul,  and  England  keep  my  bones ! 

[Dies. 
Enter  Pembroke,  Salisbury,  and  Bigot. 

Sal.  Lords,  I  will  meet  him  at  Saint  Edmund's- 
bury; 
It  is  our  safety,  and  we  must  embrace 
Phis  gentle  oner  of  the  perilous  time. 

Pern.  Who  brought  that  letter  from  the  cardinal  ? 

Sal.  The  Count  Melun,  a  noble  lord  of  France  ; 
Whose  private  with  me,'  of  the  dauphin's  love. 
Is  much  more  general  than  these  lines  import. 

Big.  To-morrow  mornina-  let  ns  meet  him  then. 

Hid.  Or,  rather  then  set  forward:  for 'twill  be 
Two  long  days'  journey,  lords,  or  e'er  we  meet. 
Enter  the  Bastard. 

Bast.  Once  more  to-day  well  met,  disteraper'd* 
lords ! 
The  kine,  by  me,  requests  your  presence  straieht. 

Sal.  The  king  hath  dispossess'd  himself  of  us  ; 
We  will  not  line  his  thin  bestaincd  rloak 
With  our  pure  honours,  nor  attend  the  foot 
That  leaves  the  print  of  blood  where'er  it  walks : 
Return,  and  tell  him  so  ;  we  know  the  worst. 

Bast.  Whate'er  you  think,  good  words,  I  think, 
were  best. 

Sal.  Ourgriefs,  and  not  our  manners,  reason  now. 

Bast.  But  there  is  little  reason  in  your  grief; 
Therefore,  'twere  reason,  you  had  manners  now. 


(1^  His  own  body. 

13)  Private  account, 
6)  Pity. 


(2)  Expeditious, 
(4)  Out  of  humour. 


Pern.  Sir,  sir,  impatience  hath  his  privilege. 

Bast.  'Tis  true  ;  to  hurt  his  master,  no  man  else. 

Sal.  This  is  the  prison  :  What  is  he  lies  here  ? 
[Seeing:  Arthur. 

Pern.  O  death,  made  proud  with  pure  and  prince- 
ly beauty ! 
The  earth  had  not  a  hole  to  hide  this  deed. 

Sal.  Murder,  as  hating  what  himself  hath  done, 
Doth  lay  it  open,  to  urge  on  revenge. 

Big.  Or,  when  he  doom'd  this  beauty  to  a  grave, 
Found  it  too  precious-princely  for  a  grave. 

S(d.  Sir  Richard,  what  thmk  you?    Have  you 
beheld, 
Or  have  you  read,  or  heard  ?  or  could  you  think  ? 
Or  do  you  almost  think,  although  you  see. 
That  you  do  see?  could  thought,  without  this  object. 
Form  such  another  ?  This  is  the  very  top. 
The  height,  the  crest,  or  crest  unto  the  crest. 
Of  murder's  arms  :  this  is  the  bloodiest  shame, 
The  wildest  savagery,  the  vilest  stroke. 
That  ever  wall-ey'd  wrath,  or  staring  rage, 
Presented  to  the  cars  of  soft  remorse.' 

Pein.  A!l  murders  past  do  stand  excus'd  in  this : 
And  this,  so  sole,  and  so  unmatchable. 
Shall  give  a  holhiess,  a  purity, 
To  the  yet-unbegotten  sin  of  time  ; 
And  prove  a  deadly  bloodshed  but  a  jest, 
Exampled  by  this  heinous  spectacle. 

Bast.  It  is  a  damned  and  a  bloody  work ; 
The  graceless  action  of  a  heavy  hand. 
If  that  it  be  the  work  of  any  hand. 

Sal.  If  that  it  be  the  work  of  any  hand  ?— 
We  had  a  kind  of  light,  what  would  ensue: 
It  is  the  shameful  work  of  Hubert's  hand  ; 
The  practice,  and  the  purpose,  of  the  king:— 
From  whose  obedience  I  forbid  my  soul, 
Kneeling  before  this  ruin  of  sweet  life. 
And  breathing  to  his  breathless  excellence, 
The  incense  of  a  vow,  a  holy  vow  ; 
Never  to  taste  the  pleasures  of  the  world, 
Never  to  be  infected  with  delight, 
Nor  conversant  with  ease  and  idleness, 
Till  I  have  set  a  glory  to  this  hand,* 
By  eivingit  the  worship  of  revenge. 

Pcm.  Big.   Our  souls  religiously  confirm  thy 
words. 

Enter  Hubert. 

Hub.  Lords,  I  am  hot  with  haste  in  seeking  you : 
Arthur  doth  live  ;  the  kinir  hath  sent  for  you. 

Sal.  O,  he  is  bold,  and  blushes  not  at  death : — 
Avaimt,  thou  hateful  villain,  get  thee  gone ! 

Hub.  I  am  no  villain. 

Sal.  Must  I  rob  the  law  ? 

[Drawing  his  stcord. 

Bant.  Your  sword  is  bright,  sir ;  put  it  up  again. 

Snl.  Not  till  I  sheath  it  in  a  murderer's  skin. 

Hub.  Stand  back,  lord  Salisbury,  stand  back,  I 
say  ; 
By  heaven,  I  think,  my  sword's  as  sharp  as  yours : 
I  would  not  have  yoii,'lord,  forget  vourself. 
Nor  t«mpt  the  danger  of  my  true'  defence ;  ' 

Lest  I,  by  marking  of  your' rage,  foreet 
Your  worth,  your  greatness,  and  nobility. 

Big.  Out,  dunghill !  dar'sl  thou  brave  a  noble- 
man? 

Hub.  Not  for  my  life  :  but  yet  I  dare  defend 
My  innocent  life  against,  an  emperor. 

Sal.  Thou  art  a  murderer. 

Hub,  Do  not  prore  me  so  ;• 

(6)  Hand  should  be  head :  a  glory  is  the  circle  of 
rays  which  surrounds  the  heads  of  saints  in  pictures, 
(")  Honest,    (8)  By  compelling  me  to  kill  you, 


398 


KING  JOHN. 


Jietr. 


Yet,  I  am  none :  Whose  tongue  soe'er  speaks  false, 
Not  truly  speaks ;  who  speaks  not  truly,  lies. 

Petri.  Cut  him  to  pieces. 

Bast.  Keep  the  peace,  I  say. 

Sal.  Stand  by,  or  I  shall  gall  you,  Faulconbridge. 

Bast.  Thou  wert  better  gall  the  devil,  Salisbury : 
If  thou  but  frown  on  me,  or  stir  thy  foot, 
Or  teach  thy  hasty  spleen  to  do  me  shame, 
I'll  strike  thee  dead.     Put  up  thy  sword  betime  ; 
Or  I'll  so  maul  you  and  your  toasting-iron, 
That  you  shall  think  the  devil  is  come  from  hell. 

Bif.  WhatAviltthoudo,renownedFaulconbridge? 
Second  a  villain,  and  a  murderer  ? 

Hub.  Lord  Bigot,  I  am  none. 

Big.  Who  kill'd  this  prince  ? 

Hub.  'Tis  not  an  hour  since  I  left  him  well : 
I  honour'd  him,  I  lov'd  him  ;  and  will  weep 
My  date  of  life  out,  for  his  sweet  life's  loss. 

Sal.  Trust  not  those  cunning  waters  of  his  eyes. 
For  villany  is  not  without  such  rheum,' 
And  he,  long  traded  in  it,  makes  it  seem 
Like  rivers  of  remorse^  and  innocency. 
Away,  with  me,  and  all  you  whose  souls  abhor 
The  uncleanly  savours  of  a  slaughter-house. 
For  I  am  stifled  with  this  smell  of  sin. 

Big.  Away,  toward  Burv,  to  the  dauphin  there  ! 

Pern.  There,  tell  the  king,  he  may  inquire  us 
out.  [Exeunt  Lords. 

Bast.  Here's  a  good  world  !— Knew  you  of  this 
fair  work  ? 
Beyond  the  infinite  and  boundless  reach 
Of  mercy,  if  thou  didst  this  deed  of  death, 
Art  thou  damn'd,  Hubert. 

Hub.  Do  but  hear  me,  sir. 

Bast.  Ha !  I'll  tell  thee  what ; 
Thou  art  damn'd  as  black — nay,  nothing  is  so 

black ; 
Thou  art  more  deep  damn'd  than  prince  Lucifer : 
There  is  not  yet  so  ugly  a  fiend  of  hell 
As  thou  shalt  be,  if  thou  didst  kill  this  child. 

Hub.  Upon  my  soul, 

Bast.  If  thou  didst  but  consent 

To  this  most  cruel  act,  do  but  despair, 
And,  if  thou  want'st  a  cord,  the  smallest  thread 
That  ever  spider  twisted  from  her  womb 
Will  serve  to  strangle  thee  ;  a  rush  will  be 
A  beam  to  hang  thee  on ;  or  would'st  thou  drown 

thyself, 
Put  but  a  little  water  in  a  spoon, 
And  it  shall  be  as  all  the  ocean. 

Enough  to  stifle  such  a  villain  up. 

I  do  suspect  thee  very  grievously. 

Hub.  If  I  in  act,  consent,  or  sin  of  thought. 
Be  guilty  of  the  stealing  that  sweet  breath 
Which  was  embounded  in  this  beauteous  clay, 
Let  hell  want  pains  enough  to  torture  me ! 
I  left  him  well. 

Bast.  Go,  bear  him  in  thine  arms. — 

I  am  amaz'd,'  methinks  ;  and  lose  my  way 
Among  the  thorns  and  dans-ers  of  this  world. — 
How  easy  dost  thou  take  all  England  up  ! 
From  forth  this  morsel  of  dead  royalty. 
The  life,  the  right,  and  truth  of  all  this  realm 
Is  fled  to  heaven  :  and  England  now  is  left 
To  tug  and  scamble,  and  to  part  by  the  teeth 
The  unowed*  interest  of  proud-swelling  state. 
Now,  for  Uie  bare-pick'd  bone  of  majesty, 
Doth  dogged  war  bristle  his  angry  crest, 
And  snarleth  in  the  gentle  eyes  oi  peace  : 
Now  powers  from  home,  and  discontents  at  home, 
Meet  in  one  line  ;  and  vast  confusion  waits 
(As  doUi  a  ravcD  on  a  sick-fallen  beast,) 

(1)  Moisture,      (2)  Pity.      (3)  Confounded. 


The  imminent  decay  of  wrested  pomp. 
Now  happy  he,  whose  cloak  and  cincture'  can 
Hold  out  this  tempest.    Bear  away  that  child, 
And  follow  me  with  speed  ;  I'll  to  the  king : 
A  thousand  businesses  are  brief  in  hand. 
And  heaven  itself  doth  frown  upon  the  land. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  V. 

SCEJVE  I.— The  same.  A  room  in  the  palace. 
Enter  King  John,  Pandulph  with  the  crou^n, 
and  attendants. 

K.  John.  Thus  have  I  yielded  up  into  your  hand 
The  circle  of  my  glory. 

Pand.  Take  again 

[Giving  John  the  crown. 
From  this  my  hand,  as  holding  of  the  pope, 
Your  sovereign  greatness  and  authority. 

K.  John.  Now  keep  your  holy  word:  go  meet 
the  French ; 
And  from  his  holiness  use  all  your  power 
To  stop  their  marches,  'fore  we  are  inflam'd. 
Our  discontented  counties  do  revolt ; 
Our  people  quarrel  with  obedience  ; 
Swearing  allegiance,  and  the  love  of  soul. 
To  stranger  blood,  to  foreign  royalty. 
This  inundation  of  mistemper'd  huriiour 
Rests  by  you  only  to  be  qualified. 
Then  pause  not ;  for  the  present  time's  so  sick. 
That  present  medicine  must  be  minister'd. 
Or  overthrow  incurable  ensues. 

Pand.  It  was  my  breath  that  blew  this  tem- 
pest up. 
Upon  your  stubborn  usage  of  the  pope  : 
But,  since  you  are  a  gentle  convertite,* 
My  tongue  shall  hush  a^gain  this  storm  of  war. 
And  make  fair  weather  in  your  blustering  land. 
On  this  Ascension-day,  remember  well. 
Upon  your  oath  of  service  to  the  pope. 
Go  I  to  make  the  French  lay  down  their  arms. 

[Exit. 

K.  John.   Is  this  Ascension-day  ?   Did  not  the 
prophet 
Say,  that,  before  Ascension-day  at  noon, 
My  crown  I  should  give  offl  Even  so  I  have : 
I  did  suppose,  it  should  be  on  constraint ; 
But,  heaven  be  thank'd,  it  is  but  voluntary. 

Enter  the  Bastard. 

Bast.    All   Kent  hath  yielded ;    nothing  there 
holds  put. 
But  Dover  castle  :  London  hath  receiv'd, 
Like  a  kind  host,  the  dauphin  and  his  powers  : 
Your  nobles  will  not  hear  you,  but  are  gone 
To  offer  service  to  your  enemy ; 
And  wild  amazement  hurries  up  and  down 
The  little  number  of  your  doubtful  friends. 

K.  John.   Would  not   my  lords  return  to  me 
again. 
After  they  heard  young  Arthur  was  alive? 

Bast.  They  found  him  dead,  and  cast  into  the 
streets ; 
An  empty  casket,  where  the  jewel  of  life 
By  some  damn'd  hand  was  robb'd  and  ta'en  away. 

K.  John.  That  villain  Hubert  told  me,  he  did 
live. 

Bast.  So,  on  my  soul,  he  did,  for  aught  he  knew. 
But  wherefore  do  you  droop  ?  why  look  you  sad  ? 
Be  great  in  act,  as  you  have  been  in  thought ; 

(4).Unowned.       (5)  Girdle.       (6)  Conyert. 


Seetu  II. 


KING  JOHN. 


357 


Let  not  the  world  see  fear,  and  sad  distrust, 

Gorern  the  motion  of  a  kingly  eye : 

Be  stirring  as  the  time ;  be  fire  with  fire ; 

Threaten  the  threat'ner,  and  outface  the  brow 

Of  bragging  horror:  so  shall  inferior  eyes, 

That  borrow  their  behaviours  from  the  great. 

Grow  great  by  your  example,  and  put  on 

The  dauntless  spirit  of  resolution. 

Away ;  and  glister  like  the  god  of  war, 

When  he  intendeth  to  become  the  field : 

Show  boldness,  and  aspiring  confidence. 

What,  shall  they  seek  the  lion  in  his  den, 

And  fright  him  there?  and  make  him  tremble  there  ? 

O,  let  it  not  be  said ! — Forage,  and  run 

To  meet  displeasure  further  from  the  doors ; 

And  grapple  with  him,  ere  he  come  so  nigh. 

K.  John.    The  legate  of  the  pope  hath  been 
with  me. 
And  I  have  made  a  happy  peace  with  him  ; 
And  he  hath  promis'd  to  dismiss  the  powers' 
Led  by  the  dauphin. 

Bast.  O,  inglorious  league ! 

Shall  we,  upon  the  footing  of  our  land, 
Send  fair-play  orders,  and  make  compromise, 
Insinuation,  parley,  and  base  truce. 
To  arms  invasive  ?  shall  a  beardless  boy, 
A  cocker'd^  silken  wanton,  brave  our  fields, 
And  flesh  his  spirit  in  a  warlike  soil, 
Mocking  the  air  with  colours  idlv  spread, 
And  find  no  check?  Let  us,  my  liege,  to  arms: 
Perchance,  the  cardinal  cannot  make  your  peace  ; 
Or  if  he  do,  let  it  at  least  be  said. 
They  saw  we  had  a  purpose  of  defence. 

K.  John.  Have  you  the  ordering  of  this  present 
time. 

Bast.  Away  then,  with  good  courarrc ;  yet,  T  know, 

0  ur  party  may  well  meet  a  prouder  foe.  "    [Exnmt. 

SCEXE  U.—.1  plain,  near  St.  Edmund' s-Bw-y. 
Enter,  in  arms,  Lewis,  Salisbury,  Mclun,  Pem- 
broke, Bigot,  and  soldiers. 

Lew.  My  lord  Melnn,  let  this  be  copied  out, 
And  keep  it  safe  for  our  remembrance  : 
Return  the  precedent  to  these  lords  again  ; 
That,  having  our  fair  order  written  down, 
Both  they,  and  we,  perusing  o'er  these  notes. 
May  know  whercf6re  we  took  the  sacrament. 
And  keep  our  faiths  firm  and  inviolable. 

Sal.  Upon  our  sides  it  never  shall  be  broken. 
And,  noble  dauphin,  albeit  we  swear 
A  voluntary  zeal,  and  unure'd  faith, 
To  your  proceedings ;  yet,  believe  me,  prince, 

1  am  not  glad  that  such  a  sore  of  time 
Should  seek  a  plaster  by  contemn'd  revolt, 
And  heal  the  inveterate  canker  of  one  wound 
By  making  many  :  O,  it  grieves  my  soul. 
That  I  must  draw  this  metal  from  my  side, 
To  be  a  widow-maker ;  O,  and  there, 
AVhere  honourable  rescue,  and  defence. 
Cries  out  upon  the  name  of  Salisbury : 

But  such  is  the  infection  of  the  time. 

That,  for  the  health  and  physic  of  our  right, 

We  cannot  deal  but  with  the  very  hand 

Of  stern  injustice  and  confused  wronir. — 

And  is't  not  pity,  O  my  orrieved  friends  ! 

That  we,  the  sons  and  children  of  this  isle, 

Were  bom  to  see  so  sad  an  hour  as  this  ; 

Wherein  wt  step  after  a  stranjer  march 

Upon  her  gentle  bosom,  and  fill  up 

Her  enemies'  ranks,  (I  must  withdraw  and  weep 

Upon  the  spot  of  this  enforc'd  cause,) 

To  grace  the  gentry  of  a  land  remote, 

(1)  Forces.       (2)  Fondled.       (3)  Embraceth. 


And  follow  unacquainted  colours  here  ? 

What,  here  ? — O  nation,  that  thou  could'st  remoTC ! 

That  Neptune's  arms,  who  clippeth'  thee  about. 

Would  bear  thee  from  the  knowledge  of  thyself. 

And  grapple  thee  unto  a  Pagan  shore  ; 

Where  these  two  Christian  armies  might  combine 

The  blood  of  malice  in  a  vein  of  league* 

And  not  to  spend  it  so  unneighbourly  ! 

Lew.  A  noble  temper  dost  thou  show  in  this ; 
And  great  affections,  wrestling  in  thy  bosom. 
Do  make  an  earthquake  of  nobility. 
0,  what  a  noble  combat  hast  thou  fought. 
Between  compulsion  and  a  brave  respect  !* 
Let  me  wipe  off  this  honourable  dew. 
That  silverly  doth  progress  on  thy  cheeks : 
Mjr  heart  hath  melted  at  a  lady's  tears, 
Being  an  ordinary  inundation  ■ 
But  this  effusion  of  such  manly  drops, 
This  shower,  blown  up  by  tempest  of  the  soul, 
Startles  m.ine  ej'es,  and  makes  me  more  amaz'd 
Than  had  I  seen  the  vaulty  top  of  heaven 
Figur'd  quite  o'er  with  burning  meteors. 
Lift  up  thy  brow,  renowned  Salisbury, 
And  with  a  great  heart  heave  away  this  storm : 
Commend  these  waters  to  those  baby  eyes, 
That  never  saiv  the  giant  world  enrag'd  ; 
Nor  met  with  fortune  other  than  at  feasts. 
Full  warm  of  blood,  of  mirth,  of  gossiping. 
Come,  come ;  for  thou  shalt  thrust  thy  hand  as  deep 
Into  the  purse  of  rich  prosperity, 
As  Lewis  himself: — so,  nobles,  shall  you  all, 
That  knit  your  sinews  to  the  strength  of  mine. 

Enter  Pandulph  attended. 

And  even  there,  methinks,  an  angel  spake : 
Look,  ^vhere  the  holy  legate  comes  apace, 
To  give  us  warrant  from  the  hand  of  heaven ; 
And  on  our  actions  set  the  name  of  right. 
With  holy  breath. 

Pand.  Hail,  noble  prince  of  France ! 

The  next  is  this,— King  John  hath  reconcil'd 
Himself  to  Rome  ;  his  spirit  is  come  in. 
That  so  stood  out  against  the  holy  church, 
The  great  metropolis  and  see  of  Rome : 
Therefore  thy  threat'ning  colours  now  wind  up. 
And  tame  the  savage  spirit  of  wild  war ; 
That,  like  a  lion  foster'd  up  at  hand. 
It  may  lie  gently  at  the  foot  of  peace. 
And  be  no  further  harmful  than  in  show. 

LexD.  Your  grace  shall  pardon  me,  I  will  notback ; 
I  am  too  high-born  to  be  propertied,' 
To  be  a  secondary  at  control. 
Or  useful  serving-man,  and  instrument, 
To  any  sovereign  state  throughout  the  world. 
Your  breath  first  kindled  the  dead  coal  of  wars, 
Between  this  chastis'd  kingdom  and  myself. 
And  brought  in  matter  that  should  feed  this  fire  \ 
And  now  'tis  far  too  huge  to  be  blown  out 
With  that  same  weak  wind  which  enkindled  it. 
You  taught  me  how  to  know  the  face  of  right. 
Acquainted  me  with  interest  to  this  land, 
Yea,  thrust  this  entcrprize  into  my  heart ; 
And  come  you  now  to  tell  me,  John  hath  made 
His  peace  with  Rome  ?  What  is  that  peace  to  me  ? 
I*  by  the  honour  of  my  marriage-bed. 
After  young  Arthur,  claim  this  land  for  mine ; 
And,  now  it  is  half-conquer'd,  must  I  back. 
Because  that  John  hath  made  his  peace  with  Rome  ? 
Ami  Rome's  slave  ?  What  penny  hath  Rome  borne, 
What  men  provided,  what  munition  sent. 
To  underprop  this  action  ?  is't  not  I, 
That  undergo  this  charge  ?  who  else  but  I, 


(4)  Love  of  country. 


(5)  Appropriated. 


358 


KING  JOHN. 


Jietr. 


And  8Uch  as  to  m^  claim  are  liable, 
Sweat  in  this  business,  and  maintain  this  war? 
Have  I  not  heard  these  islanders  shout  out, 
Vive  It  rmj  .'  as  I  have  bank'd  their  towns  ? 
Have  I  not  here  the  best  cards  Cor  the  a:ame, 
To  win  tills  easy  match  plaj'd  for  a  crown?' 
And  shall  I  now  give  o'er  the  yielded  set? 
No,  on  my  soul,  it  never  shall  be  said. 

Pand.  You  look  but  on  the  outside  of  this  work. 

Lew.  Outside  or  inside,  I  will  not  return 
Till  my  attempt  so  much  be  glorified 
As  to  my  ample  hope  was  promised 
Before  I  drew  this  gallant  head  of  war, 
And  cuU'd  these  fiery  spirits  from  the  world, 
To  outlook'  conquest,  and  to  win  renown 
Even  in  the  jaws  of  danger  and  of  death. 

[  Trumpet  sounds. 
What  lusty  trumpet  thus  doth  summon  us  ? 

Enter  the  Bastard,  attended. 

Bast.  According  to  the  fair  play  of  the  world, 
Let  me  have  audience  ;  I  am  sent  to  speak : — 
My  holy  lord  of  Milan,  from  the  kinsr 
I  come,  to  learn  how  you  have  dealt  for  him  ; 
And  as  you  answer,  I  do  know  the  scope 
And  warrant  limited  unto  my  ton^rue. 

Pand.  The  dauphin  is  loo  wilful-opposite, 
And  will  not  temporize  with  my  entreaties ; 
He  flatly  says,  he'll  not  lay  down  his  arms. 

Bast.  By  all  the  blood  that  ever  fury  breath'd, 
"""i  •  youth  sajs  well: — Now  hear  our  Enprlish  king; 
]   )<•  'hus  his  royalty  doth  speak  in  inc. 
1  i"  .3  prepar'd  ;  and  reason  too,  he  !>hou'd  : 
Thi"?  ;ipish  and  nnmiinnerly  approach, 
Tills  harness'd  masque,  and  unadvised  rercl, 
Tliis  nnhair'd  sauciuess,  and  boyish  troops, 
The  king  doth  smile  at ;  and  is  well  prepar'd 
To  whip  this  dwarfish  ^var,  these  pigmy  arms, 
From  out  the  circle  of  his  territories. 
Tliat  hand,  which  had  the  strength,  even  at  your 

door, 
To  cudgel  you,  and  make  you  take  the  hatch;* 
To  dive,  like  buckets,  in  concealed''  wells  ; 
To  crouch  in  litter  of  your  stable  planks  ; 
To  lie,  like  pawns,  lock'd  up  in  chests  and  trunks ; 
To  hug  with  swine  ;  to  seek  sweet  safely  out 
In  vaults  and  prisons  ;  and  to  thrill,  and  shake. 
Even  at  the  crying  of  your  nation's  crow,* 
Thinking  his  voice  an  armed  Englishman  ; — 
Shall  that  victorious  hand  he  feebled  here. 
That  in  your  chambers  gave  you  chastisement  ? 
No  :  Know,  the  gallant  monarch  is  In  arms ; 
And  like  an  eagle  o'er  his  aiery'  towers. 
To  souse  annoyance  that  comes  near  his  nest. — 
And  you  degenerate,  you  ingrate  revolts. 
You  bloody  Neroes,  ripping  up  the  womb 
Of  your  dear  mother  England,  blush  for  shame : 
For  your  own  ladies,  and  pale-vlsag'd  maids, 
Eike  Amazons,  come  tripping  afler  drums  ; 
Their  thimbles  into  armed  gauntlets  change. 
Their  neelds*  to  lances,  and  their  gentle  hearts 
To  fierce  and  bloody  inclinotion. 

Lew.  There  end  thy  brave,''  and  turn  thy  face 
in  peace, 
Wp  ?rant,  thou  canst  outsrold  us  :  fare  thee  well ; 
Ave  hold  our  time  too  precious  to  be  spent 
With  such  aiirabbler. 

Pand.  Give  me  leave  to  speak. 

Bn.it.  No,  I  will  speak. 

Lew.  We  will  attend  to  neither : — 

Strike  up  the  drums  ;  and  let  the  tongue  of  war 


Plead  for  our  interest,  and  our  being  here. 

Bast.   Indeed,  your  drums,  behig  beaten,  will 
cry  out ; 
And  so  shall  you,  being  beaten  :  Do  but  start 
An  echo  with  the  clamour  of  thy  drum. 
And  even  at  hand  a  drum  is  ready  brac'd. 
That  shall  reverberate  all  as  loud' as  Ihine ; 
Sound  but  another,  and  another  shall, 
As  loud  as  thine,  rattle  the  welkin's"  ear. 
And  mock  the  deep-mouth'd  thunder  :  for  at  hand 
(Not  trusting  to  this  halting  legate  here, 
VVhom  he  hath  us'd  rather  for  sport  Ihan  need,) 
Is  warlike  John  ;  and  in  his  forehead  sits 
A  bare-ribb'd  death,  whose  office  is  this  day 
To  feast  upon  whole  thousands  of  the  French. 

Lew.  Strike  up  our  drums,  to  find  this  danger  out. 

Bast.  And  thou  shall  find  it,  dauphin,  do  not 
doubt.  [Exeiml. 

SCEJ^E    IlL—The    same.      A  field  of  battle. 
Alarums. '  Enter  King  John  and  Hubert. 

K.  John.  How  goes  the  day  with  us?    0,  tell 

me,  Hubert. 
Hub.  Badlv,  I  fear :  How  fares  your  majesty  ? 
K.  John,  'fhis  fever,  that  hatn  troubled  mc  so 
long, 
Lies  heavy  on  me ;  O,  my  heart  is  sick  I 
Enter  a  Messenger. 
Mess.  My  lord,  your  valiant  kinsman,  Faulcon 
bridge, 
Desires  your  majesty  to  leave  the  field  ; 
And  send  him  %vord  by  mc,  which  ivay  3'ou  go. 
A'.  John.  Tell    him,  toward   Swinstead,  lo  the 

a'jbey  there. 
Mess.  Be  of  good  comfort ;  for  the  great  supply, 
That  was  expected  by  the  dauphin  here, 
Are  wreck'd  three  nights  ago  on  Goodwin  sands. 
This  news  was  brought  to  Richard  but  even  now  : 
The  French  fight  coldly,  and  retire  themselves. 
K.  Joh.n.  An  me!  this  tyrant  fever  burns  me  up. 

And  will  not  let  mc  welcome  this  good  news. 

Set  on  toward  Swinstead :  to  my  litter  straight ; 
Weakness  possesseth  me,  and  I  am  faint.       [Exe. 

SCEJ^E  IV.— The  same.  Another  part  of  the 
same.  Enter  Salisbury,  Pembroke,  Bigot,  and 
others. 

Sal.  I  did  not  think  the  king  so  stor'd  with  friends. 

Pern.  Up  once  again  ;  put  spirit  in  the  French  ; 
If  they  miscarry,  we  miscarry  loo. 

Sal.  That  mlsbeirotten  devil,  Faulconbridge, 
In  spite  of  spite,  alone  upholds  the  day. 

Pern.  They  say,  king  John,  sore  sick,  hath  leA 
Up  field. 

Enter  Melun  wounded,  and  led  by  soldiers. 

.Mel.  Load  mc  to  the  revolts  of  Enjrland  here. 

Sal.  When  we  were  happy,  we  hatl  other  names. 

Pern.  It  is  the  count  Melun. 

Sal.  Wounded  to  death. 

Mel.  Fly,  noble  English,  you  areboughtand  sold  ; ' 
Unthread  the  rude  eye  of  rebellion. 
And  welcome  home  again  discarded  faith. 
Seek  out  king  John,  and  fall  before  his  feet ; 
For,  if  the  French  be  lords  of  this  loud  day. 
He'"  means  to  recompense  the  pains  you  take. 
By  cuttiiTjr  oflT  your  heads :  Thus  hath  he  sworn, 
And  I  with  him,  and  many  more  with  me. 
Upon  the  altar  at  Saint  Edmund's-Bury  ; 
Even  on  that  altar,  where  we  swore  to  you 
Dear  amity  and  everlasting  love. 


(1)  Face  down.  (2)  T>eap  over  the  hatch.     (5)  Nest.      (6)  Needles.      (7)  Boast.      (8)  Sky's. 

(3)  Covered, .  (4)  T!ic  crowing  cf  a  cock.  (9)  A  proverb  intimating  treachery.      (10)  Lewis. 


Scene  V,  VI,  VIl. 


KING  JOHN. 


359 


8al.  May  this  be  possible  ?  may  this  be  true  ? 

Mel.  Have  I  not  liideous  death  within  my  view, 
Retaining  but  a  quantity  of  life ; 
Which  bleeds  away,  even  as  a  form  of  wax 
Resolved  from  his  fisrure  'gainst  the  fire  ? ' 
Wliat  in  the  world  should  make  me  now  deceive, 
Since  I  must  lose  the  use  of  all  deceit  ? 
AVhy  shguld  I  then  be  false  ;  since  it  is  true, 
That  I  must  die  here,  and  live  hence  by  truth  ? 
1  say  again,  if  Lewis  do  win  the  day. 
He  is  forsworn,  if  e'er  those  eyes  of  yours 
Behold  another  day  break  in  the  east  : 
But  even  this  nitrht, — %vhoscblack  contagious  breath 
Already  smokes  about  the  burnins;  crest 
Of  the  old,  feeble,  and  day-wearied  sun, — 
Even  this  ill  night,  your  breathing  shall  expire ; 
Paying  the  fine  of  rated  treachery. 
Even  with  a  treacherous  fine  of  all  your  lives, 
If  Lewis,  by  your  assistance,  win  the  day. 
Commend  me  to  one  Hubert,  with  your  king; 
The  love  of  him, — and  this  respect  besides. 
For  that  my  grandsire  was  an  Englishman, — 
Awakes  my  conscience  to  confess  all  this. 
In  lien'  whereof,  I  pray  you,  bear  me  hence 
From  forth  the  noise  anil  rumour  of  the  field  ; 
Where  I  may  think  the  remnant  of  my  thoughts 
In  peace,  and  part  this  body  and  my  soul 
With  contemplation  and  devout  desires. 

Hid.  We  do  believe  thee, — And  beshrew'  my  soul, 
But  I  do  love  the  favour  and  the  form 
Of  this  most  fair  occasion,  by  the  which 
We  will  untread  tlie  steps  of  damned  flight ; 
And,  like  a  bated  and  retired  flood. 
Leaving  our  rankness  and  irregular  course, 
Stoop  low  within  those  bounds  we  have  o'erlook'd, 
And  calmly  run  on  in  obedience, 

Even  to  our  ocean,  to  our  great  king  John. 

My  arm  shall  give  thee  help  to  bear  thee  hence ; 
For  I  do  see  the  cruel  pangs  of  death 
Right*  in  thine  eye. — ^Away,  my  friends !    New- 
flight  ; 
And  happy  newness,'  that  intends  old  right. 

[Exeunt,  leading  off  Melun. 
SCEJ^E    V. — The   same.      The   French   camp. 
Enter  Lewis  and  his  train. 

Lew.  The  sun  of  heaven,  methought,  %vas  loath 
to  set ; 
But  stay'd,  and  made  the  western  welkin^  blush, 
When  the  English  measur'd  backward  their  own 

ground. 
In  faint  retire  :  O,  bravely  came  we  off". 
When  with  a  volley  of  our  needless  shot. 
After  such  bloody  "toil,  we  bid  good  night ; 
And  wound  our  tatter'd  colours  clearly  up, 
Last  in  the  field,  and  almost  lords  of  it ! 
Enter  a  Messenger. 
Aless.  Where  is  my  prince,  the  dauphin  ? 
Leto.  Here : — What  news  ? 

J^ess.  The  count  Melun  is  slain;  the  English 
lords. 
By  his  persuasion,  are  again  fallen  off": 
And  your  supply,  which  you  have  wish'd  so  long. 
Are  cast  away,  and  sunk,  on  Goodwin  sands. 
Lew.  Ah,  foul  shrewd  news ! — Beshrew  thy  very 
heart ! 
I  did  not  think  to  be  so  sad  to-night^ 
As  this  hath  made  me. — Who  was  he,  that  said. 
King  John  did  fly,  an  hour  or  two  before 
The  stumbling  night  did  part  our  weary  powers  ? 

(1)  In  allusion  to  the  images  made  bv  witches. 

(2)  Place.       (3)  111  betide.      (4)  Immeditite. 
(5)  Innovation.  (6)  Sky. 


J^Iess.  Whoever  spoke  it,  it  is  true,  my  lord. 

Lew.  Well ;  keep  good  quarter,'  and  good  care 
to-night ; 
The  day  shall  not  be  up  so  soon  as  I, 
To  try  the  fair  adventure  of  to-morrow.   [Exeunt. 

SCE.S'E  VL — .^n  open  place  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Swinstead  abbey.  Enter  the  Bastard 
and  Hubert,  meeting. 

Hub.  Who's  there  ?  speak,  ho !  speak  quickly, 
or  I  shoot. 

Bast.  A  friend : — What  art  thou  ? 

Hub.  Of  the  part  of  England. 

Bast.  Whither  dost  thou  go  ? 

Hub.    What's  that  to  thee  ?   Why  may  not  I 
demand 
Of  thine  affairs,  as  well  as  thou  of  mine  ? 

Bast.  Hubert,  I  think. 

Hub.  Thou  hast  a  perfect  thought : 

I  will,  upon  all  hazards,  well  believe 
Thou  art  my  friend,  that  know'st  my  tongue  so  well : 
Who  art  thou  ? 

Bast.  Who  thou  wilt :  an  if  you  please. 

Thou  may'st  befriend  me  so  much,  as  to  think, 
I  come  one  way  of  the  Plantagenets. 

Hiib.  Unkind  remembrance!  thou,  and  eyeless 
night. 
Have  done  me  shame : — Brave  soldier,  pardon  me, 
That  any  accent,  breaking  from  thy  tongue. 
Should  'scape  the  true  acquaintance  of  mine  ear. 

Bast.   Come,  come ;    sans'  compliment,  what 
news  abroad  ? 

Hub.  Why,  here  walk  I,  in  the  black  brow  of 
night. 
To  find  you  out. 

Bast.  Brief,  then;  and  what's  the  news? 

Hub.  O,  my  sweet  sir,  news  fitting  to  the  night. 
Black,  fearful,  comfortless,  and  horrible. 

Bast.  Show  me  the  very  wound  of  this  ill  news; 
I  am  no  woman,  I'll  not  swoon  at  it. 

Hub.  The  king,  I  fear,  is  poison'd  by  a  monk : 
I  left  him  almost  speechless,  and  broke  out 
To  acquaint  you  with  this  evil ;  that  you  might 
The  better  arm  you  to  the  sudden  time. 
Than  if  you  had  at  leisure  known  of  this. 

Bast.  How  did  he  take  it  ?  who  did  taste  to  him? 

Hub.  A  monk,  I  tell  you  ;  a  resolved  villaui, 
Whose  bowels  suddenly  burst  out:  the  king 
Yet  speaks,  and,  peradventure,  may  recover. 

Bast.  Who  didst  thou  leave  to  tend  his  majesty? 

Hub.   Why,  know  you  not?   the  lords  are  all 
come  back. 
And  brought  prince  Henry  in  their  company  ; 
At  whose  request  the  king  hath  pardon'd  them, 
And  they  are  all  about  his  majesty. 

Bast.  Withhold  thine  indignation,  mighty  heaven, 

And  tempt  us  not  to  bear  above  our  power  I . 

I'll  tell  thee,  Hubert,  half  my  power'  this  night. 
Passing  these  flats,  are  taken  by  the  tide. 
These  Lincoln  washes  have  devoured  them  ; 
Myself,  well-mounted,  hardly  have  escap'd. 
Away,  before  !  conduct  me  to  the  king ; 
I  doubt  he  will  be  dead,  or  ere  I  come.      [Exeunt, 

SCEJ^E  rn.—The  orchard  of  Swinstead  abbey. 

Enter  Prince  Henry,  Salisbury,  and  Bigot. 

P.  Hen.  It  is  too  late  ;  the  life  of  all  his  blood 

Is  touch'd  corruptibly  ;  and  his  pure  brain 

(Which  some  suppose  the  soul's  frail  dwellin''- 

house,) 
Doth,  by  tlie  idle  comments  that  it  makes, 

(7)  In  your  posts  or  stations. 

(8)  Wjthout.  (9)  Forces, 


aoo 


KING  JOHN. 


f. 


Foretel  the  ending  of  mortality. 
Enter  Pembroke. 

Pern.  His  highness  yet  doth  speak;  and  holds 
belief, 
That,  being  brought  into  the  open  air. 
It  would  allay  the  burning  quality 
Of  that  fell  poison  which  assaileth  him. 

P.  Hen,  Let  him  be  brought  into  the  orchard 
here. — 
Doth  he  still  rage  ?  [Exit  Bigot. 

Pern.  He  is  more  patient 

Than  when  vou  left  him ;  even  now  he  sung. 

P.  Hen,  0  vanity  of  sickness !  fierce  extremes, 
In  their  continuance,  will  not  feel  themselves. 
Death,  having  prey'd  upon  the  outward  parts. 
Leaves  them  insensible ;  and  his  siege  is  now 
Against  the  mind,  the  which  he  pricks  and  wounds 
With  many  legions  of  strange  fantasies  ; 
Which,  in  their  throng  and  press  to  that  last  hold, 
Confound  themselves.    'Tis  strange,  that  death 

should  sing. 

I  am  the  cygnet  to  this  pale  faint  swan. 
Who  chants  a  doleful  hymn  to  his  own  death ; 
And,  from  the  organ-pipe  of  frailty,  sings 
His  sou!  and  body  to  their  lasting  rest, 

Sal.  Be  of  good  comfort,  prince;  for  you  are  bom 
To  set  a  form  upon  that  indigest 
Whicli  he  hath  left  so  shapeless  and  so  rude. 

Re-enter  Bigot  and  attendants,  who  bring  in  King 
John  tu  a  chair. 

K.  John.  Ay,  marry,  now  my  soul  hath  elbow- 
room; 
It  would  not  out  at  windows,  nor  at  doors. 
There  is  so  hot  a  summer  in  my  bosom. 
That  all  my  bowels  crumble  up  to  dust : 
I  am  a  scribbled  form,  drawn  with  a  pen 
Upon  a  parchment ;  and  against  this  fire 
Do  I  shrink  up. 

P.  Hen.  How  fares  your  majesty  ? 

K.  John.   Poison'd, — ^ill  fare ; — dead,  forsook, 
cast  off: 
And  none  of  jrou  will  bid  the  winter  come, 
To  thrust  his  icy  fingers  in  my  maw ; 
Nor  let  my  kingdom's  rivers  take  their  course 
Throuffh  my  burn'd  bosom  ;  nor  entreat  the  north 
To  make  his  bleak  winds  kiss  my  parched  lips, 
And  comfort  me  with  coW : — I  do  not  ask  you  much, 
I  beg  cold  comfort ;  and  you  are  so  strait," 
And  80  ingrateful,  you  deny  me  that. 

P.  Hen.  O,  that  there  were  some  virtue  in  my 
tears. 
That  might  relieve  you ! 

K.  John.  The  salt  in  them  b  hot — 

Witliin  me  is  a  hell ;  and  there  the  poison 
Is,  as  a  fiend,  confin'd  to  tyrannize 
On  unreprievable  condemned  blood. 
Enter  the  Bastard. 

Bast.  O,  I  am  scalded  with  my  violent  motion. 
And  spleen  of  speed  to  see  your  majesty. 

K.  John.  0  cousin,  thou  art  come  to  set  mine  eye  : 
The  tackle  of  my  heart  is  crack'd  and  burn'd  ; 
And  all  the  shrouds,  wherewitii  my  life  should  sail. 
Are  turned  to  one  thread,  one  little  hair  : 
My  heart  hath  one  poor  string  to  stay  it  by. 
Which  holds  but  till  thy  news  be  uttered ; 
And  then  all  this  thou  see'st,  is  but  a  clod. 
And  module*  of  confounded  royalty. 

Bast.  The  dauphin  is  preparing  hitherward ; 
Where,  heaven  he  knows,  how  we  shall  answer  him : 
For,  in  a  night,  the  best  part  of  my  power. 


(1)  Narrow,  araricious. 


(2)  ModeL 


As  I  upon  advantage  did  remove. 
Were  m  the  washes  all  unwarily,, 
Devoured  by  the  unexpected  flood. 

[The  king  dies. 

Sal.  You  breathe  these  dead  news  in  as  dead  an 
ear. — 
My  liege !  my  lord  ! — But  now  a  king, — now  thus. 

P.  Hen.  Even  so  must  I  run  on,  and  even  so  stop. 
What  surety  of  the  world,  what  hope,  what  stay. 
When  this  was  now  a  king,  and  now  is  clay ! 

Bast.  Art  thou  gone  so  ?  I  do  but  stay  behind, 
To  do  the  office  for  thee  of  revenge  ; 
And  then  my  soul  shall  wait  on  thee  to  heaven. 

As  it  on  earth  hath  been  thy  servant  still. 

Now,  now,  you  stars,  that  move  in  your  right 

spheres. 
Where  be  your  powers  ?  Show  now  your  mended 

faiths ; 
And  instantly  return  with  me  again. 
To  push  destruction,  and  perpetual  shame. 
Out  of  the  weak  door  of  our  fainting  land: 
Straight  let  us  seek,  or  straight  we  shall  be  sought ; 
The  dauphin  rages  at  our  very  heels. 

Sal.  It  seems,  you  know  not  then  so  much  as  we : 
The  cardinal  Pandulph  is  within  at  rest. 
Who  half  an  hour  since  came  from  the  dauphin ; 
And  brings  from  him  such  offers  of  our  peace, 
As  we  with  honour  and  respect  may  take. 
With  purpose  presently  to  leave  this  war. 

Bast.  He  will  the  rather  do  it,  when  he  sees 
Ourselves  well  sinewed  to  our  defence. 

Sal.  Nay,  it  is  in  a  manner  done  already ; 
For  many  carriages  he  hath  despatch'd 
To  the  sea-side,  and  put  his  cause  and  quarrel 
To  the  disposing  of  the  cardinal : 
With  whom  yourself^  myself,  and  other  lords. 
If  you  think  meet,  this  afternoon  will  post 
To  c6nsummate  this  business  happily. 

Bast.  Let  it  be  so : — And  you,  my  noble  prince, 
With  other  princes  that  may  best  be  spar'd. 
Shall  wait  upon  your  father's  funeral. 

P.  Hen.  At  Worcester  must  his  body  be  interr'd ; 
For  so  he  will'd  it. 

Bast.  Thither  shall  it  then. 

And  happily  may  your  sweet  self  put  on 
The  lineal  state  and  glory  of  the  land  ! 
To  whom,  %vith  all  submission^  on  my  knee, 
I  do  bequeath  my  faithful  services 
And  true  subjection  everlastingly. 

ScU.  And  the  like  tender  of  our  love  we  make. 
To  rest  without  a  spot  for  evermore. 

P.  Hen.  I  have  a  kind  soul,  that  would  give  you 
thanks. 
And  kaows  not  how  to  do  it,  but  with  tears. 

Basl.  O,  let  us  pay  the  time  but  needful  wo. 
Since  it  hath  been  beforehand  with  our  griefs. — 
This  England  never  did  (nor  never  shall) 
Lie  at  the  proud  foot  of  a  conqueror, 
But  when  it  first  did  help  to  wound  itself. 
Now  these  her  princes  are  come  home  again. 
Come  the  three  comers  of  the  world  in  arms. 
And  we  shall  shock  them :  Nought  shall  make  us 

rue. 
If  England  to  itself  do  rest  but  true.        [Exeunt. 


The  tragedy  of  King  John,  though  not  written 
with  the  utmost  power  of  Shakspeare,  is  varied 
with  a  very  pleasing  interchange  of  incidents  and 
characters.  The  lady's  grief  is  very  affecting  ;  and 
the  character  of  the  Bastard  contains  that  mixture 
of  greatness  and  levity,  which  this  author  delighted 
to  exhibit.  JOHNSON. 


^:®l 


KING  RICHARD  II. 

Act   v.— Scene  3. 


KL\G  HENRY  IV.  PART  I. 
Act   V. — Scpnp  4. 


(    361    ) 


KINO  RICHARD  II. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


King  Richard  the  Second. 

Edmund  ofLangley,  Duke  of  York ;  ?  undes  to  the 

John  of  Gaunt,  Duke  of  Lancaster ;  J       King. 

Henry,  surnamed  Bolingbroke,  Duke  of  Here- 
ford, son  to  John  of  Gaunt;  afterwards  King 
Henry  IV. 

Duke  of  Aumerle,  son  to  the  Duke  of  York.     • 

Mowbray,  Duke  ofJsTorfolk. 

Duke  of  Surrey, 

Earl  of  Salisbury.    Earl  Berkley. 

Bushy,  ) 

Bagot,  >  creatures  to  King  Richard. 

Green,  ) 

Earl  of  Northumberland : 

Henry  Percy,  his  son. 


Lord  Ross.    Lord  Willoughby.-    Lord  Fitzwater. 

Bishop  0/ Carlisle.    .466ot  o/VVestminster. 
Lord  Marshal ;  and  another  Lord. 
Sir  Pierce  ofExton.     Sir  Stephen  Scroop. 
Captain  of  a  band  of  Welshmen. 

Q,ueen  to  King  Richard, 
Duchess  o/Gioster. 
Duchess  0/ York. 
Ladtj  attending  o?i  the  Q,ueen, 

Lords,  heralds,  officers,  soldiers,   two  gardeners, 
keeper,  messenger,  groom,  and  other  attendants. 

Scene,  dispersedly  in  England  and  Wales. 


ACT  I. 

SCE^N^  L — London,  ^^roomin  the  palace.  En- 
ter King  Richard,  attended;  John  o/Gaui't,  aiid 
other  nobles,  with  him. 


Oi 


King  Richard. 


'LD  John  of  Gaunt,  lime-honour'd  Lancaster, 
Hast  thou,  according-  to  thy  oath  and  band," 
Brought  hither  Henry  Hereford  thy  bold  son  ; 
Here  to  make  good  the  boisterous  late  appeal. 
Which  then  our  leisure  would  not  let  us  hear, 
Against  the  duke  of  Norfolk,  Thomas  Mowbray  ? 

Gaunt.  I  have,  my  liet;e. 

K.  Rich.  Tell  me  moreover,  hast  thou  sounded 
him, 
If  he  appeal  the  duke  on  ancient  malice ; 
Or  worthily  as  a  good  subject  should. 
On  some  known  ground  of  treachery  in  him? 

Gaunt.  As  near  as  I  could  sift  him  on  that  ar- 
gument,— 
On  some  apparent  danger  seen  in  him, 
Aim'd  at  your  highness  ;  no  inveterate  malice. 

K.  Rich.  Then  call  them  to  our  presence  ;  face 
to  face. 
And  frowning  brow  to  brow,  ourselves  will  hear 
The  accuser,  and  the  accused,  freely  speak : — 

[Exeunt  some  attendants. 
High-stomach'd  are  they  both,  and  full  of  ire. 
In  rage  deaf  as  the  sea,  hasty  as  fire. 

Re-enter  attendants,  with  Bolingbroke  and  Norfolk. 

Holing.  May  many  years  of  happj;  days  befuU 
My  gracious  sovereign,  my  most  loving  liege  ! 

.N'or.  Each  day  still  better  other's  happiness  ; 
Until  the  heavens,  envying  earth's  good  hap. 
Add  an  immortal  title  to  your  crown ! 

K.  Rich.  We  thank  you  both :  yet  one  but  flat- 
ters us. 
As  well  appeareth  by  the  cause  you  come  ; 
Namely,  to  appeal*  each  other  of  high  treason. — 
Cousin  of  Hereford,  what  dost  thou  object 

(1)  Bond.     (2)  Charge.     (3)  Uninhabitable. 


Against  the  duke  of  Norfolk,  Thomas  Mowbray  ? 
Boling.    First   (heaven  be  the   record  of  my 

speech !) 
In  the  devotion  of  a  subject's  love, 
Tendering  the  precious  safety  of  my  prince, 
And  free  from  other  misbegotten  hate. 
Come  I  appellant  to  this  princely  presence. — 
Now,  Thomas  Mowbray,  do  I  turn  to  thee. 
And  mark  my  greeting  well ;  for  what  I  speak, 
My  body  shalrmake  good  upon  this  earth, 
Or  my  divine  soul  answer  it  in  heaven. 
Thou  art  a  traitor,  and  a  miscreant ; 
Too  good  to  be  so,  and  too  bad  to  live  ; 
Since,  the  more  fair  and  crystal  is  the  sK^ 
The  uglier  seem  the  clouds  that  in  it  fly.  "y 
Once  more,  the  more  to  aggravate  tbe-ilme. 
With  a  foul  traitor's  name  stuff  I  thy  throat ; 
And  wish  (so  please  my  sovereign,)  ere  I  move, 
What  my  tongue  speaks,  my  right-drawn  sword 

may  prove. 
J^''or.  Let  not  my  cold  words  here  accuse  my  zeal : 
'Tis  not  the  trial  of  a  woman's  war. 
The  bitter  clamour  of  two  eager  tongues. 
Can  arbitrate  this  cause  betwixt  us  twain  : 
The  blood  is  hot,  that  must  be  cool'd  for  this, 
Yet  can  I  not  of  such  tame  patience  boast. 
As  to  be  hush'd,  and  nought  at  all  to  say ; 
First,  the  fair  reverence  of  your  highness  curbs  me 
From  giving  reins  and  spurs  to  my  free  speech ; 
Which  else  woidd  post,  until  it  had  return'd 
These  terms  of  treason  doubled  down  his  throat. 
Setting  .aside  his  hi|ih  blood's  royalty. 
And  let  him  be  no  kinsman  to  my  liege, 
I  do  defy  him,  and  I  spit  at  him  ;  1 

Call  him — a  slanderous  coward,  and  a  villain : 
Which  to  maintain,  I  would  allow  him  odds ; 
And  meet  him,  were  I  tied  to  run  a-foot 
Even  to  the  frozen  ridges  of  the  Alps, 
Or  any  other  ground  inhabitable' 
Where  ever  Englishman  durst  set  his  foot. 
Mean  time,  let  this  defend  my  loyalty, — 
By  all  my  hopes,  most  falsely  doth  he  lie. 

"  "        Pale  trembling  coward,  there  I  throw 

my  gage, 

2  Z 


362 


KING  RICHARD  11. 


JctL 


Disclaiming  here  the  kijidred  of  a  king ; 
And  lay  aside  my  high  blood's  royalty, 
Which  fear,  not  rererence,  makes  thee  to  except : 
If  guilty  dread  hath  left  thee  so  much  strength. 
As  to  take  up  mine  honour's  pawn,  then  stoop ; 
By  that,  and  all  the  rites  of  kniglithood  else, 
Will  I  make  good  against  thee,  arm  to  arm. 
What  I  have  spoke,  or  thou  canst  worse  devise. 

J^or.  I  take  it  up  ;  and,  by  that  sivord  I  swear. 
Which  gently  lay'd  my  kniglithood  on  my  shoulder, 
I'll  answer  thee  in  any  fair  degree. 
Or  chivalrous  design  of  knightly  trial : 
And,  when  I  mount,  alive  may  I  not  light. 
If  I  be  fraitor,  or  unjustly  light ! 
K.  Rich.  What  doth  our  cousin  lay  to  Mow- 
bray's charge  ? 
It  must  be  great,  that  can  inherit'  us 
So  much  as  of  a  thought  of  ill  in  him. 
Boling.  Look,  ivhat  I  speak  my  life  shall  prove 

it  true ; — 
That  Mowbray  hath  rcceiv'd  eightthousand  nobles, 
In  name  of  lendings  for  your  highness'  soldiers  ; 
The  which  he  hath  detain'd  for  lewd^  employments. 
Like  a  false  traitor,  and  injurious  villain. 
Besides  I  say,  and  will  in  battle  prove, — 
Or  here,  or  elsewhere,  to  the  farthest  verge 
That  ever  was  survey'd  by  English  eye, — 
That  all  the  treasons,  for  these  eighteen  years 
Complottcd  and  contrived  in  this  land, 
Fetch  from  false  MoAvbray  their  first  head  and 

spring. 
Further  I  say, — and  further  will  maintain 
Upon  his  bad  life,  to  make  all  this  good, — 
That  he  did  plot  the  duke  of  Gloster's  death ; 
Suggest'  his  soon-believing  adversaries  : 
And,  consequently,  like  a  traitor  coward, 
Sluic'd  out  his  innocent  soul  through  streams  of 

blood : 
Which  blood,  like  sacrificing  Abel's,  cries. 
Even  from  the  tongueless  caverns  of  the  earth, 
To  me  for  justice,  and  rough  chastisement ; 
And  by  the  glorious  worth  of  my  descent. 
This  arm  shall  do  it,  or  this  life  be  spent. 
K.  Rich.    How  high  a   pitch   his   resolution 

soars  ! — 
Thomas  of  Norfolk,  what  say'st  thou  to  this  ? 

Jifor.  0,  let  my  sovereign  turn  away  his  face, 
And  bid  his  ears  a  little  while  be  deaf. 
Till  I  have  told  this  slander  of  his  blood,* 
How  God,  and  good  men,  hate  so  foul  a  liar. 
K.  Rich.  Mowbray,  impartial  are  our  eyes,  and 

cars : 
Were  he  my  brother,  nay,  my  kingdom's  heir, 
(As  he  is  but  my  father's  brother's  son,) 
Now  by  my  sceptre's  awe  I  make  a  vow, 
Such  neighbour  nearness  to  our  sacred  blood 
Should  nothing  privilege  him,  nor  partialize 
The  unstooping  firmness  of  my  upright  soul; 
He  is  our  subject,  Mowbray,  so  art  thou  ; 
Free  speech,  and  fearless,  I  to  thee  allow. 

J^or.  Then,  Bolingbroke,  as  low  as  to  thy  heart. 
Through  the  false  passage  of  thy  throat,  thou  licst ! 
Three  parts  of  that  receipt  I  had  for  Calais, 
Disburs'd  I  duly  to  his  highness'  soldiers: 
The  other  part  re^erv'd  I  by  consent ; 
For  that  my  sovereign  liege  was  in  my  debt, 
Upon  remainder  of  a  dear  account. 
Since  last  I  went  to  France  to  fetch  his  queen : 
Now  swallow  down  that  lie. For  Gloster's 

death, 

I  slew  him  not ;  but  to  my  own  disgrace, 


8i 


Possess.        (2)  Wicked. 
Reproach  to  his  aocestry. 


(3J  Prompt. 
(5)  Charged. 


Neglected  my  sworn  duty  in  that  case. — 

For  you,  my  noble  lord  of  Lancaster, 

The  honourable  father  to  my  foe, 

Once,did  I  lay  an  ambush  for  j;our  life, 

A  trespass  that  doth  vex  my  grieved  soul . 

But,  ere  I  last  receiv'd  the  sacrament, 

I  did  confess  it ;  and  exactly  begg'd 

Your  grace's  pardon,  and,  I  hope,  I  had  it. 

This  is  my  fault :  As  for  the  rest  appeal'd,' 

It  issues  from  the  rancour  of  a  villain, 

A  recreant  and  most  degenerate  traitor : 

Which  in  myself  I  boldly  will  defend  ; 

And  interchangeably  hurl  down  my  gage 

Upon  this  overweening''  traitor's  foot, 

To  prove  myself  a  loyal  gentleman 

Even  in  the  best  blood  chamber'd  in  his  bosom : 

In  haste  ivhereof,  most  heartily  I  pray 

Your  highness  to  assign  our  trial  day. 

K.  Rich.  Wrath-kindled  gentlemen,  be  rul'd  bj 
me ; 
Let's  purge  this  choler  without  letting  blood : 
This  we  prescribe  though  no  physician  ; 
Deep  malice  makes  too  deep  incision : 
Forget,  forgive  ;  conclude,  and  be  agreed ; 
Our  doctors  say,  this  is  no  time  to  bleed. — 
Good  uncle,  let  this  end  where  it  begun  ; 
We'll  calm  the  duke  of  Norfolk,  you  your  son. 

Gaunt.  To  be  a  make-peace  shall  become  my 
age ;  ' 

Throw  down,  my  son,  the  duke  of  Norfolk's  gage. 

K.  Rick.  And,  Norfolk,  throAv  down  his. 

Gaunt.  When,  Harry  ?  when  ? 

Obedience  bids,  I  should  not  bid  again. 

K.  Rich.  Norfolk,  throw  down ;  we  bidj  there 
is  no  boot.' 

J^Tor.   Myself  I  throw,  dread  sovereign,  at  thy 
foct  ; 
My  life  thou  shalt  command,, but  not  my  shame : 
The  one  my  duly  owes  ;  but  my  fair  name, 
(Despite  ol  death,  that  lives  upon  my  grave,) 
To  dark  dishonour's  use,  thou  shalt  not  have. 
I  am  disgrac'd,  impeach'd,  and  baffled  here  ; 
Pierc'd  to  the  soul  with  slander's  venom'd  spear ; 
The  which  no  balm  can  cure,  but  his  heart-blood 
Which  breath'd  this  poison. 

K.  Rich.  Rage  must  be  withstood : 

Give  me  his  gage : — Lions  make  leopards  tame. 

J\l'or.  Yea,  but  not  change  their  spots :  take  but 
my  shame, 
And  I  resign  my  gage.    My  dear  dear  lord. 
The  purest  treasure  mortal  times  aflbrd, 
Is — spotless  reputation  ;  that  away, 
Men  are  but  gilded  loam,  or  painted  clay. 
A  jewel  in  a  ten-times-barr'd-up  chest 
U^a  bold  spirit  in  a  loyal  breast. 
Mine  honour  is  my  life  ;  both  grow  in  one ; 
Take  honour  from  me,  and  my  life  is  done  : 
Then,  dear  my  liege,  mine  honour  let  me  try : 
In  that  I  live,  and  for  that  will  I  die. 

K.  Rich.  Cousin,  throw  down  your  gage ;  do 
you  begin. 

Boling.  O,  God  defend  my  soul  from  such  foul 
sin ! 
Shall  I  seem  crest-fallen  in  my  father's  sight? 
Or  with  pale  beggar-fear  impeach  my  height 
Before  this  outdar'd  dastard  !  Ere  my  tongue 
Shall  wound  my  honour  with  such  feeble  wrong, 
Or  sound  so  base  a  parle,  my  teeth  shall  tear 
The  slavish  motive  of  recanting  fear  ; 
And  spit  it  bleeding  in  his  high  disgrace. 
Where  shame  doth  harbour,  even  in  Mowbray's 
face.  [Exit  Gaunt. 

(6)  Arrogant.        (7)  No  advantage  in  delay , 


Sttnt  11,  HI. 


KING  RICHARD  IL 


363 


K.  Rich.  W«  were  not  bora  to  aue,  but  to  com- 
mand : 


Which  since  wc  cannot  do  to  make  you  friends, 
Be  ready,  as  your  lives'shall  answer  it. 
At  Coventry,  upon  Saint  Lambert's  day  ; 
There  shall  your  swords  and  lances  arbitrate 
The  swelling  dificrence  of  your  settled  hate ; 
Since  we  cannot  atone'  you,  we  shall  see 
Justice  design^  the  victor's  chivalry. — 
Marshal,  command  our  officers  at  arms 
Be  ready  to  direct  these  home  alarms. 


And  throw  the  rider  headlong  m  the  lists. 


A  caitifl'  recreant*  to  my  cousin  Hereford ! 
Farewell,  old  Gaunt ;  thy  sometime  brother's  wife. 
With  her  companion  grief  must  end  her  life. 

Gaunt.  Sister,  farewell :  I  must  to  Coventry : 
As  much  good  stay  with  thee,  as  go  with  me ! 
Duch.  Yet  one  word  more ; — Grief  boundeth 
where  it  falls, 
N'ot  with  the  empty  hollowness,  but  weight : 
I  take  my  leave  before  I  have  begun  ; 
[Exeunt.  jFor  sorrow  ends  not  when  it  seemeth  done. 
„^,r.»;.r.  TT     rrt  a  •    ,L    r,  1      jGommend  me  to  my  brother,  Edmund  York. 

SCEwVE  II.-The  same     A  roomm  the  Duke  of,j^     ^y^  j^  all:-Nav,  yet  depart  not  so  ; 
Lancaster's  palace.    Enter  Gaunt,  and  Duchess ij^y^  this  be  all,  do  not  so  quickly  go ; 

I  fhaU  remember  more.     Bid  him — 0,  what  ? — 
With  all  good  speed  at  Flashy'  visit  me. 


of  Gloster 

Gaunt.  Alas !  the  part'  I  had  in  Gloster's  blood 


Doth  more  solicit  me,  than  your  exclaims. 
To  stir  against  the  butchers  of  his  life. 
But  since  correction  lieth  in  those  hands, 
Which  made  the  fault  that  we  cannot  correct. 
Put  Me  our  quarrel  to  the  will  of  heaven  ; 
Who,  when  he  sees  the  hours  ripe  on  earth, 
■\Vill  rain  hot  vengeance  on  offenders'  heads. 

Duch.  Finds  brotherhood  in  thee.no  sharper 
spur  ? 
Hath  love  in  thy  old'blood  no  living  fire  ? 
Edward's  seven  sons,  whereof  thyself  art  one. 
Were  as  seven  phials  of  his  sacred  blood, 
Or  seven  fair  branches  springing  from  one  root: 
Some  of  those  seven  are  dried  by  nature's  course. 
Some  of  those  branches  by  the  destinies  cut: 
But  Thomas,  my  dear  lord,  my  life,  my  Gloster, — 
One  phial  full  of  Edward's  sacred  blood, 
One  flourishing  branch  of  his  most  royal  root, — 
Is  crack'd,  and  all  the  precious  liquor  spilt ; 
Is  hack'd  down,  and  his  summer  leaves  all  faded. 
By  envy's  hand,  and  murder's  bloody  axe. 
All,  Gaunt !  his  blood  was  thine ;  that  bed,  that 

womb. 
That  metal,  that  self-mould,  that  fashion'd  thee, 
Made  him  a  man  ;    and  though  thou  liv'st,  and 

breath'st. 
Yet  art  thou  slain  in  him  :  thou  dost  consent* 
In  some  large  measure  to  thy  father's  death. 
In  that  thou  seest  thy  wretched  brother  die, 
Who  was  the  model  of  thy  father's  life. 
Call  it  not  patience.  Gaunt,  it  is  despair: 
In  suffering  thus  thy  brother  to  be  slaughter'd. 
Thou  show'st  the  naked  pathway  to  thy  life. 
Teaching  stern  murder  how  to  butcher  thee  : 
That  which  in  mean  men  ive  entitle — patience. 
Is  pale  cold  cowardice  in  noble  breasts. 
WTiat  shall  I  say  ?  to  safeguard  thine  own  life. 
The  best  way  is — to  'venge  my  Gloster's  death. 

Gaunt.  Heaven's  is  the  quarrel ;    for  heaven's 
substitute. 
His  deputy  anointed  in  his  sight. 
Hath  caus'd  his  death:  the  which  if  wrongfully. 
Let  heaven  revenge ;  for  I  may  never  lift 
An  angry  arm  against  his  minister. 

Duch.  Where  then,  alas !  may  I  complain  myself? 

Gaunt.  To  heaven,  the  widow's  champion  and 
defence. 

Duch.  Why  then,  I  will.    Farewell,  old  Gaunt. 
Thou  go'st  to  Coventry,  there  to  behold 
Our  cousin  Hereford  and  fell  Mowbray  fight : 
O,  sit  my  husband's  wrongs  on  Hereford's  spear, 
That  it  may  enter  butcher  Mowbray's  breast ! 
Or,  if  misfortune  miss  the  first  career. 
Be  Mowbray's  sins  so  heavj'  in  his  bosom, 
That  they  may  break  his  foaming  courser's  back, 

(2)  Show.     (3)  Relationship. 
(5)  A  base  villain. 


(I)  Reconcile. 
(4)  Assent. 


Alack,  and  what  shall  good  eld  York  there  see. 
But  empty  lodgings  and  unfurnish'd  walls. 
Unpeopled  ofiiccs,  untrodden  stones  ? 
And  what  cheer  there  for  welcome,  but  my  groans  ? 
Therefore  commend  me ;  let  him  not  come  there, 
To  seek  out  sorroiv  that  dwells  every  where: 
Desolate,  desolate,  will  I  hence,  and  die  ; 
The  last  leave  of  thee  takes  my  weeping  eye. 

[Exexint. 

SCEJi'E  III. — Gosford  Green,  near  Coventry. 
Lists  set  out,  and  a  throne.  Heralds,  4*c.  at- 
tending.   Enter  the  Lord  Marshal,  and  Aumerle. 

J\Iar.  My  lord  Aumerle,  is  Harry  Hereford  arm'd  ? 

•lium.  Yea,  at  all  points  ;  and  longs  to  enter  in. 

J\Iar.  The  duke  of  Norfolk,  sprightfully  and  bold. 
Stays  but  the  summons  of  the  appellant's  trumpet. 

.a«m.  Why  then,  the  champions  are  prepar'd, 
and  stay 
For  nothing  but  his  majesty's  approach. 

flourish  of  trumpets.  Enter  King  Richard,  who 
takes  his  seat  on  his  throne;  Gaunt,  and  several 
noblemen,  who  take  their  places.  A  trumpet  is 
sounded,  and  answered  by  another  trumpet  with- 
in. Then  etiter  Norfolk  in  armour,  preceded  by 
a  herald. 

K.  Rich.  Marshal,  demand  of  yonder  champion 
The  cause  of  his  arrival  here  in  arms : 
Ask  him  his  name  ;  and  orderly  proceed 
To  swear  him  in  the  justice  of  his  cause. 

J\Iar.  In  God's  name,  and  the  king's,  say  who 
thou  art, 
And  why  thou  com'st,  thus  knightly  clad  in  arms  : 
Against  what  man  thou  com'st,   and  what   thy 

quarrel : 
Speak  trulv,  on  thy  knighthood,  and  thv  oath ; 
And  so  delend  thee  heaven,  and  thy  valour !  ^ 

.Yar.  My  name  is  Thomas  Mowbray,  duke  of 
Norfolk ; 
Who  hither  come  engaged  by  my  oath 
(Which,  heaven  defend,  a  knight  should  violate !) 
Both  to  defend  my  loyalty  and  truth. 
To  God,  my  king,  and  my  succeeding  issue. 
Against  the  duke  of  Hereford  that  appeals  me ; 
And,  by  the  grace  of  God,  and  this  mine  arm, 
To  prove  him,  in  defending  of  myself, 
A  traitor  to  my  God,  my  king,  and  me : 
And,  as  I  truly  fight,  defend  me  heaven ! 

[He  takes  his  seaL 

Trumpet  sounds.    Enter  Bolingbroke  in  armour^ 
preceded  by  a  herald. 

K.  Rich.  Marshal,  ask  yonder  knight  in  arms, 
Both  who  he  is,  and  ivhy  lie  cometh  hither 


(6)  Cowardly. 


{7}  Her  house  in  Essex. 


901 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


Jicll, 


Thus  platted  in  habiliments  of  war ; 
And  formalljr  according  to  our  law 
Depose  him  in  the  justice  of  his  cause. 

Juan  What  is  thy  name  ?  and  wherefore  com'st 
thou  hither. 
Before  king  Richard,  in  his  royal  lists  ? 
Against  whom  comestthou;  and  what's  thy  quarrel? 
Speak  like  a  true  knight,  so  defend  thee  heaven  ! 

Boling.    Harry  of  Hereford,    Lancaster,    and 
Derby, 
Am  I ;  who  ready  here  do  stand  in  arms. 
To  prove,  by  heaven's  grace,  and  my  body's  valour, 
In  lists,  on  Thomas  Mowbray,  duke  of  Norfolk, 
That  he's  a  traitor,  foul  and  dangerous, 
To  God  of  heaven,  king  Richard,  and  to  me  ; 
And,  as  I  truly  fight,  defend  me  neaven ! 

Mar.  On  pain  of  death,  no  person  be  so  bold, 
Or  daring-hardy,  as  to  touch  the  lists  ; 
Except  the  marshal,  and  sucli  officers 
Appomted  to  direct  these  fair  designs. 

Boling.  Lord  marshal,  let  me  kiss  my  sovereign's 
hand, 
And  bow  my  knee  before  his  majesty : 
For  Mowbray,  and  myself,  are  like  two  men 
That  vow  a  long  and  weary  pilgrimage ; 
Then  let  us  take  a  ceremonious  leavcj 
And  lovin»  farewell,  of  our  several  friends. 

Mar.  The  appellant  in  all  duty  greets  your  high 
ness. 
And  craves  to  kiss  your  hand,  and  take  his  leave. 

K.  Rich.  We  will  descend,  and  fold  him  in  our 
arms. 
Cousin  of  Hereford,  as  thy  cause  is  right. 
So  be  thy  fortune  in  this  royal  fight ! 
Farewell,  my  blood ;  which  if  to-day  thou  shed. 
Lament  we  may,  but  not  revenge  thee  dead. 

Boling.  0.  let  no  noble  eye  profane  a  tear 
For  me,  if  I  be  gor'd  with  Mowbray's  spear ; 
As  confident,  as  is  the  falcon's  flight 

Against  a  bird,  do  I  with  Mowbray  fight. 

My  loving  lord,  [To  Lord  Marshal.]  I  take  my 

leave  of  you; — 
Of  you,  my  noble  cousin,  lord  Aumerle : — 
Not  sick,  although  I  have  to  do  with  death  ; 

But  lusty,  vounp,  and  chcerly  drawing  breaih. 

Lo,  as  at  English  feasts,  so  1  regrcet 

The  daintiest  last,  to  miike  (he  end  most  sweet: 

O  thou,  the  earthly  author  of  my  blood, — 

[To  Gaunt. 
Whose  youthful  spirit,  in  me  regenerate, 
Doth  with  a  two-fold  vigour  lift  me  up 
To  reach  at  victory  above  my  head, — 
Add  proof  unto  my  armour  with  thy  prayers ; 
And  with  thy  blessings  steel  my  lance's  point, 
That  it  may  enter  Mowbray's  v/axen'  coat. 
And  furbish^  new  the  name  of  John  of  Gaunt, 
Even  in  the  lusty  'haviour  of  his  son. 

Gaunt.   Heaven  in  thy  good  cause  make  thee 
prosperous ! 
Be  swift,  like  lightning,  in  the  execution  ; 
And  let  thy  blows,  doubly  redoubled. 
Fall,  like  amazing  thunder,  on  the  casque* 
Of  thy  adverse  pernicious  enemy  : 
Rouse  up  thy  youthful  blood,  be  valiant,  and  live. 

Boling.  Mine  innocency,  and  Saint  George  to 
thrive !  [He  lakes  his  seat. 

Nor.  [ftismg-.]  However  heaven,  or  fortune,  cost 
my  lot. 
There  lives  or  dies,  true  to  king  Richard's  throne, 
A  loyal,  just,  and  upright  gentleman  : 
Never  did  captive  Avith  a  freer  heart 

G)  Yielding.     (2)  Brighten  up.     (3)  Helmet. 
(4)  Play  a  part  in  a  mask. 


Cast  off  his  chains  of  bondage,  and  embrace 
His  golden  uncontroll'd  enfranchisement, 
More  than  my  dancing  soul  doth  celebrate 
This  feast  of  battle  with  mine  adversary. 
Most  mighty  liege, — and  my  companion  peers, 
Take  from  my  mouth  the  wish  of  happy  years : 
As  ^ntle  and  as  jocund,  as  to  jest,* 
Go  I  to  fiojht ;  Truth  hath  a  quiet  breast. 

K.  Rich.  Farewell,  my  lord :  securely  I  espy 

Virtue  with  valour  couched  in  thine  eye. 

Order  the  trial,  marshal,  and  begin. 

[  The  King  and  t/ie  Lords  return  to  their  seats. 

Mar.  Harry  of  Hereford,  Lancaster,  and  Derby, 
Receive  thy  lance :  and  God  defend  the  right ! 

Boling.  [Risi7ig.]  Strong  as  a  tower  in  hope,  I 
cry — amen. 

Mar.   Go  bear  this  lance  [To  ah  officer.]   to 
Thomas  duke  of  Norfolk. 

1  Her.  Harry  of  Hereford,  Lancaster,  and  Derby, 
Stands  here  for  God,  his  sovereign,  and  himself. 
On  pain  to  be  found  false  and  recreant, 

To  prove  the  duke  of  Norfolk,  Thomas  Mowbray, 
A  traitor  to  his  God,  his  king,  and  him. 
And  dares  him  to  set  forward  to  the  fignL 

2  Her.  Here  standeth  Thomas  Mowbray,  duke 

of  Norfolk, 
On  pain  to  be  found  false  and  recreant, 
Both  to  defend  himself,  and  to  approve 
Henry  of  Hereford,  Lancaster,  and  Derby, 
To  Godi  his  sovereign,  and  to  him,  disloyal ; 
Courageous!}',  and  with  a  free  desire, 
Attendinffbul  the  signal  to  begin. 
Mar.  Sound,  trumpets ;  and  set  forward,  com- 
batants. [Jl  charge  sounded. 
Stay,ithe  king  hath  thrown  his  warder'  down. 
A\  Rich.  Let  them  lay  by  their  helmets  and  their 
spears, 

And  both  return  back  to  their  chairs  again  : 

Withdraw  with  us : — and  let  the  trumpets  sound. 
While  we  return  these  dukes  what  we  decree. — 

[A  long  flourish. 
Draw  near,  [To  the  combatants. 

And  list,  what  with  our  council  we  have  done. 
For  that  our  kingdom's  earth  should  not  be  soil'd 
With  that  dear  blood  which  it  hath  fostered  ;* 
And  for  our  eyes  do  hate  the  dire  aspect 
Of  civil  wounds  plough'd  up  with   neighbours' 

swords ; 
And  for  we  think  the  eagle-winged  pride 
Of  sky-aspiring  and  ambitious  thoughts, 
With  rival-hating  envy,  set  you  on 
To  wake  our  peace,  wliich  in  our  country's  cradle 
Draws  the  sweet  infant  breath  of  gentle  sleep  ; 
Which  so  rous'd  up  uith  boisterous  untun'd  drums, 
Wilh  harsii  resounding  trumpets'  dreadful  bray. 
And  grating  shock  of  wrathful  iron  arms. 
Might  from  our  quiet  confines  frisht  fair  peace. 
And  make  us  wade  even  in  our  kindred's  blood  ; — 

Therefore,  we  banish  you  our  territories ; 

You,  cousin  Hereford,  upon  pain  of  death. 
Till  twice  five  summers  have  enrich'd  our  fields, 
Shall  not  regrect  our  fair  dominions. 
But  tread  the  stranger  paths  of  banishment. 
Boling.  Your  will  be  done :  This  must  my  com-l 

fort  be, I 

That  sun,  that  warms  you  here,  shall  shine  on  me/ 
And  those  his  golden  beams,  to  you  here  lent,    / 
Shall  point  on  me,  and  gild  my  banishment,     y^ 
K.  Rich.  Norfolk,  for  thee  remains  a  hea\ici 
■  doom. 
Which  I  with  some  univillingness  pronounce : 
The  fly-slow  hours  shall  not  determinate 


(5)  Truncheon. 


(6)NurtM. 


Seme  III. 


KING  RICHARD  li. 


5fi6 


The  dateless  limit  of  thy  dear  exile ; — 
The  hopeless  word  of— never  to  return, 
Breathe  I  against  thee,  upon  pain  of  life. 

.ffor.  A  heavy  sentence,  my  most  sovereign  lieg( 
And  all  unlook'd  for  from  your  highness'  mouth ; 
A  dearer  merit,  not  so  deep  a  maim 
As  to  be  cast  forth  in  the  common  air, 
Have  I  deserved  at  your  highness'  hand. 
The  langaiao-e  I  have  learn'd  these  forty  years, 
My  native  English,  now  I  must  forego : 
Aira  now  my  tongue's  use  is  to  me  no  more, 
Than  an  unstringed  viol,  or  a  harp ; 
Or,  like  a  cunning  instrument  cas'd  up. 
Or,  being  open,  put  into  his  hands 
That  knows  no  touch  to  tune  ihe  harmony. 
Within  my  mouth  vou  have  engaol'd  my  tongue. 
Doubly  portcuUis'd,'  with  my  teeth,  anil  lips ; 
And  dull,  unleeling,  barren  ignorance 
Is  made  my  gaoler  to  attend  on  me. 
I  am  too  old  to  fawn  upon  a  nurse. 
Too  far  in  years  to  be  a  pupil  now ; 
What  is  thy  sentence  then,  but  speechless  death, 
Which   robs   my  tongue  from    breathing  native 
breath  ? 

K.  Rich.  It  boots  thee  not  to  be  compassionate 
After  our  sentence,  plaining  comes  too  late. 

Jfor.  Then  thus  I  turn  me  from  my  country's 
light. 
To  dwell  in  solemn  shades  of  endless  ni^ht. 

[Retiring 

K.  Rich.  Return  again,  and  take  an  oath  ivith 
thee. 
Lay  on  our  royal  sword  your  banish'd  hands ; 
Swear  by  the  duty  that  you  owe  to  heaven, 
(Our  part  therein  we  banish  with  yourselves,) 
To  keep  the  oath  that  we  administer: — 
You  never  shall  (so  help  you  truth  and  heaven  !) 
Embrace  each  other's  love  in  banishment ; 
Nor  never  look  upon  each  other's  face  ; 
Nor  never  write,  regreet,  nor  reconcile 
This  lowering  tempest  of  your  home-bred  hate ; 
Nor  never  by  advised'  purpose  meet. 
To  plot,  contrive,  or  complot  any  ill, 
'Gainst  us,  our  state,  our  subjects,  cr  our  laqd. 

Boling.  I  swear. 

Abr.  And  I,  to  keep  all  this. 

Boling.  Norfolk,  so  far  as  to  mine  enemy  ; — 
By  this  time,  had  the  king  permitted  us. 
One  of  our  souls  had  wander'd  in  the  air, 
Banish'd  this  frail  sepulchre  of  our  flesh. 
As  now  our  flesh  is  banish'd  from  this  land  :         / 
Confess  thy  treasons,  ere  thou  fly  the  realm  ; 
Since  thou  hast  far  to  go,  bear  not  along  y 

The  clogtring  burden  of  a  guilty  soul.  J 

JiTor.  No,  Bolingbroke;  if  ever  I  were  traifor, 
My  name  be  blotted  from  the  book  of  IHe, 
And  I  from  heaven  banish'd,  as  from  hence  ! 
But  what  thou  art,  heaven,  thou,  and  I  do  know ; 
And  all  too  soon,  I  fear,  the  king  shall  rue. — 
Farewell,  my  liege: — Now  no  way  can  I  stray  ; 
Save  back  to  England,  all  the  world's  my  way, 

K.  Rich.  Uncle,  even  in  the  glasses  of  thine  eyes 
I  see  thy  grieved  heart :  thy  sad  aspect 
Hath  from  the  number  of  his  banish'd  years 
Pluck'd  four  awav  ; — Six  frozen  winters  spent. 
Return   [To  Boling.]  with  welcome  home  from 
banishment. 

Boling.  How  long  a  time  lies  in  one  little  word 
Four  lagging  winters,  and  four  wanton  springs, 
End  in  a  word  ;  Such  is  the  breath  of  kin 


ordl 

V 


Gaunt.  I  tliank  my  liege,  that,  in  regard  of  me, 
He  shortens  four  years  of  my  son's  exfle : 
But  little  vantage  shall  I  reap  thereby  ; 
For,  ere  the  six  years,  that  he  hath  to  spend, 
Can  change  their  moons,  and  bring  their  times 

about, 
My  oil-dried  lamp,  and  time-bewasted  light. 
Shall  be  extinct  with  age,  and  endless  night ; 
My  inch  of  taper  will  be  burnt  and  done. 
And  blindfold  death  not  let  me  see  my  son. 

K.  Rich.  Why,  uncle,  thou  hast  many  years  to  lire. 

Gaunt.  But  not  a  minute,  king,  that  thou  canst 
give: 
Shorten  my  days  thou  canst  with  sullen  sorrow. 
And  pluck  nights  from  me,  but  not  lend  a  morrow: 
Thou  canst  help  time  to  furrow  me  ivith  age, 
But  stop  no  wrinkle  in  his  pilgrimage  ; 
Thy  word  is  current  with  him  for  my  death ; 
But,  dead,  thy  kingdom  cannot  buy  my  breath. 

K.  Rich.  Thy  son  is  banish'd  upon  good  advice,* 
Whereto  thy  tongue  a  party*  verdict  gave  ; 
Why  at  our  justice  seem'st  thou  then  to  lower? 

Gaunt.  Things  sweet  to  taste,  prove  in  digestion 
sour. 
You  urg'd  me  as  a  judge  ;  but  I  had  rather. 
You  would  have  bid  me  argue  like  a  father : — 
0,  had  it  been  a  stranger,  not  my  child. 
To  smooth  his  fault  I  should  have  been  more  mild: 
A  partial  slander*  sought  I  to  avoid. 
And  in  the  sentence  my  own  life  destroy'd. 
Alas,  I  look'd,  when  some  of  you  should  say, 
I  was  too  strict,  to  make  mine  own  away : 
But  you  gave  leave  to  my  unwilling  tongue, 
Agamst  my  will,  to  do  myself  this  wrong. 

K.  Rich.    Cousin,  farewell  :—«nd,  uncle,  bid 
him  so ; 
Six  years  we  banish  him,  and  he  shall  go. 

[Flmrish.    Exeunt  K.  Rich,  and  train. 

^ium.  Cousin,   farewell:    what  presence  must 
not  know. 
From  where  you  do  remain,  let  paper  show. 

Mar.  My  lord,  no  leave  take  1 ;  for  I  will  ride. 
As  far  as  land  will  let  me,  by  your  side. 

Gaunt.  O,  to  what  purpose  dost  tliou  hoard  thy 
words. 
That  thou  return'st  no  greeting  to  thy  friends  ? 

Boling  I  have  too  few  to  take  my  leave  of  you, 
When  the  tongue's  oflico  should  be  prodigal 
To  breathe  the  abundant  dolour'  of  the  heart. 

Gaunt.  Thy  grief  is  but  thy  absence  for  a  time. 

Boling.  Joy  aosentj  grief  is  present  for  that  time. 

Gatint.  What  is  six  %vinters?  they  are  quickly 
gone. 

Boling.   To  men  in  joy ;   but  grief  makes  one 
hour  ten. 

Gaunt.    Call   it   a  travel   that  thou  tak'st  for 
pleasure. 

Boling.  My  heart  will  sigh,  when  I  miscall  it  so, 
Which  finds  it  an  enforced  pilgrimage. 

Gaunt.  The  sullen  passage  of  thy  weary  steps 
Esteem  a  foil,  wherein  thou  art  to  set 
The  precious  jewel  of  thy  home-return. 

Bding.  Nay,  rather,  every  tedious  stride  I  make 
Will  but  remember  me,  what  a  deal  of  world 
I  wander  from  the  jewels  that  I  love. 
Must  I  not  serve  a  long  apprenticehood 
To  foreign  passages ;  and  m  the  end, 
Having  my  freedom,  boast  of  nothing  else, 
But  that  I  was  a  journeyman  to  grief? 

Gaunt.  All  places  that  the  eye  of  heaven  visitj^ 
Are  to  a  wise  man  ports  and  happy  havens : 


11)  Barred. 
(3)  Concerted. 


i2)  To  move  compassion. 
4-  ~       ■■       ■ 


(4)  Consideration. 


'/ 


) 


(5)  Had  a  part  or  share. 

(6)  Reproach  of  partiality. 


(7)  Griei; 


986 


KING  RICHARD  11. 


i/ict  ih 


Teach  thy  necessity  to  reason  Uuis  ; 

There  is  no  virtue  like  necessity. 

Think  not,  the  king  did  banish  thee  ;  ^ 

But  thou  the  king :  \Vo  doth  the  heavier  sit,      j 

Where  it  perceives  it  is  but  faintly  borne.         -/ 

Go,  say — I  sent  thee  forth  to  purchase  honour, 

And  not — the  king  exil'd  thee  :  or  suppose, 

Devouring  pestilence  hanpfs  in  our  air. 

And  thou  art  flying  to  a  fresher  clime. 

Look,  what  thy  soul  holds  dear,  imagine  it 

To  lie  that  way  tiiou  go'st,  not  ivhence  thou  com'st: 

Suppose  the  sins^ing  birds,  musicians  ; 

The  grass  whereon  thou  tread'st,   the  presence' 

strew'd  ; 
The  flowers,  fair  ladies  ;  and  thy  steps,  no  more 
Than  a  delightful  measure,  or  a  dance  : 
For  gnarling'-'  sorrow  hath  less  power  to  bite 
The  man  that  mocks  at  it,  and  sets  it  lights    * 
holing.  O,  who  can  hold  a  fire  in  his  hand, 
By  thinking  on  the  frosty  Caucasus  ? 
Or  cloy  the  hungry  ediro  of  appetite, 
By  bare  imagination  of  a  feast  / 
Or  wallow  naked  in  December  snow. 
By  thinking  on  fantastic  summer's  heat? 
O,  no  !  the  apprehension  of  the  good, 
Gives  but  the  greater  feeling  to  the  worse : 
Fell  sorrow's  tooth  doth  never  rankle  more, 
1     Than  when  it  bites,  but  lanceth  not  the  sore. 
\        Gaunt.  Come,  come,  my  son,  I'll  bring  thee  on 

thy  way : 
Had  I  thy  vouth,  and  cause,  I  would  not  stay. 
Bding.  Then,  England's  ground, farewell;' sweet 

soil,  adieu 
Mv  mother,  and  my  nurse,  that  hears  me  yet ! 

Where'er  I  wander,  boast  of  this  1  can, 

Though  banish'd,  yet  a  true-born  Englishman. 

[Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E  jr.— The  same.  Jl  room  in  the  king's 
castle.  Enter  King  Richard,  Bagot,  and  Green ; 
Aumerle/oi/mcing-. 

K.  Rich.  We  did  observe. — Cousin  Aumerle, 
Howjar  brought  you  high  Hereford  on  his  way? 

wf  urn.  I  brought  high  Herel'ord,  if  you  call  him  so, 
But  to  the  next  highway,  and  there  I  left  hh«. 

K.  Rich.  And,  say,  what  store  of  parting  tears 
were  shed  ? 

Jhim.   'Faith^  none  by  me:   except  the  north- 
east wmd, 
Which  then  blew  bitterly  against  our  (aces, 
Awak'd  the  sleeping  rheum  ;  and  so  by  chance. 
Did  grace  our  hollow  parting  with  a  tear. 

K.  Rich.  What  said  our  cousin,  when  you  parted 
with  him  ? 

Jlum.  Farewell : 
And,  for  my  heart  disdained  that  my  tongue 
Should  so  profane  the  word,  that  taught  me  craft 
To  counterfeit  oppression  of  sueh  grief. 
That  words  seem'd  buried  in  my  sorrow's  grave. 
Marry,  would  the  word  farewell  have  lengthen'd 

hours. 
And  added  years  to  his  short  banishment. 
He  should  nave  had  a  volume  of  farewells  ; 
But,  since  it  would  not,  he  had  none  of  me. 

K.  Rich.  He  is  our  cousin,  cousin;  but 'tis  doubt. 
When  time  shall  call  him  home  from  banishment, 
Whether  our  kinsman  come  to  see  his  friends. 
Ourself,  and  Bushy,  Bagot  here,  and  Green, 
Observ'd  his  courtship  to  the  common  people  : — 
How  he  did  seem  to  dive  into  their  hearts, 
With  humble  and  familiar  courtesy  ; 
What  reverence  he  did  throw  away  on  slaves ; 

(1)  Presence-chamber  at  court.     (2)  Growling, 


Wooing  poor  craftsmen,  with  the  craft  of  amiles, 

And  patient  underbearing  of  his  fortune. 

As  'twere,  to  banish  their  afllcts  with  him. 

Off  goes  his  bonnet  to  an  oyster-wench  ; 

A  brace  of  draymen  bid — God  speed  him  well. 

And  had  the  tribute  of  his  supple  knee. 

With Thanks,    my    coimtrymen,    my    loving 

friends  ; — 
As  were  our  England  in  reversion  his. 
And  he  our  subjects'  next  degree  in  hope. 

Green.  Well,  he  is  gone ;  and  with  him  go  these 
thoughts. 
No\v  for  the  rebels,  which  stand  out  in  Ireland  ; — 
Expedient'  manage  must  be  made,  my  liege  ; 
Ere  further  leisure  yield  them  further  means. 
For  their  advantage,  and  your  highness'  loss. 

K.  Rich.  We  will  ourself  in  person  to  this  war. 
And,  for*  our  coders — with  too  great  a  court. 
And  liberal  largess, — are  grown  somewhat  light, 
We  are  enforc'd  to  farm  our  royal  realm; 
The  revenue  whereof  shall  furnish  us 
For  our  all'airs  in  hand  :  If  that  come  short. 
Our  substitutes  at  home  shall  have  blank  charters ; 
Whereto,  when  they  shall  know  what  men  are  rich. 
They  shall  subscribe  them  for  large  sums  of  gold, 
And  send  them  after  to  supply  our  wants ; 
For  we  will  make  for  Ireland  presently. 

Enter  Bushy. 

Bushy,  what  news  ? 

Btishy.  Old  John  of  Gaunt  is  grievous  sick,  my 
lord; 
Suddenly  taken  ;  and  hath  sent  post-haste, 
To  entreat  your  majesty  to  visit  him. 

K.  Rich.  Where  lies  he  ? 

Bushy.  At  Ely-house. 

A'.  Rich.  Now  put  it,  heaven,  in  his  physician's 
mind. 
To  help  him  to  his  grave  immediately ! 
The  lining  of  his  cofl'ers  shall  make  coats 
To  deck  our  soldiers  for  these  Irish  wars. — 
Come,  gentlemen,  let's  all  go  visit  him  : 
Pray  God,  we  may  make  haste,  and  come  too  late! 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  II. 


SCEJ^E  I. — London.  Ji  room  in  Ely-house. 
Gaint  on  a  couch ;  the  Duke  of  York,  and  others, 
standing  by  him. 

Gatmt.  Will  the  king  come  ?  that  I  may  breathe 
my  last. 
In  wholesome  counsel  to  his  imstaied  youth. 
York.  Vex  not  yourself,  nor  strive  not  with  your 
breath ; 
For  all  in  vain  comes  counsel  to  his  ear. 

Gaunt.  O,  butthev  say,  the  tongues  of  dying  men 
Enforce  attention,  like  deep  harmony  : 
Where  words  are  scarce,  they  are  seldom  spent  in 

vain  ; 
For  they  breathe  truth,  that  breathe  their  words  in 

pain. 
He,  that  no  more  must  say,  is  listen'd  more 
Than  they  whom  youth  and  ease  have  taught  to 
glose ;  * 
More  are  men's  euds  mark'd,  than  their  lives  before  : 

The  setting  sun,  and  music  at  the  close. 
As  the  last  taste  of  sweets,  is  sweetest  last ; 
Writ  in  remembrance,  more  than  things  long  past : 
Though  Richard  my  life's  counsel  would  not  hear, 

(3)  Expeditious.       (4)  Because.      (5)  FJalter. 


•x 


Simet. 


KING  HICHARD  It. 


36ir 


Mv  death's  sad  tale  may  yet  undeaf  his  ear. 

York.  No ;   it  is  stopp'd  Nvith  other  flattering 
sounds, 
As,  praises  of  his  state :  Uien,  there  are  found 
Lascivious  metres  ;  to  whose  renom  sound 
The  open  ear  of  youth  doth  always  listen : 
Report  of  fashions  in  proud  Italy  ; 
Whose  liianuers  still  our  tardy  apLjh  nation 
Limps  after,  in  base  imitation. 
Where  doth  the  world  thrust  forth  a  vanity 
(So  it  be  new,  there's  no  respect  how  vile,) 
That  is  not  quickly  buzz'd  into  his  ears? 
Then  all  too  late  comes  counsel  to  be  heard. 
Where  will  doth  mutiny  with  wit's  repard. 
Direct  not  him,  whose  way  himself  %vill  choose  ; 
'Tis  breath  thou  lack'st,  and  tliat  breath  wilt  thou 
lose. 

Gaunl.  Metliinks,  I  am  a  prophet  new  inspir'd ; 
And  thus,  expiring',  do  foretel  of  him :  . 
His  rash  fierce  blaze  of  i  iot  cannot  last ; 
For  violent  fires  soon  burn  out  themselves : 
Small  showers  last  long,but  sudden  storms  are  short ; 
He  tires  betimes,  that  spurs  too  fast  betimes  ; 
With  eaifer  feeding,  food  doth  choke  the  feeder : 
Light  vanity,  insatiate  cormorant, 
Consuming  means,  soon  preys  upon  itself. 
This  royal  throne  of  kings,  tliis  seepter'd  isle. 
This  earth  of  majesty,  this  seat  of  Mars, 
This  other  Eden,  demi-paradise  ; 
This  fortress,  built  by  nature  for  herself. 
Against  infection,  and  the  hand  of  war ; 
This  happy  breed  of  men,  this  little  world ; 
This  precious  stone  set  in  the  silver  sea. 
Which  serves  it  in  the  office  of  a  wall, 
Or  as  a  moat  defensive  to  a  house, 
Aguinst  the  envy  of  less  happier  lands: 
This  blessed    plot,    this  earth,   this  realm,    this 

England, 
This  nurse,  this  teeming  womb  of  royal  kings, 
Fear'd  by  their  breed,  and  famous  by  their  birth, 
ivenowned  for  their  deeds  as  far  from  home 
(For  Christian  service,  and  true  chivalry,) 
As  is  the  sepulchre  in  stubborn  Jewry, 
Of  the  world's  ransom,  blessed  Mary's  son : 
This  land  of  such  dear  souls,  this  dear  dear  land. 
Dear  for  her  reputation  through  tlie  world, 
Is  now  leased  out  (I  die  pronouncing  it,) 
Like  to  a  tenement  or  pelting'  farm  : 
England,  bound  in  with  the  triumphant  sea, 
^Vhose  rocky  shore  beats  back  the  envious  siege 
Of  watery  Neptune,  is  now  bound  in  with  shaine. 
With  inky  blots,  and  rotten  parchment  bonds  ; 
That  England,  that  was  wont  to  conquer  others. 
Hath  made  a  shameful  contiuest  of  itself: 
O,  Avould  the  scandal  vanish  with  mv  life. 
How  happy  then  were  my  ensuing  dieath ! 

Enter  KingRichSird,  and  Queen ;  Aumerle,  Bushy, 
Green,  Bagot,  Ross,  and  Willoughby. 

York.  The  king  is  come :  deal  mildly  with  his 
youth ; 
For  young  hot  colts,  being  rag'd,  do  rage  the  more. 

Q.i«««n.  How  fares  our  noble  uncle,  Lancaster? 

A'.  Rich.  What  comfort,  man  ?  How  is't  with 
aged  Gaunt? 

Gaunt.  O,  how  that  name  befits  my  composition  ! 
Old  Gaunt,  indeed  ;  and  gaunt-  in  being  old  : 
VVhhin  me  grief  hath  kept  a  tedious  fast ; 
And  who  abstains  from  meat,  that  is  not  gaunt  ? 
For  sleeping  England  long  time  have  I  watch'd  ; 
Watching  breeds  leanness,  leanness  is  all  gaunt : 
The  pleasure,  that  some  fathers  feed  upon, 

(1)  Paltry.        (2)  Lean,  thin.        (3)  Mad. 


Is  my  strict  fast,  I  mean— my  cliildren's  looks ; 
i  And,  therein  fastuig,  hast  thou  made  me  gaunt : 
I  Gaunt  am  I  for  the  grave,  gaunt  as  a  grave, 
j  Whose  hollow  womb  inhenU  nought  but  bones. 

K,  Rick.  Can  sick  men  play  so  nicely  with  their 
names  ? 

Gaunt.  No,  misery  makes  sport  to  mock  itself:    / 
Since  thou  dost  seek  to  kill  my  name  in  me,  / 

I  mock  my  name  ereat  kmg,  to  flatter  thee.  / 

K.  Rich.  Should  dving  men  flatter  with  those 
that  live  ? 

Gmint.  No,  no;  men  living  flatter  those  thatdie. 

K.  Rich.  Thou,  now  a  dymg,  say'st— thou  flat- 
terest  me. 

Gaunt.  Oh  *  no ;  thou  diest,  though  I  the  sicker  be. 

K.  Rich.  I  am  in  health,  I  breathe, and  see  thee  ill? 

Gaunt.  Now,  He  that  made  me,  knows  1  see 
thee  ill ; 
111  in  myself  to  see,  and  in  thee  seeing  ill. 
Thy  death-bed  is  no  lesser  than  the  land. 
Wherein  thou  liest  in  reputation  sick  : 
And  thou,  too  careless  pqjtient  as  thou  art, 
Commit'st  thy  anointed  body  to  the  cure 
Of  those  physicians  that  first  wounded  thee : 
A  thousand  flatterers  sit  within  thy  crown. 
Whose  compass  is  no  bigger  than  thy  head  ; 
And  yet,  incaged  in  so  small  a  verge. 
The  waste  is  no  whit  lesser  than  thy  land. 
O,  had  thy  grandsire,  with  a  prophet's  eye, 
Seen  how  his  son's  son  should  destroy  his  sons, 
From  forth  thy  reach  he  would  have  laid  thy  shame ; 
Deposing  thee  before  thou  wert  possess'd. 
Which  art  possess'd'  now  to  depose  thyself. 
Why,  cousin,  wert  thou  regent  of  the  world. 
It  were  a  shame  to  let  this  land  by  lease : 
But,  for  thy  world,  enjoying  but  this  land, 
Is  it  not  more  than  shame,  to  shame  it  so  ? 
Landlord  of  England  art  thou  now,  not  king: 
Thy  state  of  law  is  bondslave  to  the  law  ; 
And  thou 

K.  Rich. a  lunatic  lean-witted  fool. 

Presuming  on  an  ague's  privilege, 

Dar'st  with  thy  frozen  aamonition 

Make  pale  our  cheek;  chasing  the  royal  blood. 

With  fury,  from  his  native  residence. ' 

Now  by  my  scat's  right  royal  majesty, 

Wert  thou  not  brother  to  great  Edward's  son. 

This  tongue  that  runs  so  roundly  in  thy  head. 

Should  run  thy  head  from  thy  unreverend  shoulders. 

Gaunt.  O,  spare  me  not,  my  brother  Edward's  son, 
For  that  I  v,-as  his  father  Edward's  son  ; 
That  blood  already,  like  the  pelican. 
Hast  thou  tapp'd  out,  and  drunkenly  carous'd  : 
My  brother  Gloster,  plain  well-meaning  soul, 
( VVhom  fair  befall  in  heaven  'mongst  happy  souls ! ) 
may  be  a  precedent  and  witness  good, 
That  thou  respect'st  not  spilling  Edward's  blood : 
Join  with  the  present  sickness  tnat  I  have  ; 
And  thy  unkindness  be  like  crooked  age, 
To  crop  at  once  a  too-long  wither'd  flower. 
Live  in  thy  shame,  but  die  not  shame  with  thee  ! — 
These  words  hereafter  thy  tormentors  be  I — 
Convey  me  to  my  bed,  then  to  my  grave : 
Love  they  to  live,  that  love  and  honour  hare. 

[Exit,  borne  out  by  his  attendants. 

K.  Rich.  And  let  them  die,  that  age  and  sullens 
have ; 
For  both  hast  thou,  and  both  become  the  grave. 

i'orA*.  'Beseech  vour  majesty,  impute  his  words 
To  wayward  sickliness  and  age  in  hi» : 
He  loves  you,  on  mv  life,  and  holds  you  dear 
As  Harry,  duke  of  "Hereford,  were  he  here. 

K.  Rich.  Right;  you  say  true:   as  Hereford*! 
love,  so  his  : 


KING  RICHARD  11. 


Jicttt. 


/Ls  theirs,  ao  mine ;  and  all  be  as  it  is. 
Enter  Northumberland. 

J^orth.  My  lie^e,  old  Gaunt  commends  him  to 
your  majesty. 

K.  Rich.  AVhat  says  he  now  ? 

J^orth.  Nay,  nothing ;  all  is  said : 

His  tonffue  is  now  a  stringless  instrument ; 
Words,  life,  and  all,  old  Lancaster  has  spent. 

York.  Be  Vork  the  next  that  must  be  bankrupt  so ! 
Thou£;h  death  be  poor,  it  ends  a  mortal  wo. 

K.  Rich,  The  ripest  fruit  first  falls,  and  so  doth  he ; 
His  time  is  spent,  our  pilgrimage  must  be : 

So  much  for  that. Now  for  our  Irish  wars  : 

We  must  supplant  those  rough  rug-headed  kerns  ; ' 

Which  live  like  venom,  where  no  venom  else, 

But  only  they,  hath  privilege  to  live.* 

And  for  these  great  affairs  do  ask  some  charge, 

Towards  our  assistance,  we  do  seize  to  us 

The  plate,  coin,  revenues,  and  moveables. 

Whereof  our  uncle  Gaunt  did  stand  possess'd. 

York.  How  long  shall  I  be  patient  ?  Ah,  how  long 
Shall  tender  duty  make  me  suffer  wrong  ? 
Not  Gloster's  death,  nor  Hereford's  banishment, 
NotGaunt's  rebukes,  nor  England's  private  wrongs, 
Nor  the  prevention  of  poor  Bolingbroke 
About  his  marriage,  nor  my  own  disgrace, 
Have  ever  made  me  sour  my  patient  cheek, 
Or  bend  one  wrinkle  on  my  sovereign's  face. — 
I  am  the  last  of  noble  Edward's  sons, 
Of  whom  thy  father,  prince  of  Wales,  was  first ; 
In  war,  was  never  lion  rag'd  more  fierce. 
In  peace,  was  never  gentle  lamb  more  mild, 
Than  was  that  young  and  princely  gentleman  : 
His  face  thou  hast,  for  even  so  look'd  he, 
Accomplish'd  with  the  number  of  thy  hours  ;' 
But,  when  he  frown'd,  it  was  against  the  French, 
And  not  against  his  friends :  his  noble  hand 
Did  win  wnat  he  did  spend,  and  spent  not  that 
Which  his  triumphant  father's  hand  had  won  : 
His  hands  were  guilty  of  no  kindred's  blood, 
But  bloody  with  the  enemies  of  his  kin. 
O,  Richard  !  York  is  too  far  gone  with  grief, 
Or  else  he  never  would  compare  between. 

K.  Rich.  Why,  uncle,  %vhat's  the  matter  ? 

York.  O,  my  liege, 

Pardon  me,  if  vou  please ;  if  not,  I  pleas'd 
Not  to  be  pardon'd,  am  content  withal. 
Seek  you  to  seize,  and  gripe  into  your  hands, 
The  royalties  and  rights  of  banish'd  Hereford  ? 
Is  not  Gatmt  dead  ?  and  doth  not  Hereford  live  ? 
Was  not  Gaunt  just  ?  and  is  not  Harry  true  ? 
Did  not  the  one  deserve  to  have  an  heir  ? 
Is  not  his  heir  a  well-deserving  son  ? 
Take  Hereford's  rights  away,  and  take  from  time 
His  charters,  and  his  customary  rights  ; 
Let  not  to-morrow  then  ensue  to-day  ; 
Be  not  thyself,  for  how  art  thou  a  king, 
But  by  fair  sequence  and  succession  ? 
Now,  afore  God  (God  forbid,  I  say  true  !) 
If  vou  do  wrongfully  seize  Hereford's  rights, 
Call  in  the  letters  patents  that  he  hath 
By  his  attornies-gencral  to  sue 
His  livery,*  and  deny  his  offcr'd  homage, 
You  pluclf  a  thousand  dancers  on  your  head. 
You  lose  a  thousand  well-disposed  hearts, 
And  prick  my  tender  patience  to  those  thoughts 
Which  honour  and  allegiance  cannot  think. 

K.  Rich.  Think  what  you  will ;  we  seize  into 
our  hands 

!1)  Irish  soldiers. 
2)  Alluding  to  the  idea  that  no  renomons  rep- 
tiles  live  in  Ireland. 


His  plate,  his  goods,  his  money,  and  his  lands. 

York.   I'll  not  be 'by,   the  while:    My  Uege, 
farewell : 
^Tiat  will  ensue  hereof,  there's  none  can  tell ; 
But  by  bad  courses  may  be  understood. 
That  their  events  can  never  fall  out  good.     [Exit. 
^K.  Rich.  Go,  Bushy,  to  the  earl  of  Wilt*hjre 

straight ; 
Bid  him  repair  to  us,  to  Ely-house, 
To  see  this  business :  To-morrow  next 
We  will  for  Ireland  ;  and  'tis  time.  I  trow  ; 
And  we  create,  in  absence  of  ourselfl 
Our  uncle  York,  lord  governor  of  England, 
For  he  is  just,  and  always  loved  us  well. — 
Come  on,  our  queen :  to-morrow  must  wepart ; 
Be  merry,  for  our  time  of  stay  is  short.    [Funirish. 
[Exeunt  King,  Queen,  Bushy,  Aumerle, 
Green,  and  Bagot. 

J^orth.  Well,  lords,  the  duke  of  Lancaster  is 
dead. 

Ross.  And  living  too ;  for  now  his  son  is  duke. 

Willo.  Barely  in  title,  not  in  revenue. 

J^orth.  Richly  in  both,  if  justice  had  her  right. 

Ross.  My  heart  is  great ;  but  it  must  break  wi(h 
silence, 
Ere't  be  disburden'd  with  a  liberal'  tongue. 

Jfcrth.  Nay,  speak  thy  mind  ;  and  let  him  ne'er 
speak  more, 
That  speaks  thy  words  again,  to  do  thee  harm ! 

Willo.  Tends  that  thou'dst  speak,  to  the  duke 
of  Hereford  ? 
If  it  be  so,  out  with  it  boldly,  man ; 
Quick  is  mine  car  to  hear  of  good  towards  him. 

Ross.  No  good  at  all,  that  I  can  do  for  him  ; 
Unless  you  call  it  good  to  pity  him, 
Bereft  and  gelded"  of  his  patrimony. 

J>rorth.   Now,  afore  heaven,  'tis  shame,  such 
wrongs  are  borne. 
In  him  a  royal  prince,  and  many  more 
Of  noble  blood  in  this  declining  land. 
The  king  is  not  himself,  but  basely  led 
By  flatterers ;  and  what  they  will  inform. 
Merely  in  hate,  'gainst  any  of  us  all, 
That  -will  the  king  severely  prosecute 
'Gainst  us,  our  lives,  our  children,  and  our  heirs. 

Ross.  The  commons  hath  he  pill'd'  with  grievou 
taxes. 
And  lost  their  hearts :  the  nobles  hath  he  fin'd. 
For  ancient  quarrels,  and  quite  lost  their  hearts. 

Willo.  And  daily  new  exactions  are  devis'd  ; 
As  blanks,  benevolences,  and  I  wot  not  what : 
But  what,  o'God's  name,  doth  become  of  this  ? 

J\rorth.  Wars  have  not  wasted  it,  for  warr'd  he 
hath  not. 
But  basely  yielded  upon  compromise. 
That  which'his  ancestors  achiev'd  with  blows  : 
More  hath  he  spent  in  peace,  than  they  in  wars. 

Ross.  The  earl  of  Wiltshire  hath  the  realm  in 
farm. 

Willo.  The  king's  grown  bankrupt,  like  a  broken 
man. 

J^orth.  Reproach,  and  dissolution,  hangeth  over 
him. 

Ross.  He  hath  not  money  for  these  Irish  wars, 
His  burdenous  taxations  notwithstanding. 
But  by  the  robbing  of  the  banish'd  duke. 

J\'oyth.  Hisnoble  kinsman :  most  degenerate  king! 
But,  lords,  we  hear  this  fearful  tempest  sing, 
Yet  seek  no  shelter  to  avoid  the  storm  : 
We  see  the  wind  sit  sore  upon  our  sails, 

(3)  When  of  thy  age. 

(4)  Taking  possession.  (5)  Free. 
(6)  Deprived.          (7)  Pillaged. 


Scene  It. 


KING  RICHARD  H. 


am 


And  yet  we  strike  not,  but  securely  perish.' 

Ross.  We  see  the  very  wreck  that  we  must  suffer ; 
And  unavoided  is  the  danger  now, 
For  suflering  so  the  causes  of  our  wreck. 
.YorlA.  J«i  ot  so ;  even  through  the  hollow  eyes  of 
death, 
I  spy  life  peerinor  •  but  I  dare  not  say 
How  near  the  tidings  of  our  comfort  is. 

Willo.  Nay,  let  us  share  thy  thoughts,  as  thou 

dost  ours. 
Ross.  Be  confident  to  speak,  Northumberland : 
We  three  are  but  thyself;  and,  speaking  so, 
Thy  words  are  but  as  thoughts ;  therefore,  be  bold. 
J^Torth.  Then  thus : — I  have,  from  Port  le  Blanc, 
a  bay 
In  Brittany,  received  intelligence. 
That  Harry  Hereford,  Reignold  lord  Cobham 
[The  son  of  Richard  earl  of  Arundel,] 
That  late  broke  from  the  duke  of  Exeter, 
His  brother,  archbishop  late  of  Canterbury, 
Sir  Thomas  Erpingham,  sir  John  Ramston, 
Sir  John  Norberry,  sir  Robert  Waterton,  and  Fran- 
cis Quoint, 

All  these  well  furnish'd  by  the  duke  of  Bretaene, 
With  eight  tall^  ships,  three  thousand  men  of  war, 
Are  making  hither  with  Sll  due  expedience,' 
And  shortly  mean  to  touch  our  northern  shore : 
Perhaps,  they  had  ere  this  ;  but  that  they  stay 
The  first  departing  of  the  king  for  Ireland. 
If  then  we  shall  shake  off  our  slavish  yoke, 
Imp*  out  our  drooping  country's  broken  wing. 
Redeem  from  broking  pawn  the  blemish'd  crown. 
Wipe  off  the  dust  that  hides  our  sceptre's  gilt,* 
And  make  high  majesty  look  like'itself. 
Away,  with  me,  in  post  to  Ravenspurg : 
But  if  you  faint,  as  fearing  to  do  so, 
Stay,  and  be  secret,  and  myself  ivill  go. 
Ross.  To  horse,  to  horse !  urge  doubts  to  them 

that  fear. 
WUlo.  Hold  out  my  horse,  and  I  will  first  be 
there.  [Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E  II. — The  same.    Jl  room  in  the  paloi 
Enter  Queen,  Bushy  and  Bagot. 

Bushy.  Madam,  your  majesty  is  too  much  sad  i 
You  promis'd,  when  you  parted  with  the  king, 
To  lay  aside  life-harming  heaviness,  j 

And  entertain  a  cheerful  disposition.  /' 

Queen.  To  please  the  king,  I  did ;  to  please  mj* 
self,  / 

I  cannot  do  it ;  yet  I  know  no  cause  / 

Why  I  should  welcome  such  a  guest  as  grief. 
Save  bidding  farewell  to  so  sv/eet  a  guest 
As  my  sweet  Richard  :  Yet,  again,  methinks,  , 
Some  unborn  sorrow,  ripe  in  fortune's  womb. 
Is  coming  towards  me  ;  and  my  inward  soul 
With  nothing  trembles  :  at  somethina;  it  grieves, 
More  than  with  parting  from  my  lor'd  the  king. 

Bushy.  Each  substance  of  a  grief  hath  twenty 
shadows. 
Which  show  like  grief  itself,  but  are  not  so  ; 
For  sorrow's  eye,  glazed  with  blinding  tears, 
Divides  one  thmg  entire  to  many  objects  ; 
Like  perspectives,*  which,  rightly  gaz'd  upon. 
Show  nothing  but  confusion  ;  ey'd  awry, 
Distinguish  form :  so  your  sweet  majesty. 
Looking  awry  upon  your  lord's  departure, 
Finds  shapes  of  grief,  more  than  himself,  to  wail ; 
Which,  look'd  on  as  it  is,  is  nought  but  shadows 
Of  what  it  is  not.    Then,  thrice-gracious  queen, 

(1)  Perish  by  confidence  in  our  security. 

(2)  Stout  (S)  Expedition. 

(4)  Supply  with  new  feathers.      (6)  Gildimr, 


T 


More  than  your  lord's  departure  weep  not ;  raore>i 

not  seen  ; 
Or  if  it  be,  'tis  with  false  sorrow's  eye, 
Which,  for  things  true,  weeps  things  imaginary. 

Queen.  It  may  be  so ;  but  yet  my  inward  soul, 
Persuades  me,  it  is  otherwise :  Howe'er  it  be, 
I  cannot  but  be  sad ;  so  heavy  sad. 
As,— though,  in  thinkuig,  on  no  thought  I  think,— 
Makes  me  «itli  heavy  nothing  faint  and  shrink. 

Bushy.  'Tis  nothing  but  conceit,'  my  gracious 
ladv. 

Q,ueen.  'Tis  nothing  less :  conceit  is  still  deriv'd 
From  some  fore-father  grief;  mine  is  not  so; 
For  nothing  hath  begot  my  something  grief; 
Or  something  hath  the  nothing  that  I  grieve : 
'Tis  in  reversion  that  I  do  possess  ; 
But  what  it  is,  that  is  not  vet  known  ;  what 
I  cannot  name  ;  'tis  nameless  wo,  I  wot.* 
Enter  Green. 

Green.  God  save  3'our  majesty ! — and  well  met, 
gentlemen : — 
I  hope,  the  king  is  not  yet  shipp'd  for  Ireland. 

Q,ueen.  Why  hop'st  thou  so?  'tis  better  hope, 
he  is ; 
For  his  designs  crave  haste,  his  haste  good  hope : 
Then  wherefore  dost  thou  hope,  he  is  not  shipp'd  ? 

Green.  That  he,  our  hope,  might  have  retired 
his  power,' 
And  driven  into  despair  an  enemy's  hope, 
^Vho  strongly  hath  set  footing  in'this  land : 
The  banish'd  Bolingbroke  repeals  himself^ 
And  with  uplifted  arms  is  sjife  arriv'd 
At  Ravenspurg. 

Qwee?z.  Now  God  in  heaven  forbid ! 

Green.  O,  madam,  'tis  too  true :    and  that  Is 
worse, — 
The  lord  Northumberland,  his  young  son  Henry 

Percy, 
The  lords  of  Ross,  Beaumond,  and  Willoughby, 
With  all  their  powerful  friends,  are  fled  to  him. 

Bushy.  Why  have  you  not  proclaim'd  Northum- 
berland, 
And  all  the  rest  of  the  revolting  faction, 
Traitors  ? 

Green.  We  have :  whereon  the  earl  of  Worcester 
Hath  broke  his  staff  resign'd  his  stewardship. 
And  all  the  household  servants  fled  mth  him 
To  Bolingbroke. 

Queen.  So,  Green,  thou  art  the  midwife  to  my  wo, 
And,  Bolingbroke  my  sorrow's  dismal  heir : 
Now  hath  mj'  soul  brought  forth  her  prodigy  ; 
And  I,  a  gasping  new-deliver'd  mother, 
Have  wo  to  wo,  sorrow  to  sorrow  join'd. 

Bushy.  Despair  not,  madam. 

Q,ueen.  Who  shall  hinder  me  ? 

1  will  despair,  and  be  at  enmity 
With  cozening  hope ;  he  is  a  flatterer, 
A  parasite,  a  keeper-back  of  death. 
Who  gently  would  dissolve  the  bands  of  life, 
Which  false  hope  lingers  in  extremity. 

Enter  York. 

Green.  Here  comes  the  duke  of  York. 

Q,ueen.  With  signs  of  war  about  his  aged  neck ; 
0,  full  of  careful  business  are  his  looks!—— 
Uncle, 
For  heaven's  sake,  speak  comfortable  words. 

York.  Should  I  do  so,  I  should  belie  my  thoughts. 
Comfort's  in  heaven :  and  we  are  on  the  earth. 
Where  nothing  lives  hut  crosses,  care,  and  grief. 

16)  Pictures.  (7)  Fanciful  conception* 

8)  Know.  (9)  Drawn  it  back, 

•  A 


370 


KING  RICHARD  ll. 


M  tl. 


Your  husband  he  is  gone  to  save  far  off, 
Whilst  others  come  to  make  him  lose  at  home : 
Here  am  I  left  to  underprop  his  land  ; 

Who,  weak  with  age,  cannot  support  myself: 

Now  comes  the  sick  hour  that  his  surfeit  made ; 
Now  shall  he  try  his  friends  that  flatter'd  him. 

Enter  a  Servant. 

Serv.  My  lord,  your  son  was  gone  before  I  came. 

York,  lie  was  ? — Why,  so ! — go  all  which  way 

it  will ! 

The  nobles  they  are  fled,  the  commons  cold. 

And  will,  I  fear,  revolt  on  Hereford's  side. 

Sirrah, 

Get  thee  to  Plashy,  to  my  sister  Gloster; 
Bid  her  send  me  presently  a  thousand  pound : 
Hold,  take  my  ring. 

Serv.  My  lord,  I  had  for2;ot  to  tell  your  lordship : 
To-day,  as  I  came  by,  I  called  there  ; 
But  I  shall  grieve  you  to  report  the  rest. 

Ym-k.  What  is  it,  knave'/ 

Serv.  An  hour  before  I  came,  the  duchess  died. 

York.  God  for  his  mercy !  what  a  tide  of  woes 
Comes  rushing  on  this  woful  land  at  once ! 
I  know  not  what  to  do : — I  would  to  God, 
(So  my  untruth'  had  not  provok'd  him  to  it,) 
The  king  had  cut  off  my  head  with  my  brother's. — 
What,  are  there  posts  despatch'd  for  Ireland  ? — 
How  shall  we  do  for  money  for  these  wars  ? — 
Come,  sister, — cousin,  I  would  say :  pray,  pardon 

me. — 
Go,  fellow  [To  the  Servant.]  get  thee  home,  provide 

some  carts. 
And  bring  away  the  armour  that  is  there. — 

[Exit  Servant. 
Gentlemen,  will  you  go  muster  men  ?  if  I  know 
How,  or  which  way,  to  order  these  affairs. 
Thus  thrust  disorderly  into  my  hands, 
Never  believe  me.    Both  are  my  kinsmen ; — 
The  one's  my  sovereign,  whom  both  my  oath 
And  duty  bids  defend  ;  the  other  again, 
Is  my  kinsman,  whom  the  king  hath  wrong'd ; 
Whom  conscience  and  my  kindred  bids  to  right. 
Well,  somewhat  we  must  do. — Come,  cousin,  I'll 
Dispose  of  you : — Go,  muster  up  your  men, 
Ana  meet  me  presently  at  Bcrkler-castle. 

I  should  to  Plashy  too ; 

But  time  will  not  permit : — All  is  uneven, 
And  every  thing  is  left  at  six  and  seven. 

[Exeunt  York  and  Queen. 

Bushy.    The  wind  sits  feir  for  news  to  go  to 
Ireland, 
But  none  returns.    For  us  to  levy  power, 
Proportionable  to  the  enemy, 
Is  all  impossible. 

Green.  Besides,  our  nearness  to  the  king  in  love. 
Is  near  the  hate  of  those  love  not  the  king. 

Bagot.  And  that's  the  wavering  commons :  for 
their  love 
Lies  in  their  purses  j  and  %vhoso  empties  them, 
By  so  much  fills  their  hearts  with  deadly  hate. 

Bushy.  Wherein  the  king  stands  generally  con- 
demn'd. 

Bagot.  If  judgment  lie  in  them,  then  so  do  we, 
Because  we  ever  have  been  near  the  king. 

Green.  Well,  I'll  for  refuge  straight  to  Bristol 
castle : 
The  earl  of  Wiltshire  is  already  there. 

Bushy.  Thither  will  I  with  you :  for  little  office 
The  hateful  commons  will  perform  for  us ; 
Except  like  curs  to  tear  us  all  to  pieces.— 
Will  you  go  along  with  us  ? 

0)  Di»loy»ltjr, 


'    Bagot.  No ;  I'll  to  Ireland  to  his  majesty. 
Farewell;  if  heart's  presages  be  not  vain,  .' 

We  three  here  part,  that  ne'er  shall  meet  again.  ^ 

Bushy.  That's  as  York  thrives  to  beat  back  Bo- 
lingbrokc. 

Green.  Alas,  poor  duke !  the  task  he  undertakes 
Is — numb'ring  sands,  and  drinking  oceans  dry ; 
Where  one  on  his  side  fights,  thousands  will  ily. 

Bushy.  Farewell  at  once ;  for  once,  for  all,  and 
ever. 

Green.  Well,  we  may  meet  again. 

Bagot.  i  fear  me,  never.     [Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E  III.— The  Wilds  in  Glosiershire.  Enter 
Bolingbroke  and  Northumberland,  with  Forces. 

Boling.  How  far  is  it,  my  lor3,  to  Berkley  now  ? 

J^orth.  Believe  me,  noble  lord, 
I  am  a  stranger  here  in  Glostershire. 
These  high  wild  hills,  and  rough  uneven  ways. 
Draw  out  our  miles,  and  make  them  wearisome  : 
And  yet  your  fair  discourse  hath  been  as  sugar, 
Making  the  hard  way  sweet  and  delectable. 
But,  I  bethink  me,  what  a  weary  way 
From  Ravenspurg  to  Cotswold,  will  be  found 
III  Ross  and  ^Villoughby,  wanting  your  company ; 
Which,  I  protest,  hath  very  much  beguil'd 
The  tediousness  and  process  of  my  travel : 
But  theirs  is  .si\eeten'd  with  the  hope  to  have 
The  present  benefit  which  I  possess : 
And  hope  to  joy,  is  little  less  ui  joy. 
Than  hope  enjoy'd  :  by  this  the  weary  lords 
Shall  make  their  way  seem  short ;  as  mine  hath  done 
By  sip:ht  of  what  I  have,  your  noble  company. 

Boling.  Of  much  less  value  is  my  company. 
Than  your  good  words.    But  who  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Harry  Percy. 

J^orlh.  It  is  my  son,  young  Harry  Percy, 
Sent  from  my  brother  Worcester,  whencesoever. — 
Harry,  how  fares  your  uncle  ? 

Percy.  I  had  thought,  my  lord,  to  have  leam'd 
his  health  of  you. 

J^Torth.  Why,  is  he  not  with  the  queen? 

Percy.  No,  my  good  lord ;  he  hath  forsook  the 
court, 
Broken  his  staff  of  office,  and  dispers'd 
The  household  of  the  king. 

JVorth.  What  was  his  reason  ? 

He  was  not  so  rcsolv'd,  when  last  we  spake  to- 
gether. 

Percy.  Because  your  lordship  was  proclaimed 
traitor. 
But  he,  my  lord,  is  gone  to  Ravenspurg, 
To  offer  service  to  the  duke  of  Hereford  ; 
And  sent  me  o'er, by  Berkley,  to  discover 
What  power  the  duke  of  York  had  levied  there  ; 
Then  with  direction  to  repair  to  Ravenspurg. 

JSVt/t,  Have  you  forgot  the  duke  of  Hereford, 
boy? 

Percy.  No,  my  good  lord ;  for  that  is  not  forgot, 
Which  ne'er  I  did  remember :  to  my  knowledge, 
I  never  in  my  life  did  look  on  him. 

J^orth.   Then  learn  to  know  him  now;  this  is 
the  duke. 

Percy.  My  gracious  lord,  I  tender  you  my  service, 
Such  as  it  is,  being  tender,  raw,  and  young ; 
Which  elder  days  shall  ripen,  and  confirm 
To  more  approv'd  service  and  desert. 

Boling.  I  thank  thee,  gentle  Percy;  and  be  lure, 
I  count  myself  in  nothing  else  so  happy. 
As  in  a  soul  rememb'ring  my  good  friends ; 
And,  as  my  fortune  ripens  with  thy  love, 
It  ihall  be  still  ibj  tru«  lore'«  recompense : 


Seme  III. 


KING  RICHARD  IL 


371 


My  heart  this  covenant  makes,  my  hand  thus 

seals  it. 
'    J^orth.  How  far  is  it  to  Berkley  ?  An^  what  stir 
Keeps  good  old  York  there,  with  his  men  of  war? 
Percy.  There  stands  the  castle,  by  yon  tuft  of 
trees, 
Mann'd  with  three  hundred  men,  as  I  have  heard  : 
And  in  it  are  the  lords  of  York,  Berkley,  and  Sey- 
mour ; 
None  else  of  name,  and  noble  estimate. 
Enter  Ross  and  Willouirhbv. 


JVbrtA.  Here  come  the  lords  of  Ross  and  Wil- 
loughby. 
Bloody  ivith  spiirring^,  fiery-red  with  haste. 
Boltng-.  Welcome,  my  lords;  I  wot,' your  love 
pursues 
A  banish'd  traitor  ;  all  my  treasury 
Is  yet  but  unfelt  thanks,  ivhich,  more  enrich'd, 
Shall  be  your  love  and  labour's  recompense. 
Jioss.  Your  presence  makes  us  rich,  most  noble 

lord. 
Willo.   And  far  surmounts  our  labour  to  at 

tain  it. 
Bding.  Evermore  thanks,  the  exchequer  of  the 
poor ; 
Which,  till  my  infant  fortune  comes  to  years, 
Stands  for  my  bounty.     But  who  comes  here  ? 
Enltr  Berkley. 
^orih.  It  is  my  lord  of  Berkley,  as  I  ^ess. 
Berk.  Mv  lord  of  Hereford,  my  message  is  to  you 
Baling.  My  lord,  my  answer  is — to  Lancaster  ; 
And  I  am  come  to  seek  that  name  in  England  : 
And  I  must  find  that  title  in  your  tongue. 
Before  I  make  reply  to  aught  you  say. 
Beik.   Mistake  me  not,  my  lord ;   'lis  not  my 
meaning. 
To  raze  one  title  of  your  honour  out : — 
To  you,  my  lord,  I  come  (what  lord  you  will,) 
From  the  most  glorious  regent  of  this  land. 
The  duke  of  York ;  to  know,  what  pricks  you  on 
To  take  advantage  of  the  absent  time,- 
And  fright  our  native  peace  with  self-born  arms. 
Enter  York,  attended. 

Boling.  I  shall  not  need  transport  my  words  by 

you; 
Here  comes  his  grace  in  person. — My  noble  uncle ! 

[K'neels. 
York.  Show  me  thy  humble  heart,  and  not  thy 

knee. 
Whose  dutv  is  deceivable  and  false. 
Baling.  Mv  gracious  uncle ! — 
York.  Tut,' tut! 
Grace  me  no  grace,  nor  uncle  me  no  uncle : 
I  am  no  traitor's  uncle ;  and  that  word — grace, 
In  an  ungracious  mouth,  is  but  profane : 
Why  have  those  banish'd  and  forbidden  legs 
Dar'd  once  to  touch  a  dust  of  England's  ground  ? 
But  then  more  why ; — Why  have  they  dar'd  to 

march 
So  many  miles  upon  her  peaceful  bosom  ; 
Frighting  lier  pale-lac'd  villages  with  war, 
And  ostentation  of  despised  arms  ? 
Com'st  thou  because  the  anointed  king  is  hence  ? 
Why,  foolish  boy,  the  king  is  left  behind. 
And  in  ray  loyal  bosom  lies  his  power. 
Were  I  but  now  the  lord  of  such  hot  youth. 
As  when  brave  Gaunt,  thy  father,  and  myself. 
Rescued  the  Black  Prince,  that  young  Mars  of  men, 
From  forth  the  ranks  of  many  thousand  French ; 

(\)  Know.        (2)  Time  of  the  king's  absence. 
(3)  Impartial,  (4)  Tho  person*  who  wrong  him. 


O,  then,  how  quickly  should  this  arm  of  mine, 
Now  prisoner  to  the  palsv,  chistisc  thee. 
And  minister  correction  to  thy  fault ! 

Baling.    My  gracious  uncle,  let  mc  know  mT 
fault ;  ■' 

On  what  condition  stands  it,  and  wherein  ?  ^ 

York.  Even  in  condilion  of  the  worst  degree, 

In  gross  rebellion,  and  detested  treason  : 
Thou  art  a  banish'd  man,  and  here  art  come, 
Before  the  expiration  of  thy  time. 
In  braving  arms  against  thy  sovereign. 

Baling.  As  I  was  banish'd,  I  was  banish'd  Here- 
ford ; 
But  as  I  come,  I  come  for  Lancaster. 
And,  noble  uncle,  I  beseech  your  grace. 
Look  on  my  wrongs  with  an  indifferent'  eye : 
You  are  my  father^  for,  methinks,  in  you 
I  see  old  Gaunt  alive  ;  O  then,  my  father ! 
Will  you  permit  that  I  shall  stand  condemn'd 
A  wand'ring  vagabond ;  my  rights  and  royalties 
Pluck'd  from  my  arms  perforce,  and  given  away 
To  upstart  unthrifts?  Wherefore  was  I  born  ? 
If  that  my  cousin  king  be  king  of  England, 
It  must  be  granted,  I  am  duke  of  Lancaster. 
You  have  a  son,  Aumerle,  my  noble  kirwsman  , 
Had  you  first  died,  and  he  been  thus  trod  down. 
He  should  have  found  his  uncle  Gaunt  a  father. 
To  rouse  his  wrongs,*  and  chase  them  to  the  bay. 
I  am  denied  to  sue  my  livery^  here. 
And  yet  my  letters-patent  ^ive  me  leave : 
My  father's  goods  are  all  distrain'd,  and  sold ; 
And  these,  and  all,  are  all  amiss  employ'd. 
What  would  you  have  me  do  ?  I  am  a  subject. 
And  challenge  law :  Attornies  are  denied  me  ; 
And  therefore  personally  I  lay  my  claim 
To  my  inheritance  of  free  descent. 

^Yor/A.  The  noble  duke  hath  been  too  much 
abus'd. 

Ross.  It  stands  your  grace  upon,*  to  do  him  right. 

WiUo.  Base  men  by  his  endowments  are  mado 
creat. 

York.  My  lords  of  England,  let  me  tell  you  this, — 
I  have  had  feeling  of  my  cousin's  wrongs. 
And  labour'd  ail!  could  to  do  him  right : 
But  in  this  kind  to  come,  in  braving  arms. 
Be  his  own  carver,  and  cut  out  his  way. 
To  find  out  right  with  wrong, — it  may  not  be ; 
And  you,  that  do  abet  him  in  this  kind. 
Cherish  rebellion,  and  are  rebels  all. 

J^Torth,  The  noble  duke  hath  sworn,  his  coming  is 
But  for  his  own ;  and,  for  the  risrht  of  that, 
Wc  all  have  strongly  sworn  to  give  him  aid  ; 
And  let  him  ne'er  see  joy,  that  breaks  that  oath. 

York.  Well,  well,  I  see  the  issue  of  these  arms ; 
I  cannot  mend  it,  I  must  needs  confess. 
Because  my  power  is  weak,  and  all  ill  left: 
But,  if  I  could,  by  him  that  gave  me  life, 
I  would  attach  you  all,  and  make  you  stoop 
Unto  the  sovereign  mercy  of  the  king ; 
But,  since  I  cannot,  be  it  known  to  you. 
I  do  remain  as  neuter.     So,  fare  you  well ; — 
Unless  you  please  to  enter  in  the  castle. 
And  there  repose  you  for  this  night. 

Boling.  An  offer,  uncle,  that  we  will  accept. 
But  we  must  win  your  grace,  to  go  with  us 
To  Bristol  castle  ;'  which,  they  sav,  is  held 
By  Bushy,  Bagot,  and  their  complices. 
The  caterpillars  of  the  commonwealth. 
Which  I  have  sworn  to  weed,  and  pluck  away. 

York.  It  may  be,  I  will  go  with  you : — but  yet 
I'll  pause ; 

(5)  Possession  of  my  land,  &c, 

(6)  It  is  your  interest. 


072 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


Jlct  ///. 


For  I  am  loath  to  break  our  country's  laws. 
Nor  friends,  nor  foes,  to  me  welcome  you  are : 
Things  past  redress,  are  now  ivith  me  past  care. 

{Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E  IV,— ^i  camp  in  Wales.    Enter  Salis- 
bury, and  a  Captain: 

Capt.  Mylord  of  Salisbury,  we  have  staid  ten  days, 
And  hardly  kept  our  countrymen  together. 
And  yet  we  hear  no  tidings  from  the  king' ; 
Therefore  we  will  disperse  ourselves  :  farewell. 

Sal.  Stay  yet  another  day,  thou  trusty  Welsliman ; 
The  king  reposeth  all  his  confidence 
In  thee. 

Capt.  'Tis  thought,  the  king  is  dead ;  we  will  not 
stay. 
The  bay-trees  in  our  country  are  all  wither'd. 
And  meteors  fright  the  fixed  stars  of  heaven  ; 
The  pale-fac'd  moon  looks  bloody  on  tlie  earth. 
And  lean-look'd  prophets  whisper  fearful  change  ; 
Rich  men  look  sad,  and  rutfians  dance  and  leap, — 
The  one,  in  fear  to  lose  what  they  enjoy. 
The  other,  to  enjoy  by  rage  and  war  : 
These  signs  forerun  the  death  or  fall  of  kinj?. — 
Farewell ;  our  countrymen  arc  fone  and  fled. 
As  well  assur'd,  Richard  their  king  is  dead.  [Exit. 

Sal.  Ah,  Richard !  with  the  eyes  of  heary  mind, 
I  see  thy  glory,  like  a  shooting  star, 
Fall  to  the  base  earth  from  the  firmament ! 
Thy  sun  sets  weeping  in  the  lowly  west. 
Witnessing  storms  to  come,  wo,  and  unrest  : 
Thy  friends  are  fled,  to  wait  upon  thy  foes  ; 
And  crossly  to  thy  good  all  fortune  goes.       [Exit. 


Condemns  you  to  the  death : — See  them  deliver'd 

over 
To  execution  and  the  hand  of  death. 

Biisky.  More  welcome  is  the  stroke  of  death  tome, 
Than  Bolin^broke  to  England. — Lords,  farewell. 
Green.  My  comfort  is, — that  heaven  will  take 
our  soulsj 
And  plague  injustice  with  the  pains  of  hell. 
Baling.    My  lord  Northumberland,  see    them 
despatch'd. 
[Exe.  North,  and  others  with  prisoners. 
Uncle,  you  say,  the  queen  is  at  your  house  ; 
For  heaven's  sake,  fairly  let  her  be  entreated  : 
Tell  her,  I  send  to  her  my  kind  commends  ;' 
Take  special  care  my  greetings  be  deliver'd. 

York.  A  gentleman  of  mine  I  have  despatch'd 
With  letters  of  your  love  to  her  at  large. 

Baling.    Thanks,  gentle  uncle. — Come,  lords, 
away; 
To  fi»ht  with  Glendowcr  and  his  complices  ; 
Awhile  to  work,  and,  after,  holiday.  [Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E  U.—The  coast  of  Wales.  .9  castle  in 
view.  Flourish:  drums  ond  trumpets.  Enter 
K'.ng  Richard,  Bishop  0/ Carlisle,  Aumerle,  and 

soldiers. 


K.  Rich.  Barkloughly  castle  call  you  this  at 

hand  ? 
..lam.  Yea,  mylord:   How  brooks  your  grace 

the  air, 
After  late  tossing  on  the  breaking  seas  ? 
K.  Rich.  Needs  must  I  like  it  well ;  I  weep  for 

To  stand  upon  my  kingdom  once  again. 

— «»  [Dear  earth,  I  do  salute  thee  with  my  hand, 

[Though  rebels  wound  thee  with  their  horses'  hoofe ; 
ACT  III.  H^*  '^  '""«  parted  mother  with  her  child 

[Plays  fondly  with  her  tears,  and  smiles  in  meeting ; 
SCEJVE  /.-Bolingbroke's  crtjup  at  Bristol.  E„(«-|So,w^eeping,  smiling,  greet  I  thee,  my  earth, 
Bolinebroke,  York,  Northumberland,  Percv,  Wil-i-^nd  "o  thee  favour  with  my  royal  hands, 
loughby,  Ross:  officers  behind  loUh  Bushv  and'i^*^^  not  thy  sovereign's  foe,  my  gentle  earth, 
Green  prisoners.  '         |  IN  or  wuh  thy  sweets  comfort  his  rav'nous  sense: 

_  '  /  IBut  let  thy  spiders,  that  suck  up  thy.venom. 

Baling.  Bring  forth  these  men. —  [And  heavy-gaited  toads,  lie  in  their  way; 

Bushy,  and  Green,  I  will  not  vex  your  souls  IDoin^  annoyance  to  the  treacherous  feet, 

(Since  presently  your  souls  must  part  your  bodies,)  Which  with  usurping  steps  do  trample  thee. 


With  too  much  urging  your  pernicious  lives. 

For  'twere  no  charity :  yet,  to  Avash  your  blood 

From  off  my  hands,  here,  in  the  view  of  men, 

1  will  unfold  some  causes  of  your  death. 

You  have  misled  a  prince,  a  royal  king, 

A  happy  gentleman  in  blood  and  lineaments. 

By  you  unhappled  and  disfigur'd  clean. ' 

You  have,  in  manner,  with  your  sinful  hours, 

Made  a  divorce  betwixt  his  queen  and  him  ; 

Broke  the  possession  of  a  royal  bed. 

And  stain'd  the  beauty  of  a  fair  queen's  cheeks 

With  tears  drawn  from  her  eyes  by  your  foul 

wrongs. 
Myself— a  prince,  by  fortune  of  my  birth  ; 
Near  to  the  king  in  olood ;  and  near  in  love, 

Till  you  did  make  him  misinterpret  me, 

Have  stoop'd  mv  neck  under  your  injuries. 
And  sigh'd  my  English  breath  in  foreign  clouds, 
Eating  the  bitter  bread  of  banishment : 
WTiilst  you  have  fed  upon  my  signories, 
Dispark'd^  my  parks,  and  felPd  my  forest  woods  ; 
From  my  own  windows  torn  my  household  coat,* 
Raz'd  out  my  impress,*  leaving  me  no  sign, — 
Save  men's  opinions,  and  my  living  blood, — 
To  show  the  world  I  am  a  gentleman. 
This,  and  much  more,  much  more  than  twice  all  this, 

(1)  Completely.  (2)  Thrown  down  the  hedges. 


Yield  stinging  nettles  to  mine  enemies : 
And  when  they  from  thy  bosom  pluck  a  flower. 
Guard  it,  I  pray  thee,  with  a  lurking  adder, 
Whose  double  tongue  may  with  a  rnortal  touch 
Throw  death  upon  thy  sovereign's  enemies. — 
Mock  not  mv  senseless  conjuration,  lords  ; 
This  earth  shall  have  a  feeling,  and  these  stones 
Prove  armed  soldiers,  ere  her  native  king 
Shall  falter  under  foul  rebellious  arms. 

Bishop.  Fear  not,  my  lord;   that  Power,  that 
made  you  king. 
Hath  power  to  keep  you  king,  in  spite  of  all. 
The  means  that  heaven  yields  must  be  embrac'd, 
And  not  neglected  ;  else,  if  heaven  would. 
And  we  will  not,  heaven's  ofler  we  refuse  ; 
The  proffer'd  means  of  succour  and  redress. 

,%im.  He  means,  my  lord,  that  we  are  too  remiss ; 
Whilst  Bolingbroke,  through  our  security. 
Grows  strong   and  great,  in  substance,    and  in 
friends. 

K.  Rich.  Discomfortable  cousin  !  know'st  thou 
not. 
That  when  the  searching  eye  of  heaven  is  hid 
Behind  the  globe,  and  lights  the  lower  world. 
Then  thieves  and  robbers  range  abroad  unseen, 
In  murders  and  in  outrage,  bloody  here  ; 

(3)  Of  arms.    (4)  Motto,    (o)  Commcndatioiu« 


Seem  II. 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


373 


But  when,  from  under  this  terrestrial  ball, 
He  fires  the  proud  tops  of  the  eastern  pines, 
And  darts  his  light  through  every  guilty  hole, 
Then  murders,  treasons,  and  detested  sins. 
The  cloak  of  night  being  pluck'd  from  off  their  backs, 
Stand  bare  and  naked,  tremblini  at  themselves  ? 
So  when  this  thief,  this  traitor,  Bolingbroke, — 
Who  all  this  while  hath  revell'd  in  the  night. 
Whilst  we  were  wanderinsr  with  the  antipodes, — 
Shall  see  us  rising  in  our  throne  the  east. 
His  treasons  will  sit  blushing  in  his  face, 
Not  able  to  endure  tiie  si^ht  of  day  ; 
But,  self-affrighted,  tremble  at  his  sin. 
Not  all  the  water  in  the  roug-li  rude  sea 
Can  wash  the  balm  from  an  anointed  king: 
The  breath  of  worldly  men  cannot  depose 
The  deputy  elected  by  the  Lord  : 
For  every  man  that  Bolingbroke  hath  prcss'd. 
To  lift  shrewd  steel  against  our  golden  crown, 
God  for  his  Richard  hath  in  heavenly  pay  V 

'"  angels  fight,  I 

heaven  still  guards  thJ 


I  God  for  his  Richard  hath  in  hea 
y  A  glorious  angel :  then,  if  ange 
\VVeak  men  must  fall ;  for  heav 
\  "ght. 


finter  Salisbury. 
Welcome,  my  lord ;  How  far  off  lies  your  power?' 

Sal.  Nor  near,  nor  further  oil',  my  gracious  lord, 
Than  this  weak  arm :  Discomfort  guides  my  tongue, 
And  bids  me  speak  of  nothing  but  despair. 
One  day  too  late,  I  fear,  my  noble  lord, 
Hath  clouded  all  thy  happy  days  on  earth : 
O,  call  back  yesterday,  bid  time  return. 
And  thou  shalt  have  twelve  thousand  fighting  men! 
To-day,  to-day,  unhappy  da)',  too  late, 
O'erthrows  thy  joys,  friends,  fortune,  and  thy  state; 
For  all  the  \Velshm?n,  hearing  thou  wert  dead. 
Are  gone  to  Bolingbroke,  dispers'd,  and  fled. 

w3«m.  Comfort,  mv  liege:  why  looks  your  grace 
so  pale  ? 

K.  Rich.  But  now,  the  blood  of  twenty  thousand 
men 

Did  triumph  in  my  face,  and  they  are  fled ; 
And,  till  so  much  blood  thither  come  again. 

Have  I  not  reason  to  look  pale  and  dead  ? 
All  souls  that  will  be  safe,  fly  from  my  side  ; 
For  time  hath  set  a  blot  upon  my  pride. 

^iuin.  Comfort,  my  liege ;  remember  who  you 
are. 

K.  Rich.  I  had  foriot  myself:   Am  I  not  king? 
.\wake,  thou  sluggard  majesty  !  Ihou  sleep'st. 
Is  not  the  king's  name  forty  thousand  names  ? 
Arm,  arm,  my  name  !  a  puny  subject  strikes 
At  thy  great  glory.— Look  not  to  the  ground, 
Ye  favourites  of  a  king  ;  Are  we  not  high  ? 
High  be  our  thoughts  :  I  know,  my  tnicle  York 
Hath  power  enough  to  serve  our  turn.     But  who 
Comes  here  ? 

Enter  Scroop. 

Scroop.   More  health  and  happiness  betide  my 
liege. 
Than  can  my  care-tun'd  tongue  deliver  him. 

K.  Rich.  Mine  ear  is  open,  and  my  heart  pre- 
par'd  ; 
The  worst  is  worldly  loss,  thou  canst  unfold, 
oay,  is  my  kingdom  lost?  why,  'twas  my  care; 
And  what  loss  is  it,  to  be  rid  of  care  ? 
Strives  Bolingbroke  to  be  as  great  as  we  ? 
Greater  he  shall  not  be  ;  if  he  serve  God, 
We'll  serve  him  too,  and  be  his  fellow  so : 
Revolt  our  subjects  ?  that  we  cannot  mend  ; 
They  break  their  faith  to  God,  as  well  as  us  : 
Cry,  wo,  destruction,  ruin,  loss,  decay ; 

(M  Force. 


The  i^orst  is— death,  and  death  will  have  his  day. 

Scroop.  Glad  am  I,  that  your  highness  is  so  arm'd. 
To  bear  the  tidings  of  calamity. 
Like  an  unseasonable  stormy  day. 
Which  makes  the  silver  rivers  drown  their  shores, 
As  if  tiie  world  were  all  dissolv'd  to  tears  ; 
So  high  above  his  limits  swells  the  rage 
Of  Bolingbroke,  covering  your  fearful  land 
With  hard  bright  steel,  and  hearts  harder  than 

steel. 
White-beards  hare  arm'd  their  thin  and  hairless 

scalps 
.\gainst  thy  majesty  ;  boys,  with  women's  voices, 
Strive  to  speak  big,  and  clap  their  female  joints 
In  stiff  unwieldy  arms  against  thv  crown: 
Thy  verj'  beadsmen  learn  to  bend  their  bows 
Of 'double-fatal  yew  against  thy  state  ; 
Yea,  distaff-women  manage  rusty  bills 
Against  thy  seat:  both  young  and  old  rebel. 
.•Vnd  all  goes  worse  than  I  have  po%ver  to  tell. 

K.  Rich.  Too  ^\eU,  too  well,  thou  tell'st  a  tale 
so  ill. 
Where  is  the  earl  of  Wiltshire  ?  where  is  Bagot? 
What  is  become  of  Bushy  ?  where  is  Green  ? 
That  they  have  let  the  dangerous  enemy 
Measure  our  confines  with  such  peaceful  steps  ? 
If  we  prevail,  their  heads  shall  pay  for  it. 
I  warrant,  they  have  made  peace  with  Bolingbroke. 

Scroop.   Peace  have  they  made  with  him,  in- 
deed, my  lord. 

K.  Rich.  O  villains,  vipers,  damn'd  without  re- 
demption ! 
Dogs,  easily  won  to  fawn  on  any  man ! 
Snakes,  in  my  heart-blood  warin'd,  that  sting  my 

heart ! 
Three  Judases,  each  one  thrice  worse  than  Judas ! 
Would  they  make  peace  ?  terrible  hell  make  war 
Upon  their  spotted  souls  for  this  oflence ! 

Scroop.  Sv.^cet  love,  I  see,  changing  his  property 
Turns  to  the  sourest  and  most  deadly  hate  : — 
Again  uncurse  their  souls  ;  their  peace  is  made 
Witli  heads,  and  not  with  hands:  those- whom  you 

curse. 
Have  felt  the  worst  of  death's  destroying  wound, 
And  lie  full  low,  grav'd  in  the  hollow  ground. 

^lunt.  Is.  Bushy,  Green,  and  the  earl  of  Wilt- 
shire, dead  ? 

Scroop.  Yea,  all  of  them  at  Bristol  lost  their 
heads. 

^um.  Where  is  the  duke,  my  father,  with  his 
power  ? 

K.  Rich.  No  matter  w  liere ;  of  comfort  no  man 
speak : 
Let's  talk  of  graves,  of  worms,  and  epitaphs ; 
Make  dust  our  paper,  and  wfJi  rainy  eyes 
Write  sorrow  on  the  bosom  of  the  earth. 
Let's  choose  executors,  and  talk  of  wills : 
Ani  yet  not  so, — for  what  can  we  becjueath. 
Save  our  deposed  bodies  to  the  ground? 
Our  lands,  our  lives,  and  all,  are  Bolin^broke's, 
And  nothing  can  we  call  our  own,  but  death  ; 
And  that  small  model  of  the  barren  earth. 
Which  serves  as  paste  and  cover  to  our  bones. 
For  heaven's  sake,  let  us  sit  upon  the  ground, 
And  tell  sad  stories  of  the  death  of  kings : — 
How  some  have  been  depos'd,  some  slain  in  war; 
Some  haunted  by  the  ghosts  they  have  depos'd  ; 
Some  poison'd  bv  their  wives,  some  sleeping  kill'd; 
All  raurder'd :— For  williin  the  hollow  crown. 
That  rounds  the  mortal  temples  of  a  king, 
Keeps  death  his  court :  and  there  the  antic  sits, 
Scoirmg  his  state,  and  grinning  at  his  pomp  ; 
Allowing  him  a  breath,  a  little  scene 
To  monarchize,  be  fear'd.  and  kill  with  looks ; 


U' 


374 


KING  RICHARD  11. 


^ct  UI^ 


Infusing  him  with  self  and  vam  conceit. — 
As  if  this  flesh,  which  walls  about  our  life, 
Were  brass  impregnable  ;  and,  humour'd  thus, 
Conies  at  the  last,  and  with  a  little  pin 
Bores  through  his  castle  wall,  and — farewell  king! 
Cover  your  heads,  and  mock  not  llesh  and  blood 
With  solemn  reverence ;  throw  away  respect, 
Tradition,  form,  and  ceremonious  duty. 
For  you  have  but  mistook  me  all  this  while : 
I  live  with  bread  like  you,  feel  want,  taste  grief, 
Need  friends  : — Subjected  thus, 
How  can  you  say  to  me — I  am  a  king  ? 

Car.  JNIy  lord,  wise  men  ne'er  wail  their  present 
woes. 
But  presently  prevent  the  ways  to  wail. 
To  fear  the  foe,  since  fear  oppresseth  strength, 
Gives,  in  your  weakness,  stren^jth  unto  your  foe, 
And  so  your  follies  fight  against  yourself. 
Fear,  and  be  slain ;  no  worse  can  come,  to  ffght: 
And  fight  and  die,  is  death  destroying  death  ; 
Where  fearing  dying,  pays  death  servile  breath. 

yljim.  My  father  hath  a  power,  inquire  of  him ; 
And  learn  to  make  a  body  of  a  limb. 

A'.  Rich.  Thou  chid'st  me  well : — Proud  Eo- 
lingbroke,  I  come 
To  change  blows  with  thee  for  our  day  of  doom. 
This  ague-fit  of  fear  is  over-blown  ; 

An  easy  task  it  is,  to  win  our  own. 

Say,  Scroop,  where  lies  our  uncle  with  his  power? 
Speak  sweetly,  man,  although  thy  looks  be  sour. 

Scroop.  Men  judge  by  the  complexion  of  the  sky 
The  state  and  inclination  of  the  day: 

So  may  you  by  my  djjll  and  heavy  eye, 
My  tongue  hath  btit  a  heavier  tale  to  say. 
I  play  the  torturer,  by  small  and  small. 
To  lengthen  out  the  worst  that  must  be  spoken : — 
Your  uncle  York  hath  join'd  with  Bolingbroke ; 
And  all  your  northern  castles  yielded  up. 
And  all  your  southern  gentlemen  in  arms 
Upon  his  party.' 

K.  Rich.  Thou  hast  said  enough. 

Beshrew"  thee,  cousin,  which  didst  Ic^d  me  forth 

[To  Aumerle. 
Of  that  sweet  way  I  was  in  to  despair ! 
What  say  you  now  ?  What  comfort  have  we  now? 
By  heaven,  I'll  hate  him  everlastingly. 
That  bids  me  be  of  comfort  any  more. 
Go,  to  Flint  castle ;  there  I'll  pine  away ; 
A  king,  wo's  slave,  shall  kingly  wo  obey. 
That  power'  I  have,  discharge  ;  and  let  them  go 
To  ear*  the  land  that  hath  some  hope  to  groiv, 
For  I  have  none : — Let  no  man  speak  again 
To  alter  this,  for  counsel  is  but  vain. 

tlum.  My  liege,  one  word. 

K.  Rich.  He  does  me  double  wrong. 

That  wounds  me  with  the  flatteries  of  his  tongue. 
Discharge  my  followers,  let  them  hence : — Away, 
From  Richard's  night,  to  Bolingbroke's  fair  day. 

[Exetmt. 

SCEJ^E  III.— Wales.  Before  Flint  Castle.  En- 
ter, loith  drum  and  colours,  Bolingbroke  and 
forces  ;  York,  Northumberland,  and  others. 

Bolinff.  So  that  by  this  intelligence  we  learn, 
The  Welshmen  are  dispers'd ;  and  Salisbury 
Is  grone  to  meet  the  king,  who  lately  landed. 
With  some  few  private  friends,  upon  this  coast. 

J^orlh.  The  news  is  very  fair  and  pood,  my  lord  ; 
Richard,  not  far  from  hence,  hath  hid  his  head. 

York.  It  would  beseem  the  lord  Northumberland, 
To  say — king  Richard  : — Alack  the  heavy  day. 
When  such  a  sacred  king  should  hide  his  head ! 


JsTorth.  Your  grace  mistakeit  me ;  only  to  be  brief,' 

Left  I  his  title  out. 

York.  The  time  hath  been. 
Would  you  ha^  e  been  so  brief  vnih  him,  he  would 
Have  been  so  hrief  with  you,  to  shorten  you. 
For  taking  so  the  head,''  your  whole  bead's  length. 

Baling.^  Mistake  not,  uncle,  further  than  you 
should. 

York.  Take  not,  good  cousin,  further  than  you 
should, 
Lest  you  mis-take :  The  heavens  are  o'er  your  head. 

Baling.  I  know  it,  Onele  ;  and  oppose  not 
Myself  against  their  will. — But  who  comes  here? 

Enter  Percy. 
Well,  Harry  ;  what,  will  not  this  castle  yield  ? 

Percy.  The  castle  royally  is  mann'd,  my  lord, 
Against  thy  entrance. 

Boling.  Royally ! 
Why,  it  contains  no  king  ? 

Percy.  Yes,  my  good  lord, 

It  doth  contain  a  king ;  king  Richard  lies 
Within  the  limits  of  yon  lime  and  stone : 
Andijvitli  him  are  the  lord  Aumerle,  lord  Salisbury, 
Sir  Stephen  Scroop  ;  besides  a  clergyman 
Of  holy  reverence,  who,  I  cannot  learn. 

J^"orlh.  Belike,  it  is  the  bishop  of  Carlisle. 

Bding.  Noble  lord,  [To  North. 

Go  to  the  rude  ribs  of  that  ancient  castle ; 
Through  brazen  trumpet  send  the  breath  of  parle' 
Into  his  ruiii'tt  ears,  and  thus  deliver : 
Harry  Bolingbrolce 

On  both  his  knees  dotli  kiss  king  Richard's  hand ; 
And  sends  allegiance,  and  true  faith  of  heart, 
To  his  most  royal  person  :  hither  come 
Even  at  his  feet  to  lay  niy  arms  and  power; 
Provided  that,  my  banishment  rcpeal'd. 
And  lands  restor'd  again,  be  freely  granted  : 
If  not,  I'll  use  the  advantage  of  my  power. 
And  lay  the  summer's  dust  with  showers  of  blood, 
Rain'd  from  the  wounds  of  slaughter'd  Englishmen : 
The  which,  how  far  oil' from  the  mind  of  B  olingbroke 
It  is,  such  crimson  tempest  should  bedrench 
The  fresh  green  lap  of  fair  king  Richard's  land, 
My  stooping  duty  tenderly  shall  show. 
Go,  signify  as  much  ;  while  here  we  march        ^ 
Upon  the  grassy  carpet  of  this  plain. — 

[Northumberland  advances  to  the  caslle, 
icith  a  trumpet. 
Let's  march  without  the  noise  of  threatening  drum, 
That  from  the  castle's  totter'd  battlements 
Our  fair  appointments  may  be  well  perus'd, 
Methinks,  king  Richard  and  myself  should  meet 
With  no  less  terror  than  the  elements 
Of  fire  and  water,  when  their  thundering  shock 
At  meeting  tears  the  cloudy  cheeks  of  heaven. 
Be  he  the  fire,  I'll  be  the  yielding  water : 
The  rage  be  his,  while  on  the  earth  I  rain 
My  waters ;  on  the  earth,  and  not  on  him. 
March  on,  and  mark  king  Richard  how  he  looks. 

.3  parle  sounded,  and  answered  by  another  trum- 
pet within.  Flourish.  Enter  on  the  walls  king 
Richard,  the  bishop  o/ Carlisle,  Aumerle,  Scroop, 
and  Salisbury. 

York.  See,  see,  king  Richard  doth  himself  appear, 
As  doth  the  blushing  discontented  sun 
From  out  the  fiery  portal  of  the  east ; 
When  he  perceives  the  envious  clouds  are  bent 
To  dim  his  glory,  and  to  stain  the  track 
Of  his  bright  passaofe  to  the  Occident. 
Yet  looks  he  like  a  king ;  behold,  his  eye, 


(l)ParU     (2)  111  betide.     (3)  Force.     (4)  Plow.      (5)  Short.        (6)  Such  liberty.       (7)  Parley. 


Seem  III. 


KING  RICHARD  11. 


S7S 


As  bright  as  is  the  eagle's,  lightens  forth 
Controlliiig  majesty  :  Alack,  alack,  for  wo, 
That  any  harm  should  stain  so  lair  a  show  ! 
K.  Rich.  We  are  amaz'd ;  and  thus  long  have 

we  stood 
To  watch  tilt  fearful  bending  of  thy  knee, 

{To  Northumberland. 
Because  we  thought  ourself  thj  lawful  king : 
And  if  we  be,  how  dare  thy  jomts  forget 
To  pay  their  awful  duty  to  our  presence  ? 
If  we  be  not,  show  us  the  hand  of  God 
That  hath  dismiss'd  us  from  our  stewardship ; 
For  well  we  know,  no  hand  of  blood  and  bone 
Can  gripe  the  sacred  handle  of  our  sceptre. 
Unless  he  do  profane,  steal,  or  usurp. 
And  though  you  think,  that  all,  as  you  have  done, 
Have  torn  their  souls,  bj-  turniufr  Ihem  from  us, 

And  we  are  l)arrcn,  and  bereil  of  friends ; 

Yet  luiow, — mj"  master,  God  omnipotent. 
Is  must'ring  in  his  clouds,  on  our  behalf. 
Armies  of  pestilence  ;  and  they  sliall  strike 
Your  children  yet  unborn,  and  unbegot. 
That  lift  your  vassal  hands  acjainst  my  head, 
And  threat  the  glorv  of  my  precious  crown. 
_  Tell  Bolingbroke  (for  yond',  melhinks,  he  is,) 
That  every  stride  he  makes  upon  my  land. 
Is  dangerous  treason  :  He  is  come  to  ope 
The  purple  testament  of  bleedins  Avar ; 
But  ere  the  crown  he  looks  for  live  in  peace. 
Ten  thousand  bloody  crowns  of  mother's  sons 
Shall  ill  become  the  flower  of  England's  face ;' 
Change  the  complexion  of  her  maid-pale  peace 
To  scarlet  indisnation,  and  bedew 
Her  pastures'  grass  with  faithful  Ensrlish  blood. 
»Vor//j.  The  king  of  heaven  forbid,  our  lord  the 

king 
Should  so  with  civil  and  unciyil  arms 
Be  rush'd  upon  !     Thy  thrice-noble  cousin, 
Harry  Bolinsbrokc,  doth  humbly  kiss  thy  hand  ; 
And  by  the  Honourable  tomb  he  swears. 
That  stands  upon  thy  ro.val  grandsire's  bones  ; 
And  by  the  royalfies  of  both  your  bloods, 
Currents   that   spring    from   one  most  gracious 

head; 
And  by  the  buried  hand  of  warlike  Gaunt ; 
And  by  the  worth  and  honour  of  himself, 
Comprising  all  that  may  be  sworn,  or  said, — 
His  coming  hither  hath  no  further  scope. 
Than  for  his  lineal  royalties,  and  to  beg 
Enfranchisement  immediate  on  his  knees  : 
Which  on  thy  royal  party  granted  once. 
His  glittering  anus  he  will  commend-  to  rust, 
.    His  barbed  steeds  to  stables,  and  his  heart 
To  faithful  sprviee  of  your  majesty. 
This  swears  he,  ;is  he  is  a  prince,  is  just ; 
And,  as  I  am  a  gentleman,  I  credit  him. 
K.  Rick.  Northumberland,  say,— thus  the  king 

returns ; 

His  noble  cousin  is  right  welcome  hither; 
And  all  the  number  of  his  fair  demands 
Shall  be  accomplish'd  without  contradiction : 
With  all  the  gracious  utterance  thou  hast, 
Speak  to  liis  gentle  hearing  kind  commends. — 
We  do  debase  ourself,  cousin,  do  we  not, 

[To  Aumcrlc. 
To  look  so  poorly,  and  to  speak  so  fair? 
J  Shall  we  call  back  Northumberland,  and  send 
Defiance  to  the  tniitor,  and  so  die  ? 
.^Min.  No,  good  my  lord ;  let's  fight  with  gentle 

words. 
Till  time  lend    friends,  and   friends  their  helpful 

swords. 


K.  Rich.  0  God!  O  God!  that  e'er  this  tongue 

of  mine. 
That  laid  the  sentence  of  dread  banishment 
On  yon  proud  man,  should  take  it  off  again 
Witn  words  of  sooth !'    O,  that  I  were  as  great 
As  is  my  grief,  or  lesser  than  my  name ! 
Or  that  I  could  forget  what  I  have  been ! 
Or  not  remember  what  I  must  be  now  ! 
Swell'st  thou,  proud  heart  ?  I'll  give  thee  scope  to 

beat. 
Since  foes  have  scope  to  beat  both  thee  and  me. 
tium.  Northumberland  comes  back  from  Boling« 

broke. 
K.  Rich.  What  must  the  king  do  now  ?  Must  be 

submit  ? 
The  Idng  shall  do  it.    Must  he  be  depos'd  ? 
The  king  shall  be  contented :  Must  he  lose 
The  name  of  king  ?  o'God's  name,  let  it  go : 
I'll  give  my  jewels,  for  a  set  of  beads ; 
My  gorgeous  palace,  for  a  hermitage  ; 
My  gay  apparel,  for  an  alms-man's  gown  ; 
My  ligur'd  goblets,  f&r  a  dish  of  wood ; 
My  sceptre,  for  a  palmer's  walking-staff; 
My  subjects,  for  a  pair  of  carved  saints ; 
And  my  large  kingdom  Cor  a  little  grave, 
A- little  little  grave,  an  obscure  grave  : — 
Or  I'll  be  buried  in  the  king's  highway. 
Some  way  of  common  trade,  where  subjects'  feet 
May  hourly  trample  on  their  sovereign's  head  : 
For  on  my  heart  they  tread,  now  whilst  I  live ; 

And,  buried  once,  why  not  upon  my  head  ? 

Aumerle,  thou  weep'st ;  My  *ender-hearted  cou  • 

sin ! — 
We'll  make  foul  weather  with  despised  tears ; 
Our  sighs,  and  they,  shall  lodge  the  summer  corn, 
And  make  a  dearth  in  this  revolting  land. 
Or  shall  we  play  the  wantons  with  our  woes. 
And  make  some  pretty  match  ivith  shedding  tears  ; 
As  thus : — To  drop  them  still  upon  one  place, 
Till  they  have  fretted  us  a  pair  of  graves 
Witliin  the  earth ;  and,  therein  laid, — There  lies 
Two  Idnsmen,  digg'd  their  graves  with  weeping 

eyes  ? 
AVould  not  this  ill  do  well  ? — Well,  well,  I  see 
I  talk  but  idly,  and  you  mock  at  me. — 
Most  mighty  prince,  my  lord  Northumberland, 
What  says  6ing  Bolingbroke  ?  will  his  majesty 
Give  Richard  leave  to  live  till  Richard  die? 
You  make  a  leg,*  and  Bolingbroke  says — ay. 

J^'orth.  My  lord,  in  the  base'  court  he  doth  attend 
To  speak  with  you ;  may't  please  you  to  come 

down  ? 
K.  Rich.  Down,  down,  I  come ;  like  glistering 

Phaeton, 
Wanting  the  manage  of  unruly  jades. 

[North,  retires  to  Boling. 
In  the  base  court  ?    Base  court,  where  kings  grow 

base, 
To  come  at  traitors'  call,  and  do  them  grace. 
In  Uie  base  court  ?    Come  down  ?    Down,  court ! 

down,  king ! 
For  night-owls  shriek,  where  moimting  larks  should 

sing.  [Exeunt  from  above. 

Boling.  What  says  his  majesty  ? 
J^orth.  Sorrow  and  jirief  of  heart 

Makes  him  speak  fondly,°  like  a  frantic  man : 
Yet  he  is  come. 

Enter  King  Richard,  and  his  attendants,  beloic. 

Baling.  Stand  all  apart. 
And  show  fair  duty  to  his  majesty.—— 
My  gracious  lord,—  [Kneeling, 


(nSoil.       (2)  Commit.       (3)  Softness.      J    (l)Abow.       (J)  Lower.       (6)  Foolishly. 


975 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


JclUI, 


K.  Rich.  Fair  cousin,  you  debase  your  princely 
knee. 
To  make  the  base  earth  proud  with  kissing  it : 
Me  rather  had,  my  heart  might  feel  your  love, 
Than  my  unpleas'd  eye  see  your  courtesy. 
Up,  cousin,  up  ;  your  heart  is  up,  I  know, 
Thus  high  at  least,  [Touching  his  own  head.]  al- 
though your  knee  be  low. 
Baling.  My  gracious  lord,  1  come  but  for  mine 

own. 
K.  Rich.  Your  own  is  yours,  and  I  am  yours, 

and  all. 
Boling.  So  far  be  mine,  my  most  redoubted  lord, 
As  my  true  service  shall  deserve  your  love. 
g    I        K.  JZtcA.  Well  you  deserve : — They  well  deserve 
to  have. 
That  know  the  strong'st  and  surest  way  to  get. — 
Uncle,  give  me  your  hand :  nay,  dry  your  eyes ; 
Tears  snow  their  love,  but  want  their  remedies. — 
Cousin,  I  am  too  young  to  be  your  father, 
Though  you  are  old  enough  to  be  my  heir. 
What  you  will  have,  I'll  give,  and  willing  too  ; 
For  do  we  must,  what  force  will  have  us  do. — 
Set  on  towards  London : — Cousin,  is  it  so  ? 
Boling.  Yea,  my  good  lord. 
K.  Rich.  Then  I  must  not  say,  no. 

[Floiirish.    Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E    /F,— Langley.     The  Duke  of  York's 
Garden.    Enter  the  Queen,  and  two  Ladies. 

Q,ueen.  What  sport  shall  we  devise  herain  this 
garden. 
To  drive  away  the  heavy  thought  of  care  ? 
1  Lady.  Madam,  we'll  play  at  bowls. 
Queen.  'Twill  make  me  think 

The  world  is  full  of  rubs,  and  that  my  fortune 
Runs  'gainst  the  bias. ' 
1  Lady.  Madam,  we  will  dance. 

Q,ueen.  My  leg«  can  keep  no  measure  in  delight. 
When  my  poor  heart  no  measure  keeps  in  grief: 
Therefore,  no  dancing,  girl ;  som^ther  sport. 
1  Lady.  Madam,  we'll  tell  tales. 
Q,ueen.  Of  sorrow,  or  of  joy  ? 

1  Lddy.  Of  either,  madam. 
Queeji.  Of  neither,  girl: 

For  if  of  joy,  being  altogether  wanting, 
j    It  doth  remember  me  the  more  of  sorrow ; 
'    Or  if  of  grief,  being  altogether  had, 
\  It  adds  more  sorrow  to  my  want  of  joy : 
I  For  what  I  have,  I  need  not  to  repeat ; 
\  And  what  I  want,  it  boots*  not  to  complain. 
j      I  Lady.  Madam,  I'll  sing. 

Q,ueen.  'Tis  well,  that  thou  hast  cause ; 

But  thou  should'st  please  me  better,  would'st  thou 
weep. 
1  Lady.  I  could  weep,  madam,  would  it  do  you 

good. 
Queen.  And  I  could  weep,  would  weeping  do  me 
good. 
And  never  borrow  any  tear  of  thee. 
But  stay,  here  come  the  gardeners  : 
Let's  step  into  the  shadow  of  these  trees. 

Enter  a  Gardener,  and  two  Servants. 
My  wretchedness  unto  a  row  of  pins, 
They'll  talk  of  state  ;  for  every  one  doth  so 
Agamst  a  change :  VVo  is  forerun  with  wo, 

[Queen  and  Ladies  retire. 
Gard,  Go,  bind  thou  up  yon  dangling  apricocks, 
Which,  like  unruly  children,  make  their  sire 
Stoop  with  oppression  of  their  prodigal  weight : 

( 1 )  A  weight  fixed  on  one  side  of  the  bowl,  which 
turns  it  from  the  straight  line. 


Give  some  supportance  to  the  bending  twigs. — 
Go  thou,  and,  like  an  executioner, 
Cut  off  the  heads  of  too-fast-growing  sprays, 
That  look  too  lofty  in  our  commonwealth : 

All  must  be  even  :n  our  government. 

You  thus  employ'd,  I  wifl  go  root  away 
The  noisome  weeds,  that  without  profit  suck 
The  soil's  fertility  from  wholesome  flowers. 

I  Serv.  Why  slwuld  we,  in  the  compass  of  a  pale,* 
Keep  law,  and  form,  and  due  proportion. 
Showing,  as  in  a  model,  our  firm  estate  ? 
When  our  sea-walled  garden,  the  whole  land. 
Is  full  of  weeds  ;  her  fairest  flowers  chok'd  up. 
Her  fruit-trees  all  unprun'd,  her  hedges  ruin'd. 
Her  knots*  disorder'd,  and  her  wholesome  herbs 
Swarming  with  caterpillars  ? 

Gard.  Hold  thy  peace : — 

He  that  hath  suffer'd  this  disorder'd  spring, 
Hath  now  himself  met  with  the  fall  of  leaf: 
The  weeds,   that  his  broad-spreading  leaves  did 

shelter. 
That  seem'd  in  eating  him  to  hold  him  up. 
Are  pluck'd  up,  root  and  all,  by  Bolingbroke, 
I  mean,  the  earl  of  Wiltshire,  Bushy,  Green. 

1  Serv.  What,  are  they  dead  ? 

Gard.  ,      They  are ;  and  Bolingbroke 

Hath  seiz'd  the  wasteful  king. — Oh!  What  pity 

is  it, 
That  he  had  not  so  trimm'd  and  dress'd  his  land, 
As  we  this  garden !  We,  at  time  of  year. 
Do  wound  the  bark,  the  skin  of  our  fruit-trees ; 
Lest,  being  over-proud  with  sap  and  blood. 
With  too  much  riches  it  confound  itself: 
Had  he  done  so  to  »reat  and  growing  men. 
They  might  have  liv'd  to  bear,  and  he  to  taste, 
Tbeir  fruits  of  duty.    All  superfluous  branches 
We  lop  away,  that  bearing  boughs  may  live : 
Had  he  done  so,  himself  nad  borne  the  crown,      \  i 
Which  waste  of  idle  hours  hath  quite  thrown  down. 

1  Serr,  "What,  think  you  then,  the  king  shall  be 
depos'd  ? 

Gard.  Depress'd  he  is  already ;  and  depos'd, 
'Tis  doubt,'  he  will  be  :  Letters  came  last  night 
To  a  dear  friend  of  the  good  duke  of  York's, 
That  tell  black  tidings. 

Q,usen.  O,  I  am  press'd  to  death, 

Through  want  of  speaking ! — Thou,  old  Adam's 
likeness,  [Coming  from  her  concealment. 
Set  to  dress  the  garden,  hoiv  dares 
Thy  harsh-rude  tongue  sound  this  unpleasing  news  ? 
What  Eve,  what  serpent  hath  suggested  thee 
To  make  a  second  fall  of  cursed  man  ? 
Why  dost  thou  say,  king  Richard  is  depos'd  ? 
Dar'st  thou,  thou  little  better  thing  than  earth. 
Divine  his  downfall  ?  Say,  where,  when,  and  how, 
Cam'st  thou  by  these  ill  tidings  ?  speak,  thou  wretch. 

Gard.  Pardon  me,  madam  :  little  joy  have  I, 
To  breathe  this  news  ;  yet,  what  I  say,  is  true. 
King  Richard,  he  is  in  the  mighty  hold 
Of  Bolingbroke  ;  their  fortunes  both  are  weigh'd : 
In  your  lord's  scale  is  nothing  but  himself, 
And  some  few  vanities  that  make  him  light ; 
But  in  the  balance  of  great  Bolinarbroke, 
Besides  himself,  are  all  the  English  peers. 
And  with  that  odds  he  weighs  king  Richard  down. 
Post  you  to  London,  and  you'll  find  it  so  ; 
I  speak  no  more  than  every  one  doth  know, 

Qwceji,  Nimble  mischance,  that  art  so  light  of 
foot. 
Doth  not  thy  embassage  belong  to  me, 
And  am  I  last  that  knows  it  ?  0,  thou  think'st 

(i)  Profits,  (3)  Inclosure. 

(4)  Figures  planted  in  a  box.    (S)  No  doubt 


Scene  1. 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


377 


To  serve  me  last,  that  I  may  longest  keep 
Thy  sorrow  in  my  breast. — Come,  ladies,  go, 
To  meet  at  London  London's  king  in  wo. — 
What,  was  I  bom  to  this  !  that  my  sad  look 
Should  grace  the  triumph  of  great  Bdlingbroke  ? — 
Gardener,  for  telling  me  this  news  of  wo, 
I  would,  the  plants  thou  graft'st,  may  never  grow. 
[Exeunt  Queen  and  Ladies. 
Gard.  Poor  queen!  so  that  thy  state  might  be 
no  worse, 
I  would,  my  skill  were  subject  to  thy  curse. — 
Here  did  she  drop  a  tear  ;  here,  in  this  place, 
I'll  set  a  bank  of  rue,  sour  herb  of  grace; 
Rue,  even  for  ruth, '  here  shortly  shall  be  seen. 
In  the  remembrance  of  a  weeping  queen.        [Exe. 


ACT  IV. 

SCEXE  /.—London.  Weslminsler  HaU.  The 
lords  spiritual  on  the  ri^ht  side  of  the  throne  ;  the 
lords  temporal  on  the  left ;  the  commo)is  below. 
Enter  Bolingbroke,  Aumerle,  Surrey,  Northum- 
berland, Percy,  Fitzwater,  another  lord,  Bishop 
of  Ca.Tlis\e,  .ibbot  of  W'esiminsier,  and  atiendants. 
Officers  behind,  with  Bagot. 

Bolin^.  Call  forth  Bagot : 

Now,  Bagot,  freely  speak  thv  mind  ; 
What  thou  dost  know  of  noble  Gloster's  death; 
Who  wrought  it  with  the  king,  and  who  perform'd 
The  bloody  office  of  his  timeless^  end. 

Ba^ot.  Then  set  before  my  face  the  lord  Aumerle. 

Boling.  Cousin,  stand  forth,  and  look  upon  that 
man. 

Bagot.  My  lord  Aumerle,  I  know  your  daring 
tongue 
Scorns  to  unsay  what  once  it  hath  deliver'd. 
In  that  dead  time  when  Gloster's  death  was  plotted, 
I  heard  you  saj', — Is  7iot  my  arm  of  length. 
That  reachethfrom  tite  restful  English  court 
»j?s  far  as  Calais,  to  my  uncWs  head  ? 
Amonest  much  otiier  talk,  that  very  time, 
I  heard  you  say,  that  you  had  rather  refuse 
The  offer  of  a  hundred  thousand  crowns,  ^ 

Than  Bolingbroke's  return  to  England  : 
Adding  withal,  how  blest  this  land  would  be. 
In  this  your  cousin's  death. 

.ium.  Princes,  and  noble  lords, 

What  answer  shall  I  make  to  this  base  man  ? 
Shall  I  so  much  dishonour  mj-  fair  stars, 
On  equal  terms  to  give  him  chastisement  ? 
Either  I  must,  or  have  mine  honour  soil'd 

With  the  attainder  of  his  sland'rous  lips. 

There  is  my  gage,  the  manual  seal  of  death, 
That  marks  thee  out  for  hell :  I  say,  thou  liest, 
And  will  maintain,  what  thou  hast  said,  is  false, 
In  thy  heart-blood,  though  being  all  too  base 
To  stain  the  temper  of  my  knightly  swprd. 

Baling.  Bagot,  forbearj  thou  shalt  not  take  it  up. 

.3itm.  Excepting  one,  I  would  he  were  the  best 
In  all  this  presence,  that  hath  mov'd  me  so. 

Filz.  If  that  thy  valour  stand  on  sympathies, 
There  is  rtiy  gage,  Aumerle,  in  gage  to  thine : 
By  that  fair  sun  that  shows  me  where  thou  stand'st, 
I  heard  thee  say,  and  vauntinglv  thou  spak'st  it. 
That  thou  werf  cause  of  noble  Gloster's  death. 
If  thou  deny'st  it,  twenty  times  thou  liest; 
And  I  will  turn  thy  falsehood  to  thy  lieartj 
Where  it  was  forged,  with  my  rapier's  point. 

iium.  Thou  dar'st  not,  coward,  live  to  see  that 
day. 

(1)  Pity.  (2)  Untimely. 


Fits.  Now,  by  my  soul,  I  would  it  were  this  hour. 

^um.  Fitzwater,  thou  art  damn'd  to  hell  for 
this. 

Percy.  Aumerle,  thou  liest :  his  honour  is  as  true, 
In  this  appeal,  as  thou  art  all  unjust  : 
And,  that  thou  art  so,  there  I  throw  my  gage. 
To  prove  it  on  thee,  to  the  extremest  point 
Of  mortal  breathing ;  seize  it,  if  thou  dar'st. 

^um.  And  if  I  do  not,  may  my  hands  rot  off, 
And  never  brandish  more  revengeful  steel 
Over  the  glittering  helmet  of  my  foe ! 

Lord.   I  take  ihe  earth  to  the  like,  forsworn 
Aumerle ; 
And  spur  thee  on  with  full  as  many  lies 
As  may  be  holla'd  in  thy  treacherous  ear 
From  sun  to  sun :  there  is  my  honour's  pawn ; 
Enpage  it  to  the  trial,  if  thou  dar'st. 

.^KHi.  Who  sets  me  else  ?  by  heaven,  I'll  throw 
at^l: 
I  have  a  thousand  spirits  in  one  breast. 
To  answer  twenty  thousand  such  as  you. 

Surrey.  My  lord  Fitewater,  I  do  remember  well 
The  very  time  Aumerle  and  you  did  talk. 
j     Fitz.  My  lord,  'tis  true :  you  were  in  presence 
j  then ; 

I  And  you  can  witness  with  me,  this  is  true. 
I     Surrey.  As  false,  by  heaven,  as  heaven  itself  is 
true. 

Fitz.  Surrey,  tliou  liest. 

Surrey.  Dishonourable  boy ! 

That  lie  shall  lie  so  heavy  on  my  sword, 
That  it  shall  render  vengeance  and  revenge. 
Till  tiiou  the  lie-giver,  and  that  lie,  do  lie 
In  earth  as  quiet  as  thy  father's  scull. 
In  proof  whereof,  tiiere  is  my  honour's  pawn ; 
Engage  it  to  the  trial,  if  thou  dar'st. 

Fitz.  How  fondly  dost  thou  spur  a  forward  horse ! 
If  I  dare  eat,  or  dnnlc,  or  breathe,  or  live, 
I  dare  meet  Surrey  in  a  wilderness, 
And  spit  upon  liim,  whilst  I  say,  he  lies, 
And  lies,  and  lies :  there  is  my  bond  of  faith, 
To  tie  thee  to  my  strong  correction. — 
As  I  intend  to  thrive  in  this  new  world, 
Aumerle  is  guilty  of  my  true  appeal : 
Besides,  I  heard  the  banish'd  Norfolk  say, 
That  thou,  Aumerle,  didst  send  two  of  thy  men 
To  execute  the  noble  duke  at  Calais. 

„1um.   Some  honest  Christian  trust  me  ivith  a 
gage. 
That  Norfolk  lies :  here  do  I  throw  down  this, 
If  he  may  be  repeal'd  to  try  his  honour. 

Baling.  These  differences  shall  all  rest  under 
ffage, 
Till  Norfolk  be  repeal'd :  repealed  he  shall  be. 
And,  thouirh  mine  enemy,  rcstor'd  again 
To  all  his  land  and  signbries ;  when  he's  returned. 
Against  Aumerle  we  will  enforce  his  trial. 

Car.  That  honourable  day  shall  ne'er  be  seen.— 
Many  a  time  hath  banish'd  Norfolk  fought 
For  Jesu  Christ ;  in  glorious  Christian  field 
Streamins;  the  ensign  of  the  Christian  cross. 
Against  black  Pagans,  Turks,  and  Saracens  :  . 

And,  toil'd  with  works  of  war,  retir'd  himself         ' 
To  Italy;  and  there,  at  Venice,  gave 
His  body  to  that  pleasant  country's  earth, 
And  his  pure  soul  unto  his  captain,  Christ  { 
Under  whose  colours  he  had  fought  so  long. 

Baling.  Why,  bishop,  is  Norfolk  dead  ? 

Car.  As  sure  as  I  live,  my  lord. 

Boling.  Sweet  peace  coniluct  his  sweet  soul  tO 
the  bosom 
Of  good  old  Abraham !— Lords  appellants. 
Your  differences  shall  all  rest  unaer  gage, 
Till  we  assign  you  to  your  days  of  tnal. 
S  B 


378 


KING  RICHARD  IL 


JictlV. 


Enter  York  aUtnded. 

York.  Great  duke  of  Lancaster,  I  come  to  thee 
From  plume-pluck'd  Richard ;   who  with  willing 

soul 
Adopts  thee  heir,  and  his  high  sceptre  yields 
To  the  possession  of  thy  royal  hand : 
Ascend  his  throne,  descendmg  now  from  him, — 
And  long  live  Henry,  of  that  name  the  fourth ! 

Baling.  In  God's  name,  I'll  ascend  the  regal 
throne. 

Car.  Marry,  God  forbid  !— 
Worst  in  this  royal  presence  may  I  speak, 
Yet  best  beseeming  me  to  speak  the  truth. 
Would  God,  that  any  in  this  noble  presence 
Were  enough  noble  to  be  upright  judge 
Of  noble  Richard  ;  then  true  nobless'  Avould 
Learn  him  forbearance  from  so  foul  a  wrong. 
W^hat  subject  can  give  sentence  on  his  king? 
And  who  sits  here,  that  is  not  Ricliard's  subject  ? 
Thieves  are  not  judg'd,  but  they  are  by  to  hear, 
Although  apparent  guilt  be  seen  in  them : 
And  shall  the  figure  of  God's  majesty, 
His  captain,  steivard,  deputy  elect. 
Anointed,  crown'd,  planted  many  years. 
Be  judg'd  by  subject  and  inferior  breath, 
And  he  himself  not  present  ?    O,  forbid  it,  God, 
That,  in  a  Christian  climate,  souls  refin'd 
Should  show  so  heinous,  black,  obscene  a  deed ! 
J  speak  to  subjects,  and  a  subject  speaks, 
Stirr'd  up  by  heaven  thus  boldly  for  his  kinij. 
My  lord  of  Hereford  here,  whom  you  call  king, 
Is  a  foul  traitor  to  proud  Hereford's  king : 
And  if  you  crown  him,  let  me  prophesy, — 
The  blood  of  English  shall  manure  the  ground, 
And  future  ages  groan  for  this  foul  act : 
Peace  shall  go  sleep  with  Turks  and  infidels, 
And,  in  this  seat  of  peace,  tumultuous  wars 
Shall  kin  with  kin,  and  kind  with  kind  confound  ; 
Disorder,  horror,  fear,  and  mutiny. 
Shall  here  inhabit,  and  this  lnnd>bc  call'd 
The  field  of  Golgotha,  and  dead  men's  sculls. 
O,  if  you  rear  this  house  against  this  house, 
It  will  the  wofullest  division  prove. 
That  ever  fell  upon  this  cursed  earth : 
Preventi  resist  it,  let  it  not  be  so. 
Lest  child,  child's  children,  cry  against  you — wo ! 

^orth.  Well  have  you  argu'd,  sir;  and,  lor  your 
pains, 
Of  capital  treason  we  arrest  you  here : — 
My  lord  of  Westminster,  be  It  your  charge 
To  keep  him  safely  till  his  day  of  trial. — 
May't  please  you,  lord^  to  grant  the  commons'  suit. 

Baling.  Fetch  hither  Richard,  that  in  common 
view 
He  may  surrender :  so  we  shall  proceed 
Without  suspicion. 

York.  I  will  be  his  conduct.'^  [Exit. 

Baling.  Lords,  you  that  are  here  under  our  ar- 
rest. 
Procure  your  sureties  for  your  days  of  answer : — 
Little  are  we  beholden  to  your  love,    [To  Carlisle. 
And  little  look'd  for  at  your  helping  hands. 
Re-aiter  York,  with  King  Richard,  mid  officers 
bearing  the  crown,  ^c. 

K.  Rich.  Alack,  why  am  I  sent  (or  to  a  king, 
Before  I  have  shook  off  the  regal  thoughts 
Wherewith  I  reign'd  ?  I  hardly  yet  have  learn'd 
To  insinuate,  flatter,  bow,  and  bend  my  knee : — 
Give  sorrow  leave  a  while  to  tutor  me 
To  this  submission.    Yet  I  ivell  remember 


(1)  Nobleness. 
(3)  Countenances. 


(2)  Conductor. 
(4)  Owns. 


The  favours'  of  these  men :  Were  they  not  mine  2 
Did  they  not  sometime  cry,  all  hail !  to  me  ? 
So  Judas  did  to  Christ :  but  he,  in  twelve  \ 

Found  truth  in  all  but  one ;  I,  in  twelve  thousand, ! 

none. 
God  save  the  king ! — Will  no  man  say,  amen  ? 
Am  I  both  priest  and  clerk  ?  well  then,  amen. 
God  save  the  king !  although  I  be  not  he  ; 
And  yet,  amen,  if  heaven  do  think  him  me. — 
To  do  what  service  am  I  sent  for  hither  ? 

York.  To  do  that  oflice,  of  thine  own  good  will,  i 

Which  tired  majesty  did  make  thee  offer, \ 

The  resignation  of  thy  state  and  crown  ' 

To  Henry  Bolingbroke. 

K.  Rich.   Give  me  tlie  crown ; — Here,  cousin, 
seize  the  crown  ;  ~" 

Here,  on  this  side,  my  hand ;  on  that  sidCj  thine. 
Now  is  this  golden  crown  like  a  deep  well. 
That  ^wes*  two  buckets  fdling  one  another ; 
The  emptier  ever  dancing  in  the  air, 
The  other  down,  unseen,  and  full  of  water : 
That  bucket  down,  and  full  of  tears,  am  I, 
Drinking  my  griefs,  whilst  you  mount  up  on  high. 

Baling.  I  thouglit  you  had  been  willing  to  resign. 

K.  Rich.  My  crown,  I  am ;  but  still  my  grfefs 
are  mine : 
You  may  my  glories  and  my  state  depose. 
But  not  my  griefs ;  slill  am  I  king  of  those. 

Baling.    Tart  of  your  cares  you  give  me  with 
your  crown. 

K,  Rich.  Your  cares  set  up,  do  not  pluck  my 
cares  down. 
My  care  is— loss  of  care,  by  old  care  done ; 
Your  care  is — gain  of  care,  by  new  care  won : 
The  cares  I  give,  I  have,  though  given  away  ; 
They  tend^  the  crown, )  et  still  with  me  they  stay. 

Baling.  Arc  you  contented  to  resign  the  crown  ? 

K.  Rich.  Ay,  no ;  no,  ay : — for  I  must  nothing  be ; 
Therefore,  no  no,  for  I  resign  to  thee. 
Now  mark  nie  how  I  will  undo  myself: — 
I  give  this  heavy  weight  from  off  my  head. 
And  this  unwieldly  sceptre  from  my  hand, 
The  pride  of  kingly  sway  from  out  my  heart ; 
With  mine  own  tears  I  wash  away  mV  balm,* 
\Vith  mine  own  hands  I  give  aivay  my  crown, 
^Vith  mine  own  tongue  deny  my  sacred  state. 
With  mine  own  breath  release  all  duteous  oaths ; 
All  pomp  and  majesty  I  do  fors^vear ; 
My  manors,  rents,  revenues,  I  forego  ; 
My  acts,  decrees,  and  statutes,  I  deny : 
God  pardon  all  oaths,  that  are  broke  to  me ! 
God  keep  all  vows  unbroke,  are  made  to  thee  • 
Make  me,  that  nothing  have,  with  nothing  griev'd  ; 
And  thou  with  all  pleas'd^hat  hast  all  achiev'd  I 
Long  may'st  thou  live  in  Richard's  seat  to  sit, 
And  soon  lie  Richard  in  an  earthly  pit ! 
God  save  king  Henrj',  unking'd  Richard  says. 
And  send  him  many  years  of  sunshine  days ! — 
What  more  remains  ? 

Aort/t.  No  more,  but  that  you  read 

[Offering  a  paper. 
These  accusations,  and  these  grievous  crimes. 
Committed  by  your  person,  and  your  followers, 
Against  the  wtate  and  profit  of  this  land  ; 
That,  by  confessing  them,  the  souls  of  men 
May  deem  that  you  are  worthily  depos'd. 

K.  Rich.  Must  I  do  so  ?  and  must  I  ravel  out 
My  weav'd-up  follies?  Gentle  Northumberland, 
If  thy  offences  were  upon  record, 
Would  it  not  shame  thee  in  so  fair  a  troop, 
To  read  a  lecture  of  them  ?  If  thou  would'st. 
There  should'st  thou  find  one  heinous  article, — 


(5)  Attend. 


(6)  Oil  of  consecration. 


Scene  L 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


379 


Containing  the  deposing  of  a  Idng, 
And  cracking  the  strong  warrant  of  an  oath, — 
Mark'd  with  a  blot,  damn'd  in  the  book  of  heaven : — 
Nay.  all  of  you,  that  stand  and  look  upon  nie, 
Whilst  that  my  wretchedness  doth  bait  myself, — 
Though  some  of  you,  with  Pilate,  wash  your  hands, 
Showing  an  outward  pity  ;  yet  you  Pilates 
Have  here  deUver'd  me  to  my  sour  cross, 
And  water  cannot  Avash  away  your  sin. 

,Yor//i.  My  lord,  despatch ;  read  o'er  these  arti- 
cles. 

A'.  Rich.  Mine  e^es  are  full  of  tears,  I  cannot  see : 
And  yet  salt  water  blinds  them  not  so  much, 
But  they  can  see  a  sort'  of  traitors  here. 
Nay,  if  I  turn  mine  eyes  upon  myself, 
1  find  myself  a  traitor  with  the  rest : 
For  I  have  ifiven  licre  my  soul's  consent, 
To  undeck  the  pompous  body  of  a  king  ; 
Make  glory  base  ;  and  sovereignt)-,  a  slave ; 
Proud  majesty,  a  subject ;  state,  a  peasant. 

J^'orth.  My  lord, 

K.  Rich.  No  lord  of  thine,  thou  haught,^  insult- 
ing man. 
Nor  no  man's  lord ;  I  have  no  name,  no  title, — 
No,  not  that  name  was  given  me  at  the  font, — 
But  'tis  usurp'd : — Alack  the  heavy  day. 
That  I  have  worn  so  many  winters  out. 
And  know  not  now  what  name  to  call  mj'self! 
O,  that  I  Avere  a  mockery  king  of  snow. 
Standing  before  the  sun  of  Bolingbroke, 
To  meltmyself  away  in  water-drops  ! — 
Good   king, — great  king — (and   yet   not  greaUy 

good,) 
An  if  my  word  be  sterling  yet  in  England, 
Let  it  command  a  mirror  hither  straight ; 
That  it  mav  show  ine  what  a  face  I  have. 
Since  it  is  bankrupt  of  his  mjyesty. 

Baling,  (jo  some  of  you,  and  fetch  a  looking- 
glass.  [Exit  Kii  attendant. 

^Yorth'.  Read  o'er  this  paper,  while  the  glass  dotli 
come. 

K.  Rich.  Fiend !  thou  torment'st  me  ere  I  come 
to  hell. 

Baling.  Urge  it  no  more,  my  lord  Northumber- 
land. 

J\'orth.  The  commons  will  not  then  be  satisfied 

K.  Rich.    They  shall    be   satisfied:    I'll  read 
enough. 
When  I  do  see  the  very  book,  indeed. 
Where  all  my  sins  are  writ,  and  that's — myself. 

Re-e7iter  attendant,  with  a  glass. 
Give  me  that  glass,  and  therein  will  I  read. — 
No  deeper  wrinkles  yet?  Hath  sorrow  struck 
So  many  blows  upon  this  face  of  mine, 
And  made  no  deeper  wounds  ? — O,  flattering  glass, 
Like  to  my  followers  in  prosperity. 
Thou  dost  beguile  me !  Was  this  face  the  face. 
That  every  day  under  his  household  roof 
Did  keep  ten  tnousand  men  ?  Was  this  tlie  face, 
That,  like  the  sun,  did  make  beholders  wink  ? 
Was  this  the  face,  that  fac'd  so  many  follies. 
And  was  at  last  out-fac'd  by 'Bolingbroke  ? 
A  brittle  glory  shineth  in  this  face  : 
As  brittle  as  the  glory  is  the  face ; 

[Dashes  the  glass  against  the  ground. 
For  there  it  is,  crat-k'd  in  a  hundred  shivers. — 
Mark,  silent  king,  the  moral  of  this  sport, — 
How  soon  mv  sorroiv  hath  destroy'd  my  face. 
Baling.  The  shadow  of  your  sorrow  hath  de- 
stroy'd 

(1)  Pack.  (2)  Haughty. 

(3)  Jugglers,  also  robbers. 


The  shadow  of  your  face, 

K.  Rich.  Say  that  again. 

The  shadow  of  my  sorrow  ?  Ha!  let's  see: — 
'Tis  very  true,  my  grief  lies  all  within  ; 
And  these  external  manners  of  lament 
.\re  merely  shadows  to  the  unseen  grief. 
That  swells  with  silence  in  the  tortur'd  soul  ; 
Tliere  lies  the  substance  :  and  I  thank  thee,  king, 
For  thy  great  bounty,  that  not  only  giv'st 
Me  cause  to  wail,  but  teachcst  me  the  way 
How  to  lament  the  cause.    I'll  beg  one  boon, 
And  then  be  gone,  and  trouble  you  no  more. 
Shall  I  obtain  it  ? 

Boling.  Name  it,  fair  cousip. 

K.  Rich.  Fair  cousin  !  Why,  I  am  greater  than 
a  king : 
R)r,  when  I  was  a  king,  my  flatterers 
Were  then  but  subjects  ;  being  now  a  subject, 
I  have  a  king  here  to  my  flatterer. 
Being  so  great,  I  have  no  need  to  beg. 

Boling.  Vet  ask. 

K.  Rich.  And  shall  I  have? 

Baling.  You  shall. 

K.  Rich.  Tiien  give  me  leave  to  go. 

Baling.  Whither? 

K.  Rich.  Whitlier  you  will,  so  I  were  from  your 
sights. 

Boling.   Go,  some  of  you,  convey  him  to  the 
Tower. 

K.  Rich.  O,  good !    Convey  ? — Conveyers'  are 
you  all. 
That  rise  thus  nimblv  by  a  true  king's  fall. 

[Exeunt  K.  Rich,  some  lords,  and  a  guard. 

Boli7ig.  On  Wednesday  next,  we  solemnly  set 
down 
Our  coronation  :  lords,  prepare  vonrselves. 

[Exeunt  <dl  but  the  Abbot,  Tiishop  o/Carlislc, 
and  Aumerle. 

Mbot.  A  woftil  pageant  have  we  here  beheld. 

Car.  The  wo's  to  come ;  the  children  yet  un- 
born 
Shall  feel  this  day  as  sharp  to  them  as  thorn. 

Jlum.  You  holy  clergymen,  is  there  no  plot 
To  rid  the  realm  of  this  pernicious  blot  ? 

Jibbot.  Before  I  freely  speak  my  mind  herein, 
You  shall  not  only  take  the  sacrament 
To  bury*  mine  intents,  but  to  efiect 
Whatever  I  shall  happen' to  devise: — 
I  see  your  brows  are  full  of  discontent. 
Your  hearts  of  sorrow,  and  your  eyes  of  tears  ; 
Come  home  with  me  to  supper ;  I  will  lay 
A  plot,  shall  show  us  all  a  merry  day.      [ExcimU 


ACT  V. 


SCEXE  /.—London.     .^  street  leading  to  Iht 
Tower.    Enter  Queen,  and  Ladies. 

Q,ueen.  This  way  tlie  king  will  come ;  this  is  the 
way 
To  Julius  Cffisar's  ill-erected  tower,* 
To  whose  flint  bosom  my  condemned  lord  . 
Is  doom'd  a  prisoner  by  proud  Bolingbroke: 
Here  let  us  rest,  if  this  rebellious  earth 
Have  any  resting  for  her  true  king's  queen. 

Enter  King  Richard,  and  guards. 
But  soft,  but  see,  or  rather  do  not  see, 
My  fair  rose  wither :  Yet  look  up ;  behold ; 
That  you  in  pity  may  dissolve  to  dew, 

(4)  Conceal.       (5)  lower  of  London. 


380 


KING  RICHAIID  11. 


dd  r. 


And  wash  him  fresh  again  with  true-love  tears. — 
A^h,  thou,  the  model  where  old  Trov  did  stand ; 
Thou  map'  of  honour ;  thou  king  Richard's  tomb, 
And  not  king  Richard  ;  thou  most  beauteous  inn, 


A  two-fold  marriage  ;  'twixt  my  cro«n  and  me  ; 
And  then,  betwixt  me  and  my  married  wife. — 
Let  me  unkiss  the  oath  'twixt  thee  and  me ; 
And  yet  not  so,  for  with  a  kiss  'twas  made. — 


Why  should  hard-favour'd  grief  be  lodg'd  in  thee,  [Part  us,  Nortliumberland  ;  I  towards  the  north. 


When  triumph  is  become  an  ale-house  guest  ? 
K.  Rich.  Join  not  with  grief,  fair  woman,  do 

not  so. 
To  make  my  end  too  sudden :  learn,  good  soul, 
To  think  our  former  state  a  happy  dream ; 
From  which  awak'd,  the  truth  of  what  we  are 
Shows  us  but  this :  I  am  sworn  brother,  sweet, 
To  grim  necessity, ;  and  he  and  I 
Will  keep  a  league  till  death.    Hie  thee  to  France, 
And  cloister  thee  in  some  religiious  house : 
Our  holy  lives  must  win  a  new  world's  crown. 
Which  our  profane  hours  here  have  stricken  down. 
Qtteen.  What,  is  my  Richard  both  in  shape  and 

mind 
Transform'd  and  weakened  ?  Hath  Bolingbroke 
Depos'd  thine  intellect?  hath  he  been  in  thy  heart ? 
The  lion,  dying,  thrustelh  forth  his  pav,-. 
And  wounds  the  earth,  if  nothing  else,  with  rage 
To  be  o'erpOAver'd  ;  and  wilt  thou,  pupil-like. 
Take  thy  correction  mildly  ?  kiss  the  rod  ; 
And  fawn  on  rage  with  base  humility, 
Which  art  a  lion,  and  a  king  of  beasts? 
K.Rich.  A  king  of  beasts,  indeed ;  if  aught  but 

beasts,  , 

I  had  been  still  a  happy  king  of  men. 
Good   sometime  queen,  prepare  thee  hence  for 

France : 
Think,  I  am  dead  ;  and  that  even  here  thou  tak'st. 
As  fro(n  my  death-bed,  my  last  living  leave. 
In  winter's  tedious  nights,  sit  by  the  fire 
With  good  old  folks  ;  and  let  them  tell  thee  talcs 
Of  woful  ages,  long  ago  betid  :* 
And,  ere  thou  bid  good  ni^ht,  to  quit*  their  grief, 
Tell  thou  the  lamentable  fall  of  me. 
And  send  the  hearers  weepina  to  their  beds. 
For  why,  the  senseless  brands  will  sympathize 
The  heavy  accent  of  thy  moving  tongue. 
And,  in  compassion,  weep  the  lire  out : 
And  some  will  mourn  in  ashes,  some  coal-black. 
For  the  deposing  of  a  riglitful  king. 

Enter  Northumberland,  Mended. 

J\''orth.   My  lord,  the  mind  of  Bolingbroke  is 
chantr'd ; 

You  must  to  Pomfret,  not  unto  the  Tower. 

And,  madam,  there  is  order  ta'en  for  you  ; 
With  all  swift  speed  you  must  away  to  France. 

K.  Rich.  Northumberland,  thou  ladder  where- 
withal 
The  mounting  Bolingbroke  ascends  my  throne, — 
The  timi;  sliall  not  be  many  hours  of  aVe 
More  than  it  is,  ere  foul  sin,  gathering  head. 
Shall  break  into  corruption  :  Ihou  shalt  think. 
Though  he  divide  the  realm,  and  give  thee  half, 
It  is  too  little,  helping  him  to  all ; 
And  he  shall  think,  that  thou,  which  know'st  the  way 
To  plant  unrightful  kings,  wilt  know  again, 
Being  ne'er  so  little  urg'd,  another  way 
To  pluck  him  hesidlong  from  the  usurped  throne. 
The  love  of  wicked  friends  converts  to  fear  ; 
That  fear,  to  hate  ;  and  hate  turns  one,  or  both. 
To  worthy  danger,  and  deserved  death. 

.N'orth.  My  guilt  be  on  my  head,  and  there  an  end. 
Take  leave,  and  part;  (or  j'ou  must  part  forthwith. 

K.  Rich.  Doubly  divorc'd  ? — Bad  men,  ye  violate 

I)  Picture  of  ercatncss.         (2)  Passed. 

S)  Be  even  with  them. 

4)  All-hallows,  i.  e.  AU-Muats,  Nov.  1. 


Where  shivering  cold  and  sickness  pines  the  clime ; 
My  wife  to  France ;  from  whence,  set  forth  in  pomp, 
She  came  adorned  hither  like  sweet  May, 
Sent  back  like  Hallowmas,*  or  short'st  of  day. 
Queen.  And  must  we  be  divided  ?  must  we  part? 
K.  Rich.   Ay,  hand  from  hand,  my  love,  and 

,     heart  from  heart. 
Q,ueen.  Banish  us  both,  and  send  the  king  with  me. 
^orth.  That  were  some  love,  but  little  policy. 
Qween.  Then  whither  he  goes,  thither  let  me  go. 
K.  Rich.  So  two,  together  weeping,  make  one  wo. 
Weep  thou  for  me  in  France,  I  for  thee  here ; 
Better  far  oft',  than — near,  be  ne'er  the  near'.* 
Go,  count  thy  way  with  sighs ;  I,  mine  with  groans. 
Qwee7i.  So  longest  way  shall  have  the  longest 

moans. 
K.  Rich.  Twice  for  one  step  I'll  groan,  the  way 
being  short, 
And  piece  the  way  out  with  a  heavy  heart. 
Come,  come,  in  wooing  sorrow  let's  be  brief, 
Since,  wedding  it,  there  is  such  length  in  grief. 
One  kiss  shall  stop  our  mouths,  and  dumbly  part ; 
Thus  give  I  mine,  and  thus  I  take  thy  heart. 

[They  kiss. 
Q,ueen.  Give  me  mine  own  again ;  'twere  no  good 
part. 
To  lake  on  me  to  keep,  and  kill  thy  heart. 

[Kiss  again. 
So,  now  I  have  mine  own  again,  begone. 
That  I  may  strive  to  kill  it  with  a  groan. 
K.  Rich.  We  make  wo  ^vanton  with  this  fond 
delay  : 
Once  more,  adieu  ;  the  rest  let  sorrow  say.    [Exe, 

SCEJV'L'  II.— The  same.    Jl  rocm  in  the  Duke  of 
York's  palace.    Enter  York,  and  his  Duchess. 

Duch.  My  lord,  you  told  me,  you  would  tell  the 
rest. 
When  weeping  made  }'ou  break  the  story  oftj 
Of  our  two  cousins  coming  into  London. 

York.  Where  did  I  leave  ? 

Duch.  At  that  sad  stop,  my  lord, 

Where  rude  misgovern'd  hands,  from  windows'  tops, 
Threw  dust  and  rubbish  on  king  Richard's  head. 

York.  Then,  as  I  said,  the  duke,  great  Boling- 
broke,— 
Mounted  upon  a  hot  and  Cery  steed, 
Which  his  aspiring  rider  seem'd  to  know, — 
With  slow,  but  stately  pace,  kept  on  his  course. 
While  all  tongues  cried— God  save  thee,  Boling- 
broke ! 
You  would  have  thouglit  the  very  windows  spake, 
So  mnny  greedy  looks  of  young  and  old 
Through  casements  darted  their  desiring  eyes 
Upon  his  visage  ;  and  tliat  all  tiie  walls. 
With  painted  nnagery,*  had  said  at  once, — 
Jesu  preserve  thee  !  welcome,  Bolingbroke ! 
Whilst  he,  from  one  side  to  the  other  turning, 
Bare-headed,  lower  than  his  proud  steed's  neck, 
Bespake  tliem  thus,  I  thank  you,  countrymen  : 
And  thus  still  doing,  thus  he  pass'd  along. 

Duch.  Alas,  poor  Richard !  ivhere  rides  he  the 
while  ? 

York.  As,  in  a  theatre,  the  eyes  of  men. 
After  a  well-grac'd  actor  leaves  the  stage, 

(5)  Never  the  nigher. 

(0)  Tapestry  hung  from  tlie  windows 


Sctne  lit. 


KING  RICHARD  11. 


381 


Are  idly  bent'  on  him  that  ehtefs  hext, 

Thinking  his  prattle  to  be  tedious  : 

Even  so,  or  with  much  more  contempt,  men's  eyes 

Did  scowl  on  Richard ;  no  man  cried,  God  save  him ; 

No  joyful  tongue  gave  him  his  welcome  home: 

But  dust  was  thrown  upon  his  sacred  head  ; 

Which,  with  such  gentle  sorrow,  he  shook  off, — 

His  face  still  combating  with  tears  and  smiles, 

The  badges  of  his  sjrief  and  patience, — 

That  had  not  God,  for  some  strong  purpose,  steel'd 

The  hearts  of  men,  they  must  perforce  have  melted, 

And  barbarism  itself  have  pitied  him. 

But  heaven  hath  a  hand  in  these  events ; 

To  whose  high  will  we  bound  our  calm  contents. 

To  Bolingbroke  are  we  sworn  subjects  no^v, 

M'hose  state  and  honour  I  for  aye^  alloiv. 

Enter  Aumerle. 

Duch.  Here  comes  my  son  Aumerle. 

York.  Aumerle  that  was  ; 

But  that  is  lost,  for  befng  Richard's  friend. 
And,  madam,  you  must  call  him  Rutland  now: 
I  am  in  parliament  pledge  for  his  trutli, 
And  lasting  fealty  to  the  new-made  king. 

Duch.  AVelcome,  my  son :  Who  are  the  violets 
now. 
That  strew  the  green  lap  of  the  new-come  spring  ? 

^um.  Madam,  I  know  not,  nor  I  greatly  care  not : 
God  knows,  I  had  as  lief  be  none,  as  one. 

York.  Well,  bear  you  well  in  this  new  spring  of 
time. 
Lest  you  be  cropp'd  before  you  come  to  prime. 
What  news  from  Oxford  ?   hold  those  justs^  and 
triumphs  ? 

^um.  For  aught  I  know,  my  lord,  they  do. 

York.  You  will  be  there,  I  know. 

Jium.  If  God  prevent  it  not;  I  purpose  ?o. 

York.  What  seal  is  that,  that  hangs  -without  thy 
bosom  ? 
Yea,  look'st  thou  pale  ?  let  me  see  the  writing. 

•^Hwi.  My  lord,  'tis  nothing. 

York.  No  matter  then  who  sees  it : 

I  will  be  satisfied,  let  me  see  the  writing. 

^ium.  I  do  beseech  your  grace  to  pardon  me ; 
It  is  a  matter  of  small  consequence. 
Which  for  some  reasons  I  Avould  not  have  seen. 

York.  Which  for  some  reasons,  sir,  I  mean  to  see. 
I  fear,  I  fear, 

Duch.  What  should  you  fear  ? 

'Tis  nothing  but  some  bond  that  he  is  enter'd  into 
For  gay  apparel,  'gainst  the  triumph  day. 

York,  Bound  to  himself?  what  doth  he  with  a  bond 
Thai  he  is  bound  to  ?  Wife,  thou  art  a  fool. — 
Boy,  let  me  see  the  writing. 

Mm.  I  do  beseech  you,  pardon  me  ;  I  may  not 
show  it. 

York.  I  will  be  satisfied ;  let  me  see  it,  I  say. 

[Snatches  it,  and  reads. 
Treason!  foul  treason! — villain!  traitor!  slave! 

Duch.  What  is  the  matter,  my  lord? 

York.  Ho  !  who  is  within  there?  [Enter  a  ser- 
vant.] Saddle  my  horse. 
God  for  his  mercy !  what  treachery  is  here  ! 

Duch.  Why,  what  is  it,  my  lord  ? 

York.  Give  me  my  boots,  I  say;  saddle  my 
horse: — 
Now  by  mine  honour,  by  my  life,  my  troth, 
I  will  appeach  the  villain.  [Exit  servant. 

Duch.  What's  the  matter  ? 

York.  Peace,  foolish  woman. 

ZhJich.  I  will  not  peace :  — What  is  the  matter,  son  ? 


il^  Carelessly  turned. 
3)  Tilts  and  tournaments. 


(2)  Ever. 


'^um.  Good  mother,  be  content;  i(  is  no  more 
1  han  my  poor  life  must  answer. 
^'«^''-  Thy  life  answer! 

Re-enter  servant,  with  boots. 

York.  Bririg  me  my  boots,  I  will  unto  tlie  king. 
Duch.  Strike  him,  Aumerle.— Poor  boy.  thou 
artamaz'd:* 
Hence,  villain ;  never  more  come  in  my  sight.— 

,;.,„.  ,  [To 'the  servant. 

xork.  Give  me  my  boots,  I  say. 

Zhic/j.  Why.  York,  what  wilt  thou  do? 
U  ilt  thou  not  hide  the  trespass  of  thine  own  ? 
Have  we  more  sons  ?  or  are  we  like  to  have  ? 
Is  not  my  teeming'  date  drunk  up  with  time  ? 
And  wilt  thou  pluck  my  fair  son  from  mine  acre, 
And  rob  me  of  a  happy  mother's  name  ?  ° 
Is  he  not  like  Ihec  ?  Is  hcnot  thine  own  ? 

York.  Thou  fond  mad  woman. 
Wilt  thou  conceal  this  dark  conspiracy? 
A  dozen  of  them  here  have  ta'en  the  sacrament. 
And  interchangeably  set  down  their  hands. 
To  kill  the  king  at  Oxford.  .. 
„/^*c/'-      , .  He  shall  be  none  ; 

\^  e'll  keep  him  here :   Then  what  is  that  to  him  ? 

lork.  Away, 
Fond  woman !  were  he  twenty  times  my  son, 
I  would  appeach  him. 

Ditch.  Iladst  thou  groan'd  for  him. 

As  I  have  done,  thou'dst  be  more  pitiful. 
But  now  I  know  thy  mind  ;  thou  dost  suspect. 
That  I  have  been  disloyal  to  thy  bed. 
And  that  he  is  a  bastard,  not  thy  son : 
Sweet  York,  sweet  husband,  be  not  of  that  mmd : 
He  is  as  like  thee  as  a  man  may  be, 
Not  like  to  mc,  or  any  of  my  kin, 
And  yet  I  love  him. 

York.  Make  way,  unruly  woman.    [Exit. 

Dich.   ARcr,  Aumerle;  mount  thee  upon  his 
horse ; 
Spur,  post ;  and  get  before  him  to  the  king, 
And  beg  his  pardon  ere  he  do  accuse  thee. 
I'll  not  be  long  behind ;  though  I  be  old, 
I  doubt  not  but  to  ride  as  fast  as  York  : 
And  never  will  I  rise  up  from  the  ground. 
Till  Bolingbroke  have  pardon'd  thee :  Away ; 
Begone.  [Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E  III. — Windsor.    A  room  in  the  castle. 
Enter  BoHngbroke  as  king;   Percy,  ajid  other 

lords. 

Boling.  Can  no  man  tell  of  my  unthrifty  son  ? 
'Tis  full  three  months,  since  I  did  see  him  last: — 
If  any  plague  hang  over  us,  'tis  he. 
I  would  to  God,  my  lords,  he  might  be  found : 
Inquire  at  London,  'mongst  the  taverns  there. 
For  there,  they  say,  he  daily  doth  frequent. 
With  unrestrained  loose  companions  ; 
Even  such,  they  say,  as  stand  in  narrow  lanes, 
And  beat  our  watch,  and  rob  our  passengers  ; 
While  he,  young,  wanton,  and  effeminate  boy, 
Takes  on  the  point  of  honour,  to  support 
So  dissolute  a  crew. 

Percy.  My  lord,  some  two  days  since  I  saw  the 
prince: 
And  told  him  of  these  triumphs  held  at  Oxford. 

Baling.  And  what  said  the  gallant  ? 

Percy.  His  answer  was, — he  would  unto  the 
stews ; 
And  from  the  common'st  creature  pluck  a  glove, 
And  wear  it  as  a  favour ;  and  with  that 

(4)  Perplexed,  confounded.        (5)  Breeding, 


3^2 


KING  RICHARD  it. 


Ji6t  V. 


He  would  unhorse  the  lustiest  challenger. 
Boling.  As  dissolute,  as  desperate:  yet,  through 
both 
I  see  some  sparkles  of  a  better  hope, 
Which  elder  days  may  happily  bring  forth. 
But  who  comes  here  ? 

Enttr  Aumerle,  haslihj. 

JIttm,  t      Where  is  the  king  ? 

Bolitig,  What  means 

Our  cousin,  that  he  stares  and  looks  so  wildly  ? 

Aum.  God  save  your  grace.    I  do  beseech  your 
majesty, 
To  have  some  conference  with  your  grace  alone. 

Boling.  W'ithdraiv  yourselves,  and  leave  us  here 
alone. —  [Exeunt  Percy  and  lords. 

W'hat  is  the  matter  with  our  cousin  now  ? 

.iu«t.  For  ever  may  my  knees  grow  to  the  earth, 

[Kneels. 
My  tongue  cleave  to  my  roof  within  my  mouth, 
Unless  a  pardon,  ere  I  rise,  or  speak. 

Bolinij.  Intended,  or  committed,  was  this  fault? 
If  but  the  first,  how  heinous  e'er  it  be. 
To  win  thy  after-love,  I  pardon  Ihec. 

^um.  Then  give  ma  leave  that  I  may  turn  the  key, 
That  no  man  enter  till  my  tale  be  done. 

Boling.  Have  thy  desire.    [Aum.  locks  the  door 

York.    [Within.]   My  liege,  beware;   look  to 
thyself; 
Thou  hast  a  traitor  in  thy  presence  there. 

Boling.  Villain,  I'll  make  thee  safe.    [Draioing. 

.dutn.  Stay  thy  revengeful  hand ; 
Thou  hast  no  cause  to  fear. 

York.    [Within.]   Open  the  door,  secure,  fool- 
hardy king  : 
Shall  I.  for  love,  speak  treason  to  thy  face? 
Open  the  door,  or  I  will  break  it  open. 

[Bolingbroke  opens  Ike  door. 
Enter  York. 

Boling.  What  is  the  mattej^  uncle  ?  spealc ; 
Recover  breath ;  tell  us  how  near  is  danger, 
That  we  may  arm  us  to  encounter  it. 

York.  Peruse  this  writing  here,  and  thou  shalt 
know 
Tlie  treason  that  my  haste  forbids  me  show. 

.iitm.  Remember,  as  thou  read'st,  thy  promise 
past: 
I  do  repent  me ;  read  not  my  name  there, 
Mv  heart  is  not  confederate  with  my  hand. 

York.  'Twas,  villain,  ere  thy  hand  did  set  it 
down. — 
1  tore  it  from  tlie  traitor's  bosom,  king : 
Fear,  and  not  love,  begets  his  penitence : 
Forget  to  pity  him,  lest  thy  pity  prove 
A  serpent  that  will  sting  thee  to  the  heart. 

Boling.    O  heinous,  strong,   and  bold  conspi- 
racy!— 
O  loyal  father  of  a  treacherous  son ! 
Thou  sheer,'  immaculate,  and  silver  fountain. 
From  whence  this  stream  through  muddy  passages, 
Hath  held  his  current,  and  defird  himself! 
Thy  overflow  of  good  converts  to  bad  ; 
And  thy  abundant  eoodness  shall  excuse 
This  deadly  blot  in  thy  digressing^  son. 

York.  So  shall  my  virtue  be  his  vice's  bawd  ; 
And  he  shall  spend  mine  honour  with  his  shame. 
As  thriftless  sons  their  scraping  fathers'  gold. 
Mine  honour  lives  when  his  dishonour  dies, 
Or  my  sham'd  life  in  his  dishonour  lies  : 
Thou  kill'st  me  in  his  Hie ;  giving  him  breath. 
The  traitor  lives,  the  true  man's  put  to  death. 


11)  Transparent. 
3)  An  old  ballad. 


(-2)  Transgressing, 
(4)  Do,    * 


Duch.  [Withiti.]  \\Tiat  ho,  my  liege !  lor  God's 

sake  let  me  in. 
Boling.  What  shrill-voic'd  suppliant  makes  this 

eager  cry  ? 
Duch.  A  womem,  and  thine  aunt,  great  king ; 
'tis  I, 
Speak  with  me,  pity  me,  open  the  door ; 
A  beggar  begs,  that  never  oegg'd  before. 
Bolitig.   Our  scene  is  alter'd, — from  a  serious 
thing. 
And  now  chaiig'd  to  The  Beggar  and  the  King.' — 
My  dangerous  cousin,  let  your  mother  in  ; 
I  know,  she's  come  to  pray  for  your  foul  sin. 
York.  If  thou  do  pardon,  whosoever  pray, 
More  sins,  for  this  forgiveness,  prosper  may. 
This  fester'd  joint  cut  oiY,  the  rest  rests  sound ; 
This,  let  alone,  v.ill  all  the  rest  confound. 

Enter  Duchess. 

Dtich.  O,  king,  believe  not  this  hard-hearted 
roan ; 
Love,  loving  not  itself,  none  other  can. 

York.    Thou  frantic  woman,    what  dost  thou 
make*  here  ? 
Shall  thy  old  dugs  once  more  a  traitor  rear  ? 

Duch.  Sweet  York,  be  patient:  Hear  me,  gen- 
tle liege.  [kn>-tts. 

Boling.  Rise  up,  good  aunt. 

Vtich.  Not  yet,  I  thee  beseech : 

For  ever  will  I  kneel  upon  niy  knees, 
And  never  see  day  that  the  happy  sees. 
Till  thou  give  joy  ;  until  thou  bio  me  joy. 
By  pardoning  Rutland,  my  transgressing  boy. 

Jlnm.  Unto  my  mother's  prayers,  Fbend  my 
knee.  [Kneels. 

York.  Against  them  both,  my  true  joints  behded 
be.  [Kneels, 

111  may'st  thou  thrive,  if  thou  grant  any  grace ! 

Duch,  Pleads  he  in  earnest?  look  upon  his  face  ; 
His  eyes  do  drop  no  tears,  his  prayers  are  in  jest ; 
His  words  come  from  his  mouth,  ours  from  our 

breast : 
He  prays  but  faintly,  and  would  be  denied  ; 
W^e  pray  with  heart,  and  soul,  and  all  beside  : 
His  weary  joints  would  gladly  rise,  I  know  ; 
Our  knees  shall  kneel  till  to  the  ground  they  grow : 
His  prayers  are  full  of  false  hypocrisy ; 
Ours,  of  true  zeal  and  deep  integrity. 
Our  prayers  do  out-pray  his  ;  then  let  them  have 
That  mercy,  which  true  prayers  ought  to  have. 

Boling.  Good  aunt,  stand  up. 

Duch.  Nay,  do  not  say — stand  up ; 

But,  pardon,  first ;  and  afterwards,  stand  up. 
An  if  I  were  thy  nurse,  thy  tongue  to  teach. 
Pardon — should  be  the  first  word  of  thy  speech. 
I^cvcr  long'd  to  hear  a  word  till  now  ; 
Say — pardon,  king ;  let  pity  teach  thee  how: 
The  word  is  short,  but  not  so  short  as  sweet ; 
No  word  like  pardon,  for  kings'  mouths  so  meet. 

York.  Speak  it  in  French,  king ;  say,  pardonnec 

VlOt).^ 

Di'.ch.  Dost  thou  teach  pardon  pardon  to  de- 
stroy ? 
Ah,  my  sour  husband,  my  hard-hearted  lord. 
That  set'st  the  word  itself  against  the  word  ! — 
Speak,  pardon,  as  'tis  current  in  our  land  ; 
The  chopping  French  we  do  not  understand. 
Thine  eye  begins  to  speak,  set  thy  tongue  there : 
Or,  in  thy  piteous  heart  plant  thou  thine  ear ; 
That,  hearing  how  our  plaints  and  prayers  do  pierce^ 
Pifv  may  move  thee,  pardon  to  rehearse. 

BoUng,  Good  aimt,  stand  up. 

(<))  Excuse  me. 


Sciru  IV,  V. 


KING  RICHARD  li. 


3^ 


Duch.  t  do  not  sue  to  stand, 

Pardon  is  all  the  syit  I  have  in  hand. 

Boling.  I  pardon  him,  as  God  shalT pardon  me. 

Duch.  0  happy  vantage  of  a  kneeling  knee  ! 
Yet  am  I  sick  for  fear :  speak  it  again  ; 
Twice  saying  pardon,  doth  not  pardon  twain, 
But  makes  one  pardon  strong. 

Boling.  With  all  my  heart 

I  pardon  him. 

Duch.  A  god  on  earth  thou  art. 

Boling.  But  for  our  trusty  brother-in-law, — and 
the  abbot, 
With  all  the  rest  of  that  consorted  crew, — 
Destruction  straight  shall  dog  them  at  the  heels. 
Good  uncle,  help  to  order  several  po-.vers' 
To  Oxford,  or  where'er  these  traitors  are ; 
They  shall  not  live  within  this  world,  I  sivear, 
But  I  will  have  them,  if  I  once  know  where. 
Uncle,  farewell, — and  cousin  too,  adieu : 
Vonr  mother  well  hath  pray'd,  and  prove  you  true. 

Duch.  Come,  my  old  son-;— I  pray  God  make 
thee  new.  {Extunt. 

SCEJ^E  IV.— Enter  Exton,  and  a  Servant. 
Exton.  Didst  thou  not  mark  the  king,  what  words 
he  spake  ? 
if  are  I  no  friend  xciU  rid  me  of  this  living  fear  ? 
Was  it  not  so  ? 
Serv.  Those  were  his  ver>'  words. 

Exton.  Have  I  no  friend  ?  quoth  he :  he  spake 
it  twice. 
And  urg'd  it  twice  together ;  did  he  not  ? 
Sew.  He  did. 

Exton.  And,  spealdng  it,  he  wistfully  look'd  on 
me ; 
As  who  should  say, — I  would,  thou  wert  the  man 
That  would  divorce  this  terror  from  my  heart  ; 
Meaning,  the  king  at  Pomfret.     Come,  let's  go  ; 
I  am  the  king's  friend,  and  will  rid  his  foe.     [Exe. 

S  CEJ^'E  r.— Pomfret.    The  dungeon  of  the  castle. 
Enter  King  Richard. 

K.  Rich.  I  have  been  studying  how  I  may  com- 
pare 
This  prison,  where  I  live,  unto  the  world : 
And,  for  because  the  world  is  populous, 
And  here  is  not  a  creature  but  myself, 
1  cannot  do  it ; — Yet  I'll  hammer  it  out. 
My  brain  I'll  prove  the  female  to  my  soul ; 
My  soul,  the  father  :  and  these  two  beget 
A  generation  of  stili-breedir.g  thoughts, 
And  these  same  thoughts  people  this  little  world  ;- 
In  humours,  like  the  j>eople  of  this  world. 
For  no  thought  is  contented.    The  better  sort, — 
As  thoughts  of  things  divine, — are  intermix'd 
With  scruples,  and  do  set  tlie  word  itself 
Against  the  word  :^ 

As  thus, — Come,  little  one^  ;  and  then  again, — 
Jt  is  as  hard  to  come,  as  fur  a  camel 
To  thread  the  postern'^  of  a  needle's  eye. 
Thoughts  tending  to  ambition,  they  do  plot 
Unlikely  wonders :  now  these  vain  weak  nails 
May  tear  a  passage  through  the  flinty  ribs 
Of  this  hard  world,  my  ragged  prison  walls  ; 
And,  for  they  cannot,  die  in  their  own  pride. 
Thoughts  tending  to  content,  flatter  themselves, — 
Thatlhey  are  not  the  first  of  fortune's  slaves. 
Nor  shall  not  be  the  last ;  like  silly  beggars. 
Who,  sitting  in  the  stocks,  refuge  their  shame, — 

(1)  Forces.  (2)  His  own  body. 

(5)  Holv  scripture.  (4)  Little  gate.  (3)  Tick. 

(6)  Strike  for  him,  like  the  figure  of  a  man  on 
ft  »)eU. 


That  many  have,  and  others  must  sit  there : 
And  in  this  thought  they  find  a  kind  of  ease. 
Bearing  their  own  misfortune  on  the  back 
Of  such  as  have  before  cndur'd  the  like. 
Thus  play  I,  in  one  person,  many  people, 
And  none  contented :  Sometimes  am  I  king ; 
Then  treason  makes  me  wish  myself  a  beggar, 
And  so  I  am  :    Then  crushing  penurv 
Persuades  me  I  was  better  when  a  king  • 
Then  am  I  king'd  again :  and,  by-and-by, 
Think  that  I  am  unking'd  by  Bolingbroke, 
And  straight  am  nothing : — But,  whate'er  I  am, 
Nor  I,  nor  any  man,  that  but  man  is, 
With  nollring  shall  be  pleas'd,  till  he  be  eas'd. 
With  being  nothing. — Music  do  I  hear  ?      [.Uusie, 
Ha,  ha !  keep  time: — How  sour  sweet  music  is. 
When  time  is  broke,  and  no  proportion  kept  I 
So  is  it  in  the  music  of  men's  lives. 
And  here  have  I  the  daintiness  of  ear. 
To  check  time  broke  in  a  disorder'd  string ; 
But,  for  the  concord  of  my  state  and  time. 
Had  not  an  car  t9  hear  my  true  time  broke. 
I  wasted  time,  and  now  doth  time  waste  me. 
For  now  hath  time  made  me  his  numb'ring  clock  : 
My  thoughts  are  minutes ;  and,  with  sighs,  they  jar* 
Their  watches  on  to  mine  eyes,  the  outward  watch, 
Whereto  my  finger,  like  a  dial's  point. 
Is  pointing  still,  in  cleansing  them  from  tears. 
Now,  sir,  the  sound,  that  tells  what  hour  it  is, 
Are  clamorous  groans,  that  strike  upon  my  heart. 
Which  is  the  bell ;  So  sighs,  and  tears,  and  groans, 
Show  minutes,  times,  and  hours: — but  my  time 
Runs  posting  on  in  Bolingbroke's  proud  joy. 
While  I  stand  fooling  here,  his  Jack  o'the  clock.* 
This  music  mads  me,  let  it  sound  no  more ; 
For,  though  it  have  holp  madmen  to  their  wits, 
In  me,  it  seems  it  will  make  wise  men  mad. 
Yet  blessing  on  his  heart  that  gives  it  nie  ! 
For  'tis  a  sign  of  love ;  and  love  to  Richard 
Is  a  strange  brooch'  in  this  all-hating  world. 

Enter  Groom. 

Groom.  Hail,  royal  prince ! 

K.  Rich.  Thanks,  noble  peer ; 

The  cheapest  of  us  is  ten  groats  too  dear. 
What  art  thou  ?  and  how  comest  thou  hither, 
VV"liere  no  man  never  comes,  but  that  sad  dog 
That  brings  me  food,  to  make  misfortune  live  ? 

Groom.  I  ivas  a  poor  groom  of  thy  stable,  king, 
When  thou  wert  king;   who,  travelling  towards 

York, 
With  much  ado,  at  length  have  gotten  leave 
To  look  upon  my  sometimes'  master's  face. 
O,  how  it  yearn'd  my  heart,  when  I  beheld. 
In  London  streets,  that  coronation  day. 
When  Bolingbroke  rode  on  roan  Barbary ! 
That  horse,  that  thou  so  often  hast  bestrid ; 
That  horse,  that  I  so  carefully  have  dress'd ! 

K.  Rich.  Rode  he  on  Barbary  ?  Tell  me,  gentle 
friend. 
How  w  ent  he  under  him  ? 

Groom.  So  proudly,  as  if  he  disdain'd  the  ground. 

K.  Rich.  So  proud  that  Bolingbroke  was  on  his 
back ! 
That  jade  hath  eat  bread  from  my  royal  hand ; 
This  hand  hath  made  him  proud  with  clapping 

him. 
Would  he  not  stumble?  Would  he  not  fall  down 
(Since  pride  must  have  a  fall,)  and  break  the  neck 
Of  that  proud  man  that  did  usurp  his  back? 

(7)  An  ornamented  buckle,  and  also  a  jewel  In 
general. 

(8)  Former, 


I 


S84 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


^ctP. 


Forgiveness,  horse  !•  why  do  I  rail  on  thee, 
Since  thou,  created  to  be  aw'd  by  man, 
Wast  born  to  bear  ?  I  was  not  made  a  horse ; 
And  yet  I  bear  a  burden  Hke  an  ass, 
Spur-gall'd,  and  tir'd,  by  jauncing'  Bolingbroke. 

Enter  Keeper,  toith  a  dish. 
Keep.  Fellow,  give  place ;  here  is  no  longer  stay. 
[To  the  Groom. 
K.  Rich.  If  thou  love  me,  'tis  time  thou  wert 

awi^. 
Groom.   What  my  tongue  dares  not,  that  my 
heart  shall  say.  [Exit. 

1  Keep.  My  lord,  will't  please  you  to  fall  to  ? 

K.  Rich.  Taste  of  it  first,  as  thou  art  wont  to  do. 
Keep.  My  lord,  I  dare  not ;  sir  Pierce  of  Exton, 
who 
Lately  came  from  the  kine,  commands  the  contrary. 
K.  Rich.  The  devil  talte  Henry  of  Lancaster  and 
thee  ! 
Patience  is  stale,  and  I  am  ivearv  of  it. 

[Beats  Ike  Keeper, 
Keep.  Help,  help,  help  1 

Enter  Exton,  and  servants,  armed. 
K.  Rich.  How  now  ?  w  hat  means  death  in  this 
rude  assault  ? 
Villain,  thy  own  hand  yields  thy  death's  instrument. 
[Snatching  a  weapon,  and  Idlling  one. 
Go  thou,  and  fill  another  room  in  hell. 

[He  kills  another,  then  Exton  strikes  him  down. 
That  hand  shall  bum  in  never-quenching  fire. 
That  staggers  thus  my  person. — Exton,  thy  fierce 

hand 
Hath  with  the  king's  blood  stain'd  the  king's  own 

land. 
Mount,  mount,  my  soul !  thy  seat  is  up  on  high  5 
Whilst  my  gross  i\esh  sinks  downward,  here  to  die, 

[Dies. 
Exton.  As  full  of  valour,  as  of  royal  blood : 
Both  have  I  spilt ;  0,  would  ifce  deed  were  good ! 
For  now  the  devil,  that  told  me — I  did  well. 
Says,  that  this  deed  is  chronicled  in  hell. 
This  dead  king  to  the  living  king  IHl  bear; — 
Take  hence  the  rest,  and  give  them  burial  here. 

[Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E   VI. — ^Windsor.    A  room  in  the  castle. 

Flourish.    Enter  Bolingbroke,  and  York,  tcith 

lords  and  attendaiits. 

Boling.  Kind  uncle  York,  the  latest  news  we  hear 
Is — that  the  rebels  have  consum'd  with  fire 
Our  town  of  Cicester  in  Glostershire ; 
But  whether  they  be  ta'en,  or  slain,  we  hear  not. 

Enter  Northumberland. 
Welcome,  my  lord  :  What  is  the  neivs  ? 

J^orth.  First,  to  thy  sacred  slate  wish  I  all  hap- 
piness. 
The  next  news  is, — I  have  to  London  sent 
The  heads  of  Salisbury,  Spencer,  Blunt,  and  Kent: 
The  manner  of  their  tating  may  appear 
At  large  discoursed  in  this  paper  here. 

[Presenting  a  paper. 

(I)  Jaunting.        (2)  Immediately. 


Eoling.  We  thank  thee,  gentle  Percy,  for  thy 
pains ; 
And  to  thy  worth  will  add  right  worthy  gains. 

Eiiter  Fitzwater. 

Filz.  My  lord,  I  have  from  Oxford  sent  to  Lon- 
don 
The  heads  of  Brocas,  and  sir  Bennet  Seely ; 
Two  of  the  dangerous  and  consorted  traitors, 
That  sought  at  Oxford  thy  dire  overthrow. 

Boling.  Thy  pains,  Fitzwater,  shall  not  be  forgot, 
Right  noble  is  thy  merit,  well  I  wot. 

Enter  Percy,  with  the  Bishop  of  Carlisle. 

Percy.  The  grand  conspirator,  abbot  of  West- 
minster, 
With  clog  of  conscience,  and  sour  melancholy, 
Hath  yielded  up  his  body  to  the  grave ; 
Bui  here  is  Carlisle,  livhig,  to  abide 
Thy  kingly  doom,  and  sentence  of  his  pride. 

Boling.  Carlisle,  tlus  is  your  doom  :  — 
Choose  out  some  secret  place,  some  reverend  room, 
More  than  thou  hast,  and  with  it  joy  thy  life  ; 
So,  as  thou  liv'sl  in  peace,  die  free  Irom  strife : 
For  though  mine  enemy  thou  hast  ever 'been, 
High  sparks  of  honour  in  thee  have  I  seen. 

Enter  Exton,  Kith  attendants  bearing  a  coffin. 

Extmi.  Great^ing,  within  tlus  coffin  I  present 
Thy  buried  fear :  hereinall  breathless  lies 
The  mightiest  of  thy  greatest  enemies, 
Ricliard  of  Bordeaux.'by  me  hither  brought. 

Boling.  Exton,  1  thank  tliee  not  j  for  thou  hast 
wrought 
A  deed  of  slander,  with  thy  fatal  hand. 
Upon  my  head,  and  all  this  famous  laud. 

Exton.  From  your  own  mouth,  my  lord,' did  1 
this  deed. 

Boling.  They  love  not  poison  that  do  poison  need. 
Nor  do  I  thee ;  though  I  did  wish  him  dead, 
I  hate  the  murderer,  love  him  murdered. 
The  guilt  of  conscience  take  thou  for  thy  labour. 
But  neither  my  good  word,  nor  princely  favour : 
With  Cain  go  wander  through  the  shade  of  night. 

And  never  show  thy  head  by  day  nor  night. 

Lords,  I  protest,  my  soul  is  full  of  wo. 

That  blood  should  sprinkle  me,  to  meike  me  grow : 

Come,  mourn  with  me  for  what  I  do  lament. 

And  put  on  sullen  black  incontinent  ;* 

I'll  make  a  voyage  to  the  Holy  Land, 

To  wash  this  blood  off  from  my  guilty  hand : —  ^ 

Marcli  sadly  after ;  grace  my  mournings  here,  \ 

In  weeping  after  this  untimely  bier.  [Exeunt. 


This  play  is  one  of  those  which  Shakspeare  has 
apparently  revised  ;  but  as  success  in  works  of  in- 
vention is  not  always  proportionate  to  labour,  it  is 
not  finished  at  last  with  the  happy  force  of  some 
other  of  his  tragedies,  nor  can  be  said  much  to  af- 
fect the  passions,  or  enlarge  the  understanding. 

JOHNSON. 


(    385    ) 

FIRST  PART  OF 

KINO  HENRY  IV. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


King  Henry  the  Fourth. 

Henrv,  prince  of  Wales,    >  ,^.  t„,t,.  u„„ 

Prince  /ohn  ofiancasier,  \  "^'  ^  *'"'  ^''^^ 

Earl  of  Westmoreland,  )    f^,„j.  ,„  .i.  i>-^„ 

Sir  Walter  Blunt,  \  f^'"^  ^  ^^^  *"»»' 

Thomas  Percy,  earl  of  Worcester. 

Henry  Percy,  earl  of  J^'or thumb erland. 

Henry  Percy,  surnamed  Hotspur,  his  son. 

Edmund  Mortimer,  earl  of  March. 

Scroop,  archbishop  of  York. 

Archibald,  earl  of  Douglass. 

Owen  Glendower. 

Sir  Richard  Vernon. 

Sir  John  Falstaff. 


(Poins. 
Gadshill. 
Peto.    Bardolph. 

Lady  Percy,  wife  to  Hol^ntr,  and  sister  to  jyfor* 

timer.  , 

Lady  Mortimer,  daughter  to  Glendower,  and  wife 

to  Mortimer.    _  •• 

Mrs.  Quickly,  fwsless  ff « tavern  in  Eastcheap. 

Lords,  Officers,  Sheriff,  Vintner,  Chamberlain, 
Drawers,  two  Corners,  Travellers,  and  ^t- 
tendcuits. 

Scene,  England, 


ACT  I. 

SCE^E  I. — London.  .,3  room  in  the  palace. 
Enter  King  Henry,  AVestmoreland,  Sir  Walter 
Blunt,  and  others. 


s 


King  Henry. 


O  shaken  as  we  are,  so  wan  with  care. 
Find  we  a  time  for  frighted  peace  to  pant. 
And  breathe  shorU  winded  accents  of  new  broils 
To  be  commenc'd  in  stronds'  afar  remote. 
No  more  the  thirsty  Erinnys^  of  this  soil 
Shall  daub  her  lips  with  her  own  children's  blood ; 
No  more  shall  trenching  war  channel  her  fields, 
Nor  bruise  her  flowrets  with  the  armed  hoofs 
Of  hostile  paces  ;  those  opposed  eyes, 
Which, — like  the  meteors  of  a  troubled  heaven. 

All  of  one  nature,  of  one  substance  bred, 

Did  lately  meet  in  the  intestine  shock 

And  furious  close  of  civil  butchery. 

Shall  now,  in  mutual,  well-beseeming  ranks, 

March  all  one  way  ;  and  be  no  moreoppos'd 

Against  acquaintance,  kindred,  and  allies  : 

The  edge  of  war,  like  an  ill-sheathed  knife. 

No  more  shall  cut  his  master.    Therefore,  friends. 

As  far  as  to  the  sepulchre  of  Christ 

(Whose  soldier  now,  under  whose  blessed  cross 

We  are  impressed  and  engair'd  to  fi^ht,) 

Forthwith  a  power'  of  Engrlish  shall  we  levy ; 

Whose  arms  were  moulded  in  their  mothers'  womb 

To  chase  these  pafjans,  in  those  holy  fields. 

Over  whose  acres  walk'd  those  blessed  feet. 

Which,  fourteen  hundred  years  ago,  were  nail'd, 

For  our  advantacre,  on  the  bitter  cross. 

But  this  our  purpose  is  a  twelve-month  old, 

And  bootless*  'tis  to  tell  you — we  will  go ; 

Tiierefore  we  meet  not  now  :— Then  let  me. hear 

Of  you,  my  gentle  cousin  Westmoreland, 

What  yesternight  our  council  did  decree. 

In  forwarding  this  dear  expedience.* 

(I)  Strands,  banks  of  the  sea. 

h)  The  Fury  of  discord. 

(S)  Force,  army.  (4)  Needless,  (5)  Expedilion. 


West.  My  liege,  this  haste  was  hot  in  question. 
And  many  limits'^  of  the  charge  set  down 
But  yesternight :  when,  all  athwart,  there  came 
A  post  from  Wales,  loaden  with  heavy  news  ; 
"Whose  worst  was, — that  the  noble  Mortimer, 
Leading  the  men  of  Herefordshire  to  fight 
Against  the  irregular  and  wild  Glendower, 
Was  by  the  rude  hands  of  that  Welshman  taken. 
And  a  thousand  of  his  people  butchered  : 
Upon  whose  dead  corps  there  was  such  misuse, 
Such  beastly,  shameless  transformation. 
By  those  Welshwomen  done,  as  may  not  be. 
Without  much  shame,  re-told  or  spoken  of. 

K.  Hen.  It  seems  then,  that  the  tidings  of  this 
broil 
Brake  off  our  business  for  the  Holy  Land. 

West.  This,  match'd  with  other,  did,  my  gra- 
cious lord; 
For  more  uneven  and  unwelcome  news 
Came  from  the  north,  and  thus  it  did  import. 
On  Holv-rood  day,'  the  gallant  Hotspur  there. 
Young  Harry  Percy,  and  brave  Archibald, 
That  ever-valiant  and  approved  Scot, 
At  Holmedon  met. 

Where  thev  did  spend  a  sad  and  bloody  hour ; 
As  by  discharge  of  their,  artillery, 
And  shape  of  likelihood,  the  news  was  told; 
For  he  that  brought  them,  in  the  very  heat 
And  pride  of  their  contention  did  take  horse, 
Uncertain  of  the  issue  any  way. 

K.  Hen.   Here  is  a  dear  and  true-industrious 
friend, 
Sir  Walter  Blunt,  new  lighted  from  his  horse, 
Stain'd'  with  the  variation  of  each  soil 
Betivixt  that  Holmedon  and  this  seat  of  ours  ; 
And  he  hath  brought  us  smooth  and  welcome  news. 
The  earl  of  Douglass  is  discomfited  ; 
Ten  thousand  bold  Scots,  two  and  twenty  knights, 
Balk'd'  in  their  own  blood,  did  sir  Walter  see 
On  Holmedon's  plains:  Of  prisoners.  Hotspur  took 
Mordake  the  earl  of  Fife,  and  eldest  son 

(6)  Estimates.  (7)  September  14. 

(8)  Covered  with  dirt  of  dillerent  colourSt 

(9)  Piled  up  in  a  heap. 

8C 


386 


FIRST  PART  OF  KIKg  HENRY  IV. 


Jletl. 


To  beaten  Douglas ;  and  the  earls  of  Athol, 
Of  Murray,  Angus,  and  Menteith. 
And  is  not  this  an  honourable  spoil  ? 
A  gallant  prize  ?  ha,  cousin,  is  it  not? 

West.  In  faith. 
It  is  a  conquest  for  a  prince  to  boast  of. 

K.  Hen,  Yea,  there  thou  mak'st  me  sad,  and 
mak'st  me  sin 
In  envy  that  my  lord  Northumberland 
Should  be  the  father  of  so  blest  a  son : 
A  son  who  is  the  theme  of  honour's  tong-ue ; 
Amongst  a  grove,  the  very  straightest  plant ; 
Who  is  sweet  fortune's  minion,  and  her  pride  : 
Whilst  I,  by  looking  on  the  praise  of  him, 
See  riot  and  dishonour  stain  the  brow 
Of  my  young  Harry.     O,  that  it  could  be  prov'd, 
That  some  night-tripping  fairy  had  exchang'd 
In  cradle-clothes  our  children  where  they  lay, 
And  call'd  mine — Percy,  his — Plantagenet !  ' 
Then  would  I  have  his  Harry,  and  he  mine. 
But  let  him  from  my  thoughts : — What  think  you, 

coz, 
Of  this  young  Percy's  pride  ?  the  prisoners, 
Which  he  in  this  adventure  hath  surpris'd. 
To  his  own  use  he  keeps  ;  and  sends  me  word, 
I  shall  have  none  but  Mordake  earl  of  Fife. 

West.  This  is  his  uncle's  teaching,  this  is  Wor 
cester, 
Malevolent  to  you  in  all  aspects ;' 
Which  makes  him  prune^  himself,  and  bristle  up 
The  crest  of  youth  against  your  dignit}'. 

K.  Hen.  But  I  have  sent  for  him  to  answer  this 
And,  for  this  cause,  a  %vhile  we  must  neglect 
Our  holy  purpose  to  Jerusalem. 
Cousin,  on  Wednesday  next  our  council  we 
Will  hold  at  Windsor,  so  inform  the  lords  : 
But  come  yourself  with  speed  to  us  again ; 
For  more  is  to  be  said,  and  to  be  done. 
Than  out  of  anger  can  be  uttered. 

West.  I  will,  my  liege.    ^  [Exeunt 

SCEJ^E  H. — The  same.  Jlnother  room  in  the 
palace.  Enter  Henry  Prince  of  Wales,  and 
Falstaff. 

Fal.  Now,  Hal,  what  time  of  day  is  it,  lad  ? 

P.  Hen.  Thou  art  so  fat-witted,  with  drinking 
of  old  sack,  and  unbuttoning  thee  after  supper,  and 
sleeping  upon  benches  after  noon,  that  thou  hast 
forgotten  to  demand  that  truly  which  thou  would'st 
truly  know.  What  a  devil  hast  thou  to  do  with 
the  time  of  the  day  ?  unless  hours  were  cups  of 
sack,  and  minutes  capons,  and  clocks  the  tongues 
of  bawds,  and  dials  the  signs  of  leaping-houses, 
and  the  blessed  sun  himself  a  fair  hot  wench  in 
flame-colour'd  taffeta ;  I  see  no  reason,  %vhy  thou 
should'st  be  so  superfluous  to  demand  the  time  of 
the  day. 

Fal.  Indeed,  you  come  near  me,  now,  Hal :  for 
we,  that  take  purses,  go  by  the  moon  and  seven 
stars ;  and  not  by  Phoebus, — he,  that  wandering 
knight  so  fair.  And,  I  pray  thee,  sweet  wag, 
when  thou  art  king, — as,  God  save  thy  grace 
(majesty,  I  should  say ;  for  grace  thou  wut  have 
none,) 

P.  Hen.  What,  none  ? 

Fal.  No,  by  my  troth ;  not  so  much  as  will 
serve  to  be  prologue  to  an  egg  and  butter. 

P.  Hen.  Well,  how  then  ?  come,  roundly, 
roundly. 

n )  Points.  (2)  Trim,  as  birds  clean  their  feathers. 
|3J  Favourites.  (4)  Stand  still.  (5)  More  >vine. 
.16)  The  dress  of  sheriffs'  officers, 


Fal.  Marry,  then,  sweet  wag,  when  thou  art 
king,  let  not  us,  that  are  squires  of  the  night's  body, 
be  called  thieves  of  the  day's  beauty ;  let  us  be — 
Diana's  foresters,  gentlemen  of  the  shade,  min- 
ions' of  the  moon :  And  let  men  say,  we  be  men 
of  good  government :  being  govern'd  as  the  sea  is, 
by  our  noble  and  cliaste  mistress  the  moon,  under 
whose  countenance  we — steal. 

P.  Hen.  Thou  say'st  well ;  and  it  holds  well  too : 
for  the  fortune  of  us,  that  are  the  moon's  men, 
doth  ebb  and  flow  like  the  sea ;  being  governed  as 
the  sea  is,  by  the  moon.  As,  for  proof,  now :  A 
purse  of  gold  most  resolutely  snatch'd  on  Monday 
nightj  and  most  dissolutely  spent  on  Tuesday 
morning  ;  got  with  swearing— lay  by  ;*  and  spent 
with  crying — bring  in  : '  now,  in  as  low  an  ebb  as 
the  foot  of  the  ladder ;  and,  by  and  by,  in  as  high 
a  flow  as  the  ridge  of  the  gallows. 

Fal.  By  the  Lord,  thou  say'st  true,  lad.  And  is 
not  my  hostess  of  the  tavern  a  most  sweet  wench  ? 

P.  Hen.  As  the  honey  of  Hybla,  my  old  lad  of 
the  castle.  And  is  not  a  buff"  jerkin  a  most  sweet 
robe  of  durance?* 

Fal.  How  now,  how  now,  mad  wag  ?  what,  in 
thy  quips,  and  thy  ([uiddities?  what  a  plague  have 
I  to  do  with  a  bun  jerkin  ? 

P.  Hen.  Why,  what  a  pox  have  I  to  do  with  my 
hostess  of  the  tavern  ? 

Fd.  Well,  thou  hast  called  her  to  a  reckoning, 
many  a  time  and  oR. 

P.  Hen.  Did  I  ever  call  for  thee  to  pay  thy  part  ? 

Fal.  No  ;  I'll  ^ive  thee  thy  due,  thou  hast  paid 
all  there. 

P.  Hen.  Yea,  and  elsewhere,  so  far  as  my  coin 
would  stretch ;  and,  where  it  would  not,  I  have 
used  my  credit. 

Fal.  Yea,  and  so  used  it,  that  were  it  not  here 
apparent  that  thou  art  heir  apparent,— But,  I 
pr'ythee,  sweet  wag,  shall  there  be  gallows  stand- 
ing in  England  when  thou  art  king?  and  resolu- 
tion thus  fobbed  as  it  is,  with  the  rusty  curb  of  old 
father  antic  the  law  ?  Do  not  thou,  when  thou  art 
king,  hang  a  thief. 

P.  Hen.  No  ;  thou  shalt. 

Fal.  Shall  I  ?  0  rare !  By  the  lord  I'll  be  a  brave 
judge. 

P.  Hen.  Thou  judgest  false  already;  I  mean, 
thou  shalt  have  the  hanging  of  the  thieves,  and  so 
become  a  rare  hangman. 

Fal.  Well,  Hal,  well ;  and  in  some  sort  it  jumps 
with  my  humour,  as  well  as  waiting  in  the  court,  I 
can  tell  you. 

P.  Hen.  For  obtaining  of  suits? 

Fal.  Yea,  for  obtaining  of  suits  :  whereof  the 
hangman  hath  no  lean  wardrobe.  'Sblood,  I  am 
as  melancholy  as  a  gib'  cat,  or  a  lugged  bear. 

P.  Hen.  Or  an  old  lion  ;  or  a  lover's  lute. 

Fal.  Yea,  or  the  drone  of  a  Lincolnshire  bagpipe.* 

P.  Hen.  What  sayest  thou  to  a  hare,  or  the 
melancholy  of  Moor-ditch  ? 

Fal.  Thou  hast  the  most  unsavoury  similes ;  and 
art,  indeed,  the  most  comparative,  rascalliest, — 
sweet  young  prince,— But,  Hal,  I  pr'ythee,  trouble 
me  no  more  with  vanity.  I  would  to  God,  thou 
and  I  knew  where  a  commodity  qf  good  names 
were  to  be  bought :  An  old  lord  of  the  council  ra- 
ted me  tlie  other  day  in  the  street  about  you,  sir ; 
but  I  marked  him  not ;  and  yet  he  talked  very 
wisely  ;  but  I  regarded  him  not :  and  yet  he  talked 
wisely,  and  in  the  street  too. 

(7)  Gih  cat,  should  be  lib  eo/,— a  Scotch  terra 
at  this  day  for  a  gelded  cat, 
f8)  Croak  of  a  frog. 


S6eM  II. 


FIIIST  PARt  OP  KING  HENRY  IV. 


387 


P.  Hen.  Thou  didsl  well ;  for  wisdom  cries  out 
in  the  streets,  and  no  man  regards  it. 

Fal.  O  thou  hast  damnable  iteration  :'  and  art, 
indeed,  able  to  corrupt  a  saint.  Thou  hast  done 
much  harm  upon  me,  Hal, — God  forgive  thee  for 
it !  Before  I  knew  thee,  Hal,  I  knew  nothing ;  and 
now  am  I,  if  a  man  should  speak  truly,  little  better 
than  one  of  the  wicked.  I  must  give  over  this  life, 
and  I  will  irive  it  over ;  by  the  Lord,  an  I  do  not, 
I  am  a  villain ;  I'll  be  damned  for  never  a  king's 
son  in  Christendom. 

P.  Hen,  Where  shall  we  take  a  purse  to-mor- 
row, Jack  ? 

Fal.  Where  thou  wilt,  lad,  I'll  make  one ;  an  I 
do  not,  call  me  villain,  and  baflle^  me. 

P.  Hen.  I  see  a  good  amendment  of  life  in  thee ; 
from  praying,  to  purse-taking. 

Enter  Poins,  at  a  distance. 

Fal.  Why,  Hal,  'tis  my  vocation,  Hal ;  'tis  no 
sin  for  a  man  to  labour  in  his  vocation.  Poins  ! — 
Now  shall  we  know  if  Gad/nill  have  set  a  match.' 
O,  if  men  were  to  be  saved  by  merit,  what  hole  in 
hell  were  hot  enough  for  him?  This  is  the  most 
omnipotent  villain,  that  ever  cried,  Stand,  to  a 
true*  man. 

P.  Hen.  Good  morrow,  Ned. 

Poins.  Good  morrow,  sweet  Hal. — What  says 
monsieur  Remorse  ?  What  says  sir  John  Sack- 
and-Sun-ar  ?  Jack,  how  afrrces  the  devil  and  thee 
about  thy  soul,  that  thou  soldesthim  on  Good-friday 
last,  for  a  cup  of  Madeira,  and  a  cold  capon's  leg? 

P.  Hen.  Sir  John  stands  to  his  word,  the  devil 
shall  have  his  bargain ;  for  he  was  never  yet  a 
breaker  of  proverbs,  he  will  give  the  devil  his  due. 

Poins.  Then  art  thou  damn'd  for  keeping  thy 
word  with  the  devil. 

P.  Hen.  Else  he  had  been  damned  for  cozening 
the  devil. 

Poins.  But,  my  lads,  my  lads,  to-morrow  morn- 
ing, by  four  o'clock,  early  at  Gadshill :  There  are 
pilgrims  going  to  Canterbury  with  rich  ofl'erings, 
and  traders  riding  to  London  with  fat  purses :  1 
have  visors'  for  you  all,  you  have  horses  for  your 
selves  ;  Gadshill  lies  to-night  in  Rochester ;  I  have 
bespoke  supper  to-morrow  night  in  Eastcheap ; 
we  may  do  it  as  secure  as  sleep  :  If  you  will  go,  I 
Avill  stuff"  your  purses  full  of  crowns  ;  if  you  will 
not,  tarry  at  home,  and  be  hantred. 

Fal.  Hear  me,  Yedward ;  if  I  tarry  at  home,  and 
go  not,  I'll  hang  you  for  going. 

Poins.  You  will,  chops  ? 

Fal.  Hal,  wilt  thou  make  one  ? 

P.  Hen.  Who,  I  rob  ?  I  a  thief?  not  I,  by  my 
faith. 

Fal.  There's  neither  honesty,  manhood,  nor  good 
fellowship  in  thee,  nor  thou  earnest  not  of  thebiood 
roval,  if  thou  darest  not  stand  for  ten  shillings.^ 

P.  Hen.  W'ell,  then,  once  in  my  days  I'll  be  a 
mad-cap. 

Fal.  Why,  that's  well  said. 

P.  Hen.  W'ell,  come  what  will,  I'll  tarry  at  home. 

Fal.  By  the  Lord,  I'll  be  a  traitor  then,  when 
thou  art  king. 


Fal.  Well,  may'st  thou  hare  the  spirit  of  per- 
suasion, and  he  the  ears  of  profiting,  that  what 
thou  speakest  may  move,  and  what  he  hears  may 
be  believed,  that  the  true. prince  may  (for  recrea- 
tion sake)  prove  a  false  thief;  for  the  poor  abuses 
of  the  time  want  countenance.  Farewell :  You 
shall  find  me  in  Eastcheap. 

P.  Hen.  Farewell,  thou  latter  spring  !  Farewell, 
AU-hallown  summer!'  [Exit  Falstafl. 

Poins.  Now,  my  good  sweet  honey  lord,  ride 
with  us  to-morrow ;  I  have  a  jest  to  execute,  that  I 
cannot  manage  alone.  Falstaff,  Bardolph,  Peto, 
and  Gadshill,  shall  rob  those  men  that  we  have  al- 
ready way-laid  ;  yourself,  and  I,  will  not  be  there: 
and  Avhen  they  have  the  booty,  if  you  and  I  do  not 
rob  them,  cut  tiiis  head  from  my  shoulders. 

P.  Hen.  But  how  shall  we  part  with  them  in 
setting  forth  ? 

Poiiis.  Why,  we  will  set  forth  before  or  after 
them,  and  appoint  them  a  place  of  meeting,  where- 
in it  is  at  our  pleasure  to  fail ;  and  then  will  thev 
adventure  upon  the  exploit  themselves:  which 
they  ahall  have  no  sooner  achieved,  but  we'll  set 
upon  them. 

P.  Hen.  Ay,  but,  'tis  like,  that  they  will  know 
us,  by  our  horses,  by  our  habits,  and  by  every  other 
appomtment,  to  be  ourselves. 

Poins.  Tut!  our  horses  they  shall  not  see,  I'll 
tie  them  in  the  wood  ;  our  visors  we  will  change, 
after  we  leave  them  ;  and,  sirrah,  I  have  cases  of 
buckram  for  the  nonce,*  to  immask  our  noted  out- 
ward earments. 

P.  Hen.  But,  I  doubt,  they  will  be  too  hard  for  us. 

Poins.  Well,  for  two  of  them,  I  know  them  to  be 
as  true-bred  cowards  as  ever  turned  back ;  and 
for  the  third,  if  he  fight  longer  than  he  sees  reason, 
I'll  forswear  arms.  The  virtue  of  this  jest  will  be, 
the  incomprehensible  lies  that  this  same  fat  rogue 
will  tell  us,  when  we  meet  at  supper :  how  thirty, 
at  least,  he  fought  with ;  what  wards,  what  blows, 
what  extremities  he  endured ;  and,  in  the  reproof* 
of  this,  lies  the  jest. 

P.  Hen.  Well,  I'll  go  with  thee  :  provide  us  all 
things  necessary,  and  meet  me  to-morrow  night  in 
Eastcheap,  there  I'll  sup.    Farewell. 

Poins.  Farewell,  my  lord.  [Exit  Poins. 

P.  Hen.  I  know  you  all,  and  ivill  a.  while  uphold 
The  unyok'd  humour  of  your  idleness : 
Yet  herein  will  I  imitate  the  sun  ; 
Who  doth  permit  the  base  contagious  clouds 
To  smother  up  his  beauty  from  the  world, 
That,  when  he  please  again  to  be  himself, 
Being  wanted,  he  may  be  more  wonder'd  at, 
By  breaking  through  the  foul  and  ugly  mists 
Of  vajlours,  that  did  seem  to  strangle  him. 
If  all  the  year  were  playing  holidays. 
To  sport  would  be  as  tedious  as  to  work  ; 
But,  when  they  seldom  come,  they  wish'd-for  comej 
And  nothing  pleaseth  but  rare  accidents. 
So,  when  this  loose  behaviour  I  throw  off. 
And  pay  the  debt  I  never  promised. 
By  how  much  better  than  my  word  1  am. 
By  so  much  shall  I  falsify  men's  hopes  ;'" 
And,  like  bright  metal  on  a  sullen"  ground, 
My  reformation,  glittering  o'er  my  fault. 


P.  Hen.  I  care  not.  ,     , 

Poins.  Sir  John,  I  pr'vthee,  leave  the  prince  and  Shall  show  more  goodly,  and  attract  more  eyes, 
me  alone  ;  I  will  lay  him  down  such  reasons  fori  Than  that  which  hath  no  foil  to  set  it  off. 


this  adventure,  that  he  shall  go. 


(1)  Citation  of  holy  texts. 

(2)  Treat  me  with  ignomii 

(3)  Made  an  appointment. 


(4)  Honest. 


5)  Masks. 

6)  The  value  pf  ^  coin  called  real  or  royal. 


I'll  so  offend,  to  make  offence  a  skill : 
Redeeming  time,  when  men  think  least  I  will. 


[Ex. 


(7)  Fine  weather  at  All-hallown-tide  (i.  e.  All 
Samts,  Nov.  1st)  is  called  an  AU-hallown  summer. 

(8)  Occasion. 

(9)  Confutation.   (10)  Expectations,  (l))Ptil|, 


388 


FIRST  PART  OP  KING  HENRY  IV. 


^cU. 


M 


SCEJ^E  III.— The  same.    Another  room  in  the 

palace.    Enter  King  Henry,  Northumberland, 

Worcester,    Hotspur,    Sir'SValter  Blunt,  and 

others. 

K.  Hen.  My  blood  hath  been  too  cold  and  tem- 
perate, 
Unapt  to  stir  at  these  indinrnities, 
And  you  have  found  me ;  for,  accordinpl)-. 
You  tread  upon  my  patience :  but,  be  sure, 
I  will  from  henceforth  rather  be  myself. 
Miglity,  and  to  be  fear'd,  than  my  condition  ;' 
4       Which  hath  been  smooth  as  oil,  soft  as  young  down. 
And  therefore  lost  that  title  cf  respect, 
Which  the  proud  soul  ne'er  pays,  but  to  the  proud. 

Wor.  Our  house,  my  sovereign  liege,  little  de- 
serves 
The  scourge  of  greatness  to  be  used  on  it ; 
And  that  same  jireatness  too  which  our  own  hands 

,ve  hoip  to  make  so  portly. 
WoriA.  My  lord, 

K.  Hen.   Worcester,  get  thee  gone,  for  I  see 
danger 
And  disobedience  in  thine  eye :  O,  sir,        '   ■"•- 
Your  presence  is  too  bold  and  peremptory. 
And  majesty  might  never  yet  endure 
The  moody  frontier'^  of  a  servant  brow. 
You  have  good  leave^  to  leave  us ;  vrhen  we  neod 
Your  use  and  counsel,  we  shall  send  for  vou. — 

[Exit  Worcester. 
You  were  about  to  speak.  [To  North. 

J^arth.  Yea,  my  good  lord. 

Those  prisoners  in  your  highness'  name  demanded, 
W'hich  Harry  Percy  here  at  Holmedon  took. 
Were,  as  he  says,  not  with  such  strength  denied 
As  is  deliver'd  to  your  majesty : 
Either  envy,  therefore,  or  misprision 
Is  puilty  of  this  fault,  and  not  my  son. 

Hot.  My  liege,  I  did  deny  no  prisoners. 
But,  I  remember,  when  the  fight  was  done. 
When  I  was  dry  with  rage,  a^  extreme  toil. 
Breathless  and  faint,  leaning  upon  my  sword, 
Came  there  a  certain  lord,  neat,  trimly  dress'd, 
Fresh  as  a  bridejrroom  ;  and  his  chin,  new  reap'd, 
Show'd  like  a  sliibble-land  at  harvest^home ; 
He  was  perfumed  like  a  milliner  ; 
And  'twixt  his  finger  and  his  thumb  he  held 
A  pouncet-box,*  which  ever  and  anon 
He  gave  his  nose,  and  took't  away  again  ; — 
Who,  therewith  angry,  ^vhen  it  next  came  there,. 
Took  it  in  snuff: — and  still  lie  smil'd,  and  talk'd  ; 
And,  as  the  soldiers  bore  d^d  bodies  by, 
He  call'd  them — untaucht  knaves,  unmannerly, 
To  bring  a  slovenly  unhandsome  corso 
Betwixt  the  wind  and  his  nobility. 
With  many  holiday  and  lady  terms 
He  question'd  me ;  amonjf  the  rest  demanded 
Jily  prisoners,  in  your  majesty^s  behajf. 
I  then,  all  smarting,  with  my  wounds  being  cold, 
To  be  so  pester'd  ivith  a  popinjay,' 
Out  of  my  grief "=  and  my  impatience, 
Answer'd  neglectingly,  1  know  not  what; 
He  should,  or  he  should  not; — for  he  made  mc  mad. 
To  ste  him  shine  so  brisk,  and  smell  so  sweet. 
And  talk  so  like  a  waiting-gentlewoman. 
Of  guns,  and  drums,  and  wounds,  (God  save  the 

mark!) 
And  telling  me,  the  sovereign'st  thing  on  earth 
Was  parmaceti,  for  an  inward  bruise  ; 
And  that  it  wa^  great  pity,  so  it  was, 
That  villanous  salt-petre  should  be  digg'd 

n  Disposition.  (2)  Forehead. 

'S)  Ready  assent 

;4)  A  small  box  for  musk  or  other  perfumes. 


'Out  of  the  bowels  of  the  harmless  earth. 
Which  many  a  good  tall'  fellow  had  destroy'd 
So  cowardly ;  and,  but  for  these  vile  guns, 
He  would  himself  have  been  a  soldier. 
This  bald  unjointed  chat  of  his,  my  lord, 
I  answer'd  indirectly,  as  I  said  ; 
And,  I  beseech  you,  let  not  his  report 
Come  current  for  an  accusation. 
Betwixt  mv  love  and  your  high  majesty. 

Blunt.   The  circumstance  consider'd,  good  my 
lord. 
Whatever  Harry  Percy  then  had  said. 
To  such  a  person  and  in  such  a  place. 
At  such  a  time,  with  all  the  rest  re-told, 
May  reasonably  die,  and  never  rise 
To  do  him  wrong,  or  any  %vay  impeach 
What  then  he  said,  so  he  unsay  it  now. 

K.  Hen.  Why,  yet  he  doth  deny  his  prisoners ; 
But  with  proviso,  and  exception, — 
That  we,  at  our  oivn  charge,  shall  ransom  straight 
His  brother-in-law,  the  foolish  Mortimer  ; 
Who,  on  my  soul,  hath  wilfully  betrav'd 
The  lives  of  those  that  he  did  lead  to  "fight 
Acainst  the  great  magician,  damn'd  Glendower ; 
W^hose  daughter,  as  we  hear,  the  earl  of  March 
Hath  lately  married.    Shall  our  coffers  then 
Be  emptied,  to  redeem  a  traitor  home  ? 
Shall  we  buy  treason  i  and  indent^  with  fears. 
When  they  have  lost  and  forfeited  themselves? 
No,  on  the  barren  mountains  let  him  starve  ; 
For  I  shall  never  hold  that  man  my  friend, 
VV'hose  tongue  shall  ask  me  for  one  penny  cost 
To  ransom  home  revolted  Mortimer. 

Hot.  Revolted  Mortimer ! 
He'hever  did  fall  off,  my  sovereign  liege, 
But  by  the  chance  of  war ; — To  prove  that  true. 


In  single  opposition,  hand  to  hand. 

He  did  confound^  the  best  part  of  an  hour 

In  changing  hardiment""  with  great  Glendower : 

Three  times  they  breath'd,  and  three  times  did  they 

drink. 
Upon  agreement,  of  swift  Severn's  flood ; 
Who  then  afiVighted  with  their  bloody  looks. 
Ran  fearfully  among  the  tremblinq:  reeds. 
And  hid  his  crisp"  head  in  the  hollow  bank 
Blood-stained  with  these  valiant  combatants. 
Never  did  bare  and  rotten  policy 
Colour  her  working  with  such  deadly  wounds ; 
Nor  never  could  the  noble  Mortimer 
Receive  so  many,  and  all  willingly: 
Then  let  him  not  be  slander'd  with  revolt. 

K.  Hen.  Thou  dost  belie  him,  Percy,  thou  dost 
belie  him. 
He  never  did  encounter  with  Glendower; 
I  fell  thee. 

He  durst  as  well  have  met  the  devil  alone, 
As  Owen  Glendower  for  an  enemy. 
Art  not  ashamed  ?  But,  sirrah,  henceforth 
Let  mc  not  hear  you  speak  of  Mortimer : 
Send  me  your  prisoners  with  the  speediest  means, 
Or  you  shall  hear  in  such  a  kind  from  me 
As  will  displease  you.— My  lord  Northumberland, 
We  license  your  departure  with  your  son : 
Send  us  your  prisoners,  or  you'll  hear  of  it. 

[Exeunt  King  Henry,  Blunt,  and  train. 

Hot.  And  if  the  devil  ccme  and  roar  for  them, 
I  will  not  send  them ;— I  will  after  straight. 


I 


(5)  Parrot.  (6)  Pain. 

(8)  Sisn  an  indenture, 
(10)  Hardiness, 


(7)  Brave, 
(9)  Expend. 
(II)  Curled. 


Scene  III. 


FIRST  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV. 


389 


And  tell  him  so  ;  for  I  will  case  my  heart, 
Although  it  be  with  hazard  of  my  head. 
J^forth.  What,  d:  unk  with  choler  ?    stay,  and 
pause  a  while ;  ^ 

Here  comes  your  uncle. 

Re-enter  Worcester. 

Hot.  Speak  of  Mortimer  ? 

Zounds,  I  will  speak  of  him  ;  and  let  my  soul 
Want  mercy,  if  I  do  not  join  with  him : 
Yea,  on  his  part,  I'll  empty  all  these  veins. 
And  shed  my  dear  blood  drop  by  drop  i'the  dust. 
But  I  will  lift  the  down-trod  Jrlortimer 
As  hi£;h  i'the  air  as  tliis  unthankful  king. 
As  this  ingrate'  and  canker'd  Bolin^broke. 

J^orth.  Brother,  the  king  hath  made  your  nephew 
mad.  [To  Worcester. 

Wor.  Who  struck  this  heat  up,  after  I  was  gone  ? 

Hot.  He  will,  forsooth,  have  all  my  prisoners  ; 
And  when  I  urg'd  the  ransom  once  a^ain 
Of  my  ivife's  brother,  then  iiis  cheek  look'd  pale ; 
And  on  my  face  he  turn'd  an  eye  of  death. 
Trembling  even  at  the  name  of  Mortimer. 

Wor.  I  cannot  blame  him :  was  he  not  proclaim'd, 
By  Richard  that  dead  is,  the  next  of  blood  ? 

J^Tortk.  He  was  ;  I  heard  the  proclamation : 
And  then  it  was,  when  the  unhappy  kint^ 
(Whose  wronj^s  in  us  God  pardon  !)  did  set  forth 
Upon  his  Irish  expedition  ; 
From  whence  he,  intercepted,  did  return 
To  be  depos'd,  and  shortly,  murdered. 

Wor.  And  for  whose  death,  we  in  tlie  world's 
wide  mouth 
Live  scandaliz'd,  and  foully  spoken  of. 

Hot.  But,  soft,  I  pray  you:  Did  king  Richard 
then 
Proclaim  my  brother  Edmund  Mortimer 
Heir  to  the  crown  ? 

.Xorth.  He  did:  myself  did  hear  it. 

Hot.  Nay,  then  I  cannot  blame  his  cousin  kintr. 
That  wish'd  him  on  the  barren  mountains  starv'd. 
But  shall  it  be,  that  you, — that  set  the  crown 
Upon  the  head  of  this  fortjetful  man  ; 
And,  for  his  sake,  wear  the  detested  blot 
Of  murd'rous  subornation, — sliall  it  be, 
That  you  a  world  of  curses  undergo ; 
Being-  the  apents,  or  base  second  means, 
The  cords,  the  ladder,  or  the  hans^an  rather? — 
O,  pardon  me,  that  1  descend  so  low. 
To  show  the  line,  and  the  iiredicament. 
Wherein  you  range  under  this  subtle  Icinsr. — 
Shall  it,  for  shame,  be  spoken  in  these  days, 
Or  fill  up  chronicles  in  time  to  come,  ; 

That  men  of  your  nobility  and  power 
Did  page  them  both  in  an  unjust  bchalf,^- 
As  both  of  yon,  God  pardon  it^!  have  done, —  , 
To  nut  down  Richard,  that  sweet  lovely  rose. 
Ana  plant  this  thorn,  this  canker,^  Bolingbrobe? 
And  shall  it,  in  more  shame,  be  farther  spoken, 
That  you  are  fooi'd,  discarded,  and  shook  off  - 
By  him,  for  whom  these  shames  ye  underwent  ? 
No ;  yet  time  serves,  wherein  you  may  redeem 
Your  hanish'd  honours,  and  restore  yourselves 
Into  the  pood  thoughts  of  the  world  apain  : 
Rcveno-e  the  jeerinp,  and  disdain'd'  contempt, 
Of  this  proud  kinp  ;  who  studies,  day  and  night, 
To  answer  all  the  debt  he  owes  to  you, 
Even  with  the  bloody  payment  of  your  deaths. 
Therefore,  I  say, 

Wor.  Peace,  cousin,  say  no  more : 

(1)  Ungrateful.  (2)  The  dop-rose. 

(3)  Disdainful.      (4)  A  rival.      (5)  Friendship. 
(6)  Shapes  creeled  by  his  imagination. 


And  now  I  will  unclasp  a  secret  book, 
And  to  your  quick-conceiving  discontents 
I'll  read  you  matter  deep  and  dangerous ; 
As  full  of  peril,  and  advent'rous  spirit. 
As  to  o'er-walk  A  current,  roaring  loud, 
On  the  unsteadf\st  footing  of  a  spear. 

Hot.  If  he  fall  in,  good  night : — or  sink  or  swim  ; 
Send  danger  from  the  east  unto  the  west. 
So  honour  cross  it  from  the  north  to  south, 
And  let  them  grapple ; — O  !  the  blood  more  stirs. 
To  rouse  a  lion,  than  to  start  a  hare. 

J^orth.  Imagination  of  some  great  exploit 
Drives  him  beyond  the  bounds  of  patience. 

Hot.  By  heaven,  metiunks,  it  were  an  easy  leap. 
To  pluck  bright  honour  from  the  pale-fac'd  moou : 
Or  dive  into  tho  bottom  of  the  deep, 
Where  fathom-line  could  never  touch  the  ground, 
And  pluck  up  drowned  honour  by  the  locks  ; 
So  he,  that  doth  redeem  her  thence,  might  wear. 
Without  corrival,''  a!!  her  dip-nities  : 
But  out  upon  i!'    '    '~~    "  I  fLiMov.ship  .'*    • 

Wo-i:  He  ap;  orld  of  figures*  here. 

Butuot  the  fori  >  _  should  attend. — 

Gi^l  cousin,  give  me  audience  for  a  while. 

Hot.  I  cry  you  mercy. 

Wor.                            Those  same  noble  Scots, 
Tliat  are  your  prisoners, 

Hot.     '  I'll  keep  them  all ; 

By  heaven,  he  shall  not  have  a  Scot  of  them : 
No,  if  a  Scot  would  ?ave  his  soul,  he  shall  not: 
I'll  keep  them,  by  tliis  hand. 

Wor.  You  start  away, 

And  lend  no  ear  unto  my  purposes. — 
Those  prisoners  you  shall  keep. 

Hot.  Nay,  I  will ;  that's  flat:— 

He  said,  he  would  not  ransom  Mortimer ; 
Forbad  my  tonglie  to  speak  of  Mortimer  ;■ 
But  I  will  find  him  when  he  lies  asleep. 
And  in  his  ear,  I'll  holla — Mortimer !    ' 
Nay, 

I'll  have  a  starlmg  shall  be  taught  to  speak 
Nothing  but  Mortimer,  and  give  it  him, 
To  keep  his  anger  still  in  motion, 

W'or.  Hear  you. 

Cousin,  a  word. 

Hot.  All  studies  here  I  solemnly  defy," 
Save  how  to  gall  and  pinch  this  Bolingbroke : 
And    that    same    sword-and-buekler*    prince    of 

Wales,— 
But  that  I  think  his  father  loves  him  not. 
Arid  would  be  clad  he  met  with  some  mischance, 
I'd  have  him  poison'd  with  a  pot  of  ale. 

Wor.  Farewell,  kinsman !  I  will  talk  to  you. 
When  you  are  better  temper'd  to  attend. 

N'orih.  Why,  what  a  ^vasp-stung  and  impatient 
fool 
Art  thou,  to  break  into  this  woman's ^ood  ;• 
Tying  thine  ear  to  no  tongue  but  thine  own  ? 

Hot.  Why,  look  you,  I  am  whipp'd  and  scourg'd 
with  rods. 
Nettled,  and  stunp  with  pismires,  when  I  hear 
Of  this  vile  politician,  Bolingbroke. 
In  Richard's  time, — What  do  you  call  the  place? — 
A  placrue  upon't !— it  is  in  Gloucestershire; — 
'Twas  where  the  mad-cap  duke  his  uncle  kept ; 
His  uncle  York ; — where  1  first  bowed  my  knee 
Unto  this  king  of  smiles,  this  Bolingbroke, 
\Vhen  you  and  he  came  back  from  Ravenspurg. 

J^m-th.  At  Berkley  castle. 

Hot.  You  say  true : 

(1)  Refuse. 

(8 )  Tlie  term  for  a  blustering  quarrelsome  fellow. 

(9)  Mind,  humour. 


390 


FIRST  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV< 


^ct  IL 


Why,  what  a  candy'  deal  of  courtesy 
This  fawning  greyhound  then  did  proffer  me ! 
Look, — lohen  his  infant  fortune  came  to  age. 
And. — gentle  Harry  Percy, — and,  kind  cousin, — 

O,  the  devil  take  such  cozeners ! God  forgiv« 

me! 

Good  uncle,  tell  your  tale,  for  I  have  done. 

Wor.  Nay,  if  you  have  not,  to't  again ; 
We'll  stay  your  leisure. 

Hot.  I  have  done,  i'faith. 

Wor.  Then  once  more  to  your  Scottish  prisoners. 
Deliver  them  up  without  their  ransom  straight, 
And  make  the  Douglas'  son  your  only  mean 
For  powers  in  Scotland ;  which, — for  divers  reasons, 
Which  1  shall  send  you  written, — be  assur'd, 
Will  easily  be  granted.— You,  my  lord, — 

[To  Northumberland. 
Your  son  in  Scotland  being  thus  employ'd, — 
Shiill  secretly  into  the  bosom  creep 
Of  that  same  noble  prelate,  well  belov'd, 
The  archbishop. 

/foJ.  Of  York,  is'tnot? 

Wor.  True  ;  who  bears  hard 
His  brother's  death  at  Bristol,  the  lord  Scroop. 
I  speak  not  this  in  estimation, ^ 
As  what  I  think  might  be,  but  what  I  know 
Is  ruminated,  plotted,  and  set  down  ; 
And  only  stays  but  to  behold  the  face 
Of  that  occasion  that  shall  bring  it  on. 

Hot.  I  smell  it ;  upon  my  life,  it  will  do  well. 

J^ortli.  Before  the  game's  a-foot,  thou  still  let'st 
slip. 

Hot.  Why,   it  cannot  choose  but  be  a  noble 
plot : — 
And  then  the  power  of  Scotland,  and  of  York, — 
To  join  with  Mortimer,  ha  ? 

Wor.  And  so  they  shall. 

Hot.  In  faith,  it  is  exceedingly  well  aim'd. 

Wor.  And  'tis  no  little  reason  bids  us  speed, 
To  save  our  heads  by  raising  of  a  head  :' 
For,  bear  ourselves  as  even  as  we  can, 
Thfe  king  will  always  think  him  in  our  debt ; 
And  think  we  think  ourselves  unsatisfied. 
Till  he  hath  found  a  time  to  pay  us  home. 
And  see  already,  how  he  doth  begin 
To  make  us  strangers  to  his  looks  of  love. 

Hot.  He  does,  he  does  ;  we'll  be  reveng'd  on 
him. 

Wor.  Cousin,  farewell : — No  further  go  in  this, 
Than  I  by  letters  shall  direct  your  course. 
When  time  is  ripe  (which  will  be  suddenly,) 
I'll  steal  to  Glendowcr,  and  lord  Mortimer  ; 
Where  you  and  Douglas,  and  our  powers  at  once 
(As  I  will  fashion  it,)  shall  happily  meet, 
To  bear  our  fortunes  in  our  own  strong  arms, 
Which  now  wc  hold  at  much  uncertainty. 

^orth.  Farewell,  good  brother :  we  shall  thrive, 
>  I  trust. 

Hot.  Uncle,  adieu : — O,  let  the  hours  be  short, 
Till  fields,  and  blows,  and  groans,  applaud  our 
sport !  [Exeunt. 

m 

ACT  II. 

SCEJ^E    J.— Rochester.    An  inn-yard.     Enter 
a  Carrier,  with  a  lantern  in  his  hand. 

1  Car.  Heigh  ho !  An't  be  not  four  by  the  day, 

(1)  Sugared.  (2)  Conjecture. 

(3)  A  body  of  forces, 

(4)  The  constellation  ursa  major. 

(6)  Name  of  his  horse.         (6)  Measure. 
h)  Wet.  (8)  Worms. 


I'll  be  hanged  :   Charles'  wain*  is  over  tlie  new 
chimney,  and  yet  our  horse  not  packed.    What, 
ostler ! 
Ost.  [Within.]  Anon,  anon. 

1  Car.  I  pr'ythee,  Tom,  beat  Cut's'  saddle,  put 
a  few  flocks  in  the  point ;  the  poor  jade  is  wrung 
in  the  withers  out  of  all  cess.' 

Enter  another  Carrier, 

2  Car.  Pease  and  beans  are  as  dank'  here  as  a 
dog,  and  that  is  the  next  way  to  give  poor  jades 
the  hots :'  this  house  is  turned  upside  down,  since 
Robin  ostler  died. 

1  Car.  Poor  fellow  !  never  joyed  since  the  price 
of  oats  rose  ;  it  was  the  death  of  him. 

2  Car.  I  think,  this  be  the  most  villanous  house 
in  all  London  road  for  fleas :  I  am  stung  like  a 
tench." 

1  Car.  Like  a  tench  ?  by  the  mass,  there  is  ne'er 
a  king  in  Christendom  could  be  better  bit  than  I 
have  been  since  the  first  cock. 

2  Car.  Why,  they  will  allow  us  ne'er  a  jorden,' 
and  \hen  we  leak  in  your  chimney ;  and  your  cham- 
ber-lie breeds  fleas  like  a  loach.'" 

1  Car.  What,  ostler !  come  away  and  be  hanged, 
come  away. 

2  Car.  I  have  a  gammon  of  bacon,  and  two  razes 
of  ginger,  to  be  delivered  as  far  as  Charing-cross. 

1  Car.  'Odsbody !  the  turkeys  in  my  pannier 
are  quite  starved. — ^Vhat,  ostler  ! — A  plague  on 
thee  !  hast  thou  never  an  eye  in  thy  head  ?  canst 
not  hear  ?    An  'twere  not  as  good  a  deed  as  drink, 

to  break  the  pate  of  thee,  I  am  a  very  villain 

Come,  and  be  hanged  : — Hast  no  faith  m  thee  ? 

Enter  Gadshill. 
Gads.  Good  morrow,  carriers.   What's  o'clock  ? 
1  Car.  I  think  it  be  two  o'clock. 
Gads.  I  pr'ythee,  lend  me  thy  lantern,  to  see 
my  gelding  in  the  stable. 

1  ^Car.  Nay,  soft,  I  pray  ye  ;  I  know  a  trick 
worth  two  of  that,  i'faith. 

Gads.  I  pr'ythee,  lend  me  thine. 

2  Car.  Ay,  when?  canst  tell? — Lend  me  thy 
lantern,  quom-a  ? — marry,  I'll  see  thee  hanged 
first. 

Gads.  Sirrah  carrier,  what  time  do  you  mean  to 
come  to  London  ? 

2  Car.  Time  enough  to  go  to  bed  with  a  candle. 
I  warrant  thee. — Come,  neighbour  Mugs,  we'll 
call  up  the  gentlemen  ;  they  will  along  •with  com- 
pany, for  they  have  great  charge.     [Exe.  Carriers. 

Gads.  What,  ho  !  chamberlain  ! 

Cham.  [Within.]  At  hand,  quoth  pick-purse." 

Gads.  That's  even  as  fair  as — at  hand,  quoth  the 
chamberlain :  for  thou  variest  no  more  from  picking 
of  purses,  than  giving  direction  doth  from  labour 
ing ;  thou  lay'st  the  plot  how. 

Enter  Chamberlain. 
Cham.  Good  morrow,  master  Gadshill.  It  holds 
current,  that  I  told  you  yesternight :  There's  a 
franklin'2  in  the  wild  of  Kent,  hath  brought  three 
hundred  marks  with  him  in  gold  :  I  heard  him  tell 
it  to  one  of  his  company,  last  night  at  supper  ;  a 
kind  of  auditor;  one  that  hath  abundance  of  charge 
too,  God  knows  what.  They  are  up  already,  and 
call  for  eggs  and  butter :  They  will  away  presently. 

9)  Spotted  like  a  tench. 

10)  A  small  fish  supposed  to  breed  fleas. 

11 )  A  proverb,  from  the  pick-purse  being  always 
ready. 

(12)  Freeholder. 


Scene  IL 


FIRST  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV, 


S9I 


Gads.  Sin  ah,  if  they  meet  not  with  Saint  Nicho-i'miles  afoot  with  me ;  and  ihe  stony-hearted  nllains 
las'  clerks, '  I'll  give  thee  this  neck.  j  know  it  well  enough :    A  plague  upon't,  when 

Cham.  No,  I'll  none  of  it:  I  pr'ythee  keep  that  thieves  cannot  be  true  to  one  another!  [They  whis~ 
for  the  hangman;  for,  I  know,  thou  worship'st  We.]  Whew! — A  plague  upon  you  all!  Give  me 
Saint  Nicholas  as  truly  as  a  man  of  falsehood  may. ,  my  horse,  you  rogues  ;  give  me  my  horse,  and  b« 

Gads.  What  talkest  thou  to  me  of  the  hangman?  {hanged, 
if  I  bans,  I'll  make  a  fat  pair  of  gallows  :  for,  if  I     P.  Hen.  Peace,  ye  fat-guts  I  lie  down  ;  lay  thine 
hang,  old  sir  John  hangs  witli  me;    and,   thou  [ear  close  to  the  ground,  and  List  if  thou  canst  hear 
knowest,  he's  no  starveling. »  Tut!  there  are  other:  the  tread  of  travellers. 

Trojans  that  thou  dreamcst  not  of,  the  which,  fori  Fal.  Have  you  any  levers  to  lift  me  up  again, 
sport  sake,  are  content  to  do  tlie  profession  some 'being  down?  'Sblood,  I'll  not  bear  mine  own  flesh 
grace;    that  would,  if  matters  should  be  looked; so  far  afoot  a^ain,  for  all  the  coin  in  liiy  father's 


into,  for  their  own  credit  sake,  make  all  whole.  1 
am  joined  with  no  foot  land-rakers,^  no  long-stafi^ 
six-penny  strikers  ;  none  of  these  mad,  mustachio, 
purple-hued  malt-worms:  but  with  nobility,  and 
tranquility ;  burgomasters,  and  great  onevers ;' 
such  as  can  hold  in  :  such  as  will  strike  sooner  than 
speak,  and  speak  sooner  than  drink,  and  drink  sooner 
than  pray :  And  yet  I  lie  ;  for  thev  pray  continually 
to  their  saint,  the  commonwealth  ;  or,  rather,  not 
pray  to  her,  but  prey  on  her ;  for  they  ride  up  and 
down  on  her,  and  make  her  their  boots.* 

Cham.  What,  the  commonwealth  their  boots? 
will  she  hold  out  water  in  foul  way  ? 

Gads.  She  will,  she  will ;  justice  hath  liquored 
her.*  We  steal  as  in  a  castle,  cock-sure  ;  we  have 
the  receipt  of  fern-seed,  we  walk  invisible. 

Cham.  Nay,  by  my  faith ;  I  think  you  are  more 
beholden  to  the  night,  than  to  fern-seed,  for  your 
walking  invisible. 

Gads.  Give  me  thy  hand :  thou  shalt  have  a  share 
in  our  purchase,^  as  I  am  a  true"  man. 

Cham.  Nay,  rather  let  me  have  it,  as  you  are  a 
false  thief. 

Gads.  Go  to ;  Homo  is  a  common  name  to  all 
men.  Bid  the  ostler  bring  my  gelding  out  of  the 
stable.    Farewell,  you  muddy  knave.        [Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E  H.—The  road  by  GadshiU.   Enter  Prince 

Henry  and  Poins ;  Bardolph  and  Peto  at  some 

distance. 

Poins.  Come,  shelter,  shelter ;  I  have  removed 
Falstaff's  horse,  and  he  frets  like  a  gummed  velvet. 

P.  Hen.  Stand  close. 

Enter  Falstaff. 

Fal.  Poins !  Poins,  and  be  hanged !  Poins ! 

P.  Hen.  Peace,  ye  fat-kidneyed  rascal ;  What  a 
brawling  dost  thou  keep ! 

F(d.  Where's  Poins,  Hal? 

P.  Hen.  He  is  walked  up  to  the  top  of  the  hill ; 
I'll  go  seek  him.  [Pretends  to  seek  Poins. 

Fal.  I  am  accursed  to  rob  in  that  thief's  com- 
pany:  the  rascal  hath  removed  my  horse,  and  tied 
him  I  know  not  where.  If  I  travel  but  four  foot 
by  the  squire'  further  afoot,  I  shall  break  my  wind. 
Well,  I  doubt  not  but  to  die  a  fair  death  for  all 
rthis,  if  I  'scape  hanging  for  killing  that  rogue.  I 
I  liave  forsworn  his  company  hourly  any  time  this 
two  and  twenty  years,  and  yet  I  am  bewitched 
with  the  rogue's  company.  If  the  rascal  have  not 
civen  me  medicines^  to  make  me  love  him,  I'll  be 
hanged ;  it  could  not  be  else ;  I  have  drunk  medi- 
cines.— Poins  ! — Hal ! — a  plague  upon  you  both! — 
Bardolph! — Peto! — I'll  starve,  ere  I'll  rob  a  foot 
further.  An  'twere  not  as  good  a  deed  as  drink  to 
turn  true'"  man,  and  leave  these  rogues,  I  am  the 


exchequer.  What  a  plague  mean  ye  to  colt''  me 
thus? 

P.  Hen.  Thou  liest,  thou  art  not  colted,  thou  art 
uncolted. 

Fal.  I  pr'ythee,  good  prince  Hal,  help  me  to  my 
horse :  good  king's  son. 

P.  Hen.  Out,  you  rogue  !  shall  I  be  your  ostler  ? 

Fal.  Go,  hang  thyself  in  thy  own  heir-apparent 
garters !  If  I  be  ta'en,  I'll  peach  for  this.  An  I 
have  not  ballads  made  on  you  all,  and  sung  to  filthy 
tunes,  let  a  cup  of  sack  be  my  poison  :  When  a  jest 
is  saiiwirard,  and  afoot  too, — I  hate  it. 

I  Enter  Gadshill. 

Gads.  Stand. 

Fal.  So  I  do,  against  my  will, 

Poins.  O,  'tis  our  setter :  I  know  his  Toice. 
Enter  Bardolph. 

JBoj'J.  What  news  ? 

Gads.  Case  ye,  case  ye;  on  with  your  visors; 
there's  money  of  the  king's  coming  down  the  hill ; 
'tis  goinsr  to  the  king's  exchequer. 

Fal.  You  lie,  you  rogue ;  'tis  going  to  the  king's 
tavern. 

Gads.  There's  enough  to  make  tis  all. 

Fal.  To  be  hanged. 

P.  Hen.  Sirs,  you  four  shall  front  them  in  the 
narrow  lane  ;  Ned  Poins,  and  I,  will  walk  lower : 
if  they  'scape  from  your  encounter,  then  they  light 
on  us. 

Peto.  How  many  be  there  of  them  ? 

Gads.  Some  eight,  or  ten. 

Fal.  Zounds !  will  they  not  rob  us  ? 

P.  Hen.  What,  a  coward,  sir  John  Paunch  ? 

Fal.  Indeed,  I  am  not  John  of  Gaunt,  your  grand- 
father ;  but  yet  no  coward,  Hal. 

P.  Hen.  Well,  we  leave  that  to  the  proof. 

Poins.  Sirrah  Jack,  thy  horse  stands  behind  the 
hedge ;  when  thou  needest  him,  there  thou  shalt 
find  him.    Farewell,  and  stand  fast. 

Fal.  Now  cannot  I  strike  him,  if  I  should  be 
hanged. 

P.  Hen.  Ned,  where  are  our  disguises  ? 

Poins.  Here,  hard  by ;  stand  close. 

•  [Exeunt  P.  Henry  and  Poins. 

Fal.  Now,  my  masters,  happy  man  be  his  dole,'" 
say  I ;  every  man  to  his  business. 

Enter  Travellers. 
1  Trav.  Come,  neighbour;  the  boy  shall  lead  our 
horses  down  the  hill:  we'll  walk  afoot  awhile,  and 
ease  our  legs. 

Thieves.  Stand. 
■  Trav.  Jesu  bless  us ! 

Fal.  Strike,  down  with  them ;  cut  the  villains' 
throats :    Ah !    whoreson  caterpillars  !   bacon-fed 


veriest  varlet  that  ever  chewed  with  a  tooth.    Eight  i  knaves!   they  hate  us  youth:  down  with  them; 
yards  of  uneven  ground,  is  threescore  and  ten  I  fleece  them. 


(1)  Cant  terra  for  highwaymen. 

(2)  Footpads.      (3)  Public  accountants. 

U)  Booty.  (5)  Oiled,  smoothed  her  over. 


(6)  In  what  we  acquire.  (7)  Honest. 

(8)  Square.     (9)  Love-powder.    (10)  Honest. 
(11)  Make  a  youngster  of  me.     (12)  Portion. 


392 


FIRST  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV. 


Jlctir, 


1  Trav.  0,  we  are  undone,  both  we  and  ours 
for  ever. 

Fid.  Hang  ye,  gorbellied'  knaves ;  Are  ye  un- 
done? No,  ye  fat  chufl's;"  I  would,  your  store 
were  here !  On,  bacons,  on !  What,  ye  knaves  ? 
young  men  must  live :  You  are  grand-jurors,  are 
ye  ?  We'll  jure  ye,  i'faith. 

■    [Exeunt  Fal.  fyc.  driving  the  Travellers  out. 

Re'Cnter  Prince  Henry  and  Poins. 

P.  Hen.  The  thieves  have  bound  the  true  men : 
Now  could  thou  and  I  rob  the  thieves,  and  go  mer- 
rily to  London,  it  would  be  argument^  for  a  week, 
laughter  for  a  month,  and  a  good  jest  for  ever. 

Foins.  Stand  close,  I  hear  them  coming. 

Re-enter  Thieves. 
Fal.  Come,  my  masters,  let  us  share,  and  then 
to  horse  before  day.    An  the  prince  and  Poins  be 
not  two  arrant  cowards,  there's  no  equity  stirring : 
there's  no  more  valour  in  that  Poins,  than  in  a  wUd 
duck. 
P.  Hen.  Your  money.    [Rushing  out  upon  them. 
Poins.  Villians. 

[./3s  they  are  sharing,  the  Prince  and  Poins  set 
upon  them.    FalstafF,  after  a  blow  or  two, 
and  the  rest,  run  away,  leaving  their  booty 
behind  them^] 
P.  Hen.  Got  with  much  ease.    Now  merrily  to 
horse  : 
The  thieves  are  scatter'd,  and  possess'd.with  fear 
So  strongly,  that  they  dare  not  meet  each  other ; 
Each  takes  his  fellow  for  an  officer. 
Away,  good  Ned.    Falstafl' sweats  to  death, 
And  lards*  the  lean  earth  as  he  walks  along : 
Wer't  not  for  laughing,  I  should  pity  him. 
Poins.  How  the  rogue  roar'd !  [Exeunt. 

SCEJiTE  77/.— Warkwqrth.    ^  room  in  the  castle. 
Enter  Hotspur^reading  a  letter, 

But,  for  mine  own  part,  my  lord,  I  coidd  be 

well  contented  to  be  there,  in  respect  of  the  love  I 
beer  your  house. — He  could  be  contented, — Why 
is  he  not  then  ?  In  respect  of  the  love  he  bears  our 
house : — he  shows  in  this,  he  loves  his  o^vn  barn 
better  than  he  loves  our  house.  Let  me  see  some 
more.  The  purpose  you  imdertake,  is  dangerous ; — 
Why,  that's  certain  ;  'tis  dangerous  to  take  a  cold, 
to  sleep,  to  drink:  but  I  tell  you,  my  lord  fool,  out 
of  this  nettle,  danger,  we  pluck  this  flouer,  safety 
The  purpose  you  undertake,  is  dangerous;  tm 
friends  vou  have  named,  uncertain ;  the  time  itself 
unsorted;  and  your  wliole  plot  too  light,  for  the 
counterpoise  of  so  great  an  opposition. — Say  you  so, 
say  you  so  ?  I  say  unto  you  again,  you  are  a  shal- 
low^ cowardly  hind,  and  you  lie.  What  a  lack- 
brain  is  this  ?  By  the  Lord,  our  plot  is  a  good  plot 
as  ever  was  laid  :  our  friends  true  and  constant : 
a  good  plot,  good  friends,  and  full  of  expectation  : 
an  excellent  plot,  very  good  friends.  What  a  frosty- 
spirited  rogue  is  this !  Why,  my  lord  of  York  com- 
mends the  plot,  and  the  general  course  of  the 
action.  Zounds,  an  I  were  now  by  this  rascal,  I 
could  brain  him  with  his  lady's  fan.  Is  there  not 
mv  father,  my  uncle,  and  myself?  lord  Edmund 
Mortimer,  my  lord  of  York,  and  Owen  Glendower? 
Is  there  not,  besides,  the  Douglas  ?  Have  I  not  all 
their  letters,  to  meet  me  in  arms  by  the  ninth  of  the 
next  month  ?  and  are  they  not,  some  of  them,  set 
forward  already  ?  What  a  pagan  rascal  is  this !  an 


(1)  Fat,  corpulent. 
IS)  A  subject. 
(6)  Occurrences. 


2^  Clowns. 

4J  Drops  his  fat. 

6)  Drops. 


infidel!  Ha!  you -shall  see  now,  in  very  sincerity 
of  fear  and  cold  heart,  will  he  to  the  king,  and  lay 
open  all  our  proceedings.  O,  I  could  divide  my- 
self, and  go  to  buflets,  for  moving  such  a  dish  of 
skimmed  milk  with  so  honourable  an  action !  Hang 
him!  let  him  tell  the  king:  We  are  prepared:  I 
will  set  forward  to-night. 

Enter  Lady  Percy. 
How  now,  Kate  ?  I  must  leave  you  within  these 
two  hours. 

Lady.  O,  my  good  lord,  why  are  you  thus  alone  ? 
For  what  offence  have  I,  this  fortnight,  been 
A  banish'd  woman  from  my  Harry's  bed  ? 
Tell  me,  sweet  lord,  what  is'i  that  takes  from  thee 
Thy  stomach,  pleasure,  and  thy  golden  sleep  ? 
Why  dost  thou  bend  thine  eyes  upon  the  earth; 
And  start  so  often  when  thou  sit'st  alone  ? 
Why  hast  thou  lost  the  fresh  blood  in  thy  cheeks  ; 
And  given  my  treasures,  and  my  rights  of  thee. 
To  thick-ey'd  musing,  and  curs'd  melancholy  ? 
In  thy  faint  slumbers,  I  by  thee  have  watch'd, 
And  heard  thee  murmur  tales  of  iron  wars: 
Speak  terms  of  manage  to  thy  bounding  steed ; 
Cry,  Courage  ! — to  the  field !  And  tiiou  hast  talkM 
Of  sallies,  and  retires ;  of  trenches,  tents. 
Of  palisadoes,  frontiers,  parapets  ; 
Of  basilisks,  of  cannon,  culverin  ; 
Of  prisoners'  ransom,  and  of  soldiers  slain- 
And  all  the  'currents'  of  a  heady  fight. 
Thy  spirit  ivithin  thee  hath  been  so  at  war, 
And  thus  hath  so  bestirr'd  thee  in  thy  sleep, 
That  beads^  of  sweat  have  stood  upon  thy  brow, 
Like  bubbles  in  a  late-disturbed  stream  : 
And  in  thy  face  strange  motions  have  appear'd, 
Such  as  we  see  when  men  restrain  their  breath 
On  some  great  sudden  haste.    0,  what  portents  are 

these  ? 
Some  heavy  business  hath  my  lord  in  hand. 
And  I  must  know  it,  else  he  loves  me  not. 

Hot.  What,  ho !  is  Gilliams  with  the  packetgone? 

Enter  Servant. 

Serv.  He  is,  my  lord,  an  hour  ago. 

Hot.  Hath  Butler  brought  those  horses  from  the 
sheriff? 

Serv.  One  horse,  my  lord,  he  brought,  even  now. 

Hot.  What  horse  ?  a  roan,  a  crop-ear,  is  it  not  ? 

Serv.  It  is,  piy  lord. 

77o(.  That  roan  shall  be  my  throne. 

Well,  I  will  back  him  straight :  O  esperance ." — 
Bid  Butler  lead  him  forth  into  the  park.  [Ex.  Serv. 

Lady.  But  hear  you,  my  lord. 

Hot.  What  say'st,  my  lady  ? 

Lady.  What  is  it  carries  you  away  ? 

Hot.  My  horse, 

My  love,  my  horse. 

Lady.                      Out,  you  mad-headed  ape ! 
A  weasel  hath  not  such  a  deal  of  spleen. 
As  vou  are  toss'd  with.     In  faith, 
I'll  linow  your  business,  Harry,  that  I  will. 
I  fear,  my  brother  Mortimer  doth  stir 
About  his  title  ;  and  hath  sent  for  you. 
To  Hne^  his  enterprize :  But  if  you  go 

77o(.  So  far  afoot,  I  shall  be  weary,  love. 

Lady.  Come,  come,  you  paraquito,^  answer  mc 
Directly  to  this  question  that  I  ask. 
In  faith,  I'll  break  thy  little  finger,  Harry, 
An  if  thou  wilt  not  tell  me  all  things  true. 

Hot.  Away, 
Away,  you  trifler !— Love  ?— I  love  thee  not, 

(7)  Motto  of  the  Percy  family. 

(8)  Strengthen.  (9)  Parrot 


Sunt  IV. 


FIRST  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV. 


I  care  not  for  thee,  Kate :  this  is  no  world. 
To  play  with  mammets,'  and  to  tilt  with  lips  : 
We  must  have  bloody  noses,  and  crack'd  crowns, 
And  pass  them  current  loo. — G  ods  me,  my  hor;* ! — 
What  say'st  thou,  Kate  ?  what  woold'st  thou  hare 
with  me  ? 

Lady.  Do  you  not  love  me  ?  do  you  not,  indepd  ? 
Well,  do  not  tlien  ;  for,  since  you  love  me  not, 
I  will  not  love  myself.    Do  you  not  love  me? 
N:iv,  tell  me,  if  you  speak  in  jest,  or  no. 

Rot.  Come,  wilt  thou  see  me  ride  ? 
And  when  I  am  o'horsxback,  I  will  swear 
I  love  thee  infinitely.     But  hark  you,  Kate ; 
I  must  not  have  you  henceforth  question  me 
Wliither  I  cxo,  nor  reason  whereabout  : 
Wt.iiher  I  must,  I  must;  and,  to  conclude, 
This  evening  must  I  leave  you,  identic  Kate. 
1  know  you  wise  ;  but  yet  no  further  wise. 
Than  Harry  Percy's  wife:  constant  you  are  ; 
But  yet  a  woman  :  and  for  secrecy. 
No  lady  closer ;  for  I  well  believe. 
Thou  wilt  not  utter  what  thou  dost  not  know ; 
And  so  far  will  I  trust  thee,  gentle  Kate ! 

Lady.  How  !  so  far  ? 

Hot.    Not  an  inch   further.      But  hark   you, 
Kate; 
Whither  I  o;o,  thither  shall  you  g'O  loo  ; 
To-day  will  I  set  forth,  to-morrow  j'ou. — 
Will  this  content  you,  Kate  ? 

Lady.  '  It  must,  of  force. 

lExeunt. 

SCEJsTE  /r.— Easfeheap.    .i  room  in  the  Boards 
Head  Tavern.    Enter  Prince  Henry  and  Poins. 

P.  Hen.  Ned,  pr'ythee,  come  out  of  that  fat 
room,  and  lend  me  thy  hand  to  laugh  a  little. 

Poins.  Where  hast  been,  Hal  ? 

P.  Hen.  With  three  or  four  loggerheads,  amongst 
three  or  four  score  hog-sheads.  Thave  sounded  the 
very  base  string  of  humility.  Sirrah,  I  am  sworn 
brother  to  a  leash^  of  drawers ;  and  can  call  them 
all  by  their  Christian  names,  as — ^Tom,  Dick,  and 
Francis.  They  take  it  already  upon  their  salvation, 
that  thougrh  I  be  but  prince  of  Wales,  yet  I  am  the 
kins;  of  courtesy ;  and  tell  me  flatly  I  am  no  proud 
Jack,  like  Falstaff ;  but  a  Corinthian,'  a  lad  of 
mettle,  a  crood  boy, — ^by  the  Lord,  so  they  call  me ; 
and  when  I  am  kin?  of  England,  1  shall  command 
all  the  irood  lads  in  Eastcheap.  They  call — drink- 
in?  deep,  dving  scarlet :  and  when  you  breathe  in 
vour  waterinor,  they  cry — hem!  and  bid  you  play 
it  off. — ^To  conclude,  I  am  so  good  a  proficient  in 
one  quarter  of  an  hour,  that  I  can  drink  with  any 
tinker  in  his  own  lansuace  during  my  life.  I  tell 
thee,  Ned,  thou  hast  lost  much  honour,  that  thou 
wert  not  with  me  in  this  action.  But,  sweet  Ned — 
to  sweeten  which  name  of  Ned,  I  give  thee  this 
pennyworth  of  suirar,  clapped  even  now  in  my 
hand  by  an  under-skinker;*  one  that  never  spake 
other  English  in  his  life,  than — Eight  shillings  and 
sijcwnce,  and — You  are  inelcome  ;  with  this  shrill 
addition, — JInon,  anon,  sir !  Score  a  pint  of  bas- 
tard in  the  Half-moon,  or  so.  But,  Ned,  to  drive 
away  the  time  till  Falstaff  come,  I  pr'ylhee,  do  thou 
stand  in  some  by-room,  while  I  question  my  puny 
drawer,  to  what  end  he  gave  me  the  suprar ;  and 
do  thou  never  leave  calling — Francis,  that  his  talc 
to  me  may  be  nothinsr  hut — anon.  Step  aside,  and 
I'll  show  thee  a  precedent. 

Poins.  Francis! 

P.  Hen.  Thou  art  perfect. 

Poins.  Francis '  [Exit  Poins. 

(1)  Puppets        (2)  Three.       (3)  A  wencher. 


I  Enter  Francis. 

I     Fran.  Anon,   anon,  sir. — Look  down  into  th« 
Pomegranate,  Ralph. 

P.  Hen.  Come  hither,  Francis. 

Fran.  My  lord. 

P.  Hen.  How  long  hast  thou  to  serve,  Francis  ? 

Fran.  Forsooth,  five  year,  and  as  much  as  to — 

Poins.  [Within.]  Francis! 

Fran.  Anon,  anon,  sir. 

P.  Hen.  Five  years  !  by'r  ladv,  a  long  lease  for 
the  chnking  of  pewter.  But,  Francis,  darest  thou 
be  so  valiant,  as  to  play  the  coward  with  thy  in- 
denture, and  to  show  it  a  fair  pair  of  heels,  and  run 
from  it? 

Fran.  O  lord,  sir!  I'll  be  sworn  upon  all  the 
books  in  England,  I  could  find  in  my  heart — 

Poins.  [iVilhin]  Francis! 

Fran.  Anon,  anon,  sir. 

P.  Hen.  How  old  art  thou,  Francis  ? 

Fran.  Let  me  see,— About  Michaelmas  next  I 
shall  be — 

Poins.  [IVii'dn.]  Francis ! 

frail.  Anon,  sir.— Pray  you,  stay  a  little,  my  lord. 

P^Ben.  Nay,  but  hark  you,  Francis  :  For  the 
sug©  thou  gavest  me, — 'twas  a  pennyworth,  was't 
not? 

Fran.  0  lord,  sir !  I  would  it  had  hecn  two. 

P.  Hen.  I  will  give  thee  for  it  a  thousand  pound : 
ask  me  when  thoii  wilt,  and  thou  shalt  have  it 

Poins.  [  Within]  Francis ! 

Fran.  Anon,  anon. 

P.  Hen.  Anon,  Francis  ?  No,  Francis :  but  to- 
morrow, Francis ;  or,  Francis,  on  Thursday ;  or, 
indeed,  Francis,  when  thou  wilt.    But,  Francis, — 

Fran.  My  lord? 

P.  Hai.  Wilt  thou  rob  this  leather-jerkin,  crys- 
tal-button, notl-pated,  agate-ring,  puke-stocking, 
caddis-garter,  smooth-tongue,  Spanish-pouch, — 

Fran.  O  lord,  sir,  who  do  you  mean  ? 

P.  Hen.  Why  then,  your  hrown  bastard'  is  your 
only  drink :  for,  look  you,  Francis,  your  white  can- 
vass doublet  will  sully ;  in  Barbary,  sir,  it  cannot 
come  to  so  much. 

Fran.  What,  sir? 

Poins.  [Within.]  Francis ! 

P.  Hen.  Away,  you  rogue ;  Dost  thou  not  hear 
them  call? 

[Here  they  both  call  him ;  the  drawer  stands 
amazed,  not  knowing  vxhich  way  to  go.] 

Enter  Vintner. 

Vini.  What !  stand's!  thou  still,  and  hear'st  such 
a  calling  ?  Look  to  the  guests  within.  [Ex.  Fran.] 
Mv  lord,  old  sir  John,  with  half  a  dozen  more,^are 
at  the  door :  Shall  I  let  them  in  ? 

P.  Hen.  Let  them  alone  a  while,  and  then  open 
the  door.  [Exit  Vintner.]  Poins! 

Re-enter  Poins. 

Poins.  Anon,  anon,  sir. 

P.  Heir.  Sirrah,  Falstaff  and  the  rest  of  the 
thieves  are  at  the  door ;  Shall  we  be  mern'  ? 

Poins.  As  merry  as  crickets,  my  lad.  feut  hark 
ye :  'What  cunning  match  have  you  made  with  this 
jest  of  the  drawer  ?  come,  what's  the  issue  ? 

P.  Hen.  I  am  now  of  all  humours,  that  have 
show'd  themselves  humours,  since  the  old  days  of 
goodman  Adam,  to  the  pupil  age  of  this  present 
twelve  o'clock  at  midnight.  [Re-enter  Fr^ncia  with 
loine.]  What's  o'clock,  Francis  ? 

Fran.  Anon,  anon,  sir. 

P.  Hen.  That  ever  this  fellow  should  have  fewer 


(4)  Tapster. 


3D 


(5)  A  sweet  wine. 


894 

words  than  a  parrot,  and  yet  theson  of  a  woman  !— 
His  industry  is — up-stairs,  and  down-stairs ;  his  elo- 
quence, the  parcel  of  a  reckoninp;.  I  am  not  yet  of 
Percy's  mind,  the  Hotspur  of  the  north ;  he  that 
kills  me  some  six  or  seven  dozen  of  Scots  at  a 
breakfast ;  washes  his  hands,  and  says  to  his  wife, — 
Fie  U])07i  this  quiet  life!  I  tcant  work. — 0  my 
sweet  Harry,  says  she,  liow  many  hast  thou  killed 
to-day? — Give  my  roan  horse  a  drench,  says  he; 
and  answers,  Some  fourteen,  an  hour  after ;  a  trifle, 
a  trifle.  I  pr'ythee,  call  in  Falstaff ;  I'll  play  Percy, 
and  that  damned  brawn  shall  play  dame  Mortimer, 
his  wife.  Rivo,  says  the  drunkard.  Call  in  ribs, 
call  in  talloiv. 

Enter  Falstaff,  Gadshill,  Bardolph,  and  Peto. 

Poins.  Welcome,  Jack.   Where  hast  thou  been  ? 

Fal.  A  plague  of  all  cowards,  I  say,  and  a  ven- 
geance too  !  marry,  and  amen  ! — Give  me  a  cup  of 
sack,  boy. — Ere  I  lead  this  life  long,  I'll  sew 
nether-stocks,'  and  mend  thom,  and  foot  them  too. 
A  plague  of  all  cowards  ! — Give  me  a  cup  of  sack, 
rogue. — Is  there  no  virtue  extant  ?        [JHe  drinks. 

P.  Hen.  Didst  thou  never  see  Titan  kiss  a  dish 
of  butter?  pitiful-hearted  Titan,  that  melted  at  the 
sweet  tale  of  the  son !  if  thou  didst,  then  behold 
that  compound. 

Fal.  You  rogue,  here's  lime  in  tliis  sack  too  : 
There  is  nothing  but  roguery  to  be  found  in  villa- 
nous  man :  Yet  a  coward  is  worse  than  a  cup  of 
sack  with  lime  in  it ;  a  villanous  coward. — Go  thy 
ways,  old  Jack  ;  die  when  thou  wilt,  if  manhood, 
good  manhood,  be  not  forgot  upon  the  face  of  the 
earth,  then  am  I  a  shotten  herring.  There  live  not 
three  good  men  unhanged  in  England  ;  and  one  of 
them  js  fat,  and  grows  old  :  God  help  the  while  ! 
a  bad  world,  I  say  !  I  would  I  were  a  weaver ;  I 
could  sing  psalms,  or  any  thing :  A  plague  of  all 
cowards,  I  say  sliil.         -^ 

P.  Hen.  How  noiv,  wool-sack?  what  mutter  you? 

Fal.  A  king's  son  !    If  I  do  not  beat  thee  out  of 

Ihy  kingdom  with  a  dageer  of  lath,  and  drive  all 

thy  subjects  afore  thee,  liKc  a  flock  of  wild  geese, 

'  I'll  never  wear  hair  on  my  face  more.    You  prince 

of  Wales! 

P.  Hen.  Why,  you  whoreson  round  man  !  what's 
the  matter  ? 

Fal.  Are  you  not  a  coward  ?  answer  me  to  that ; 
and  Poins  there  ? 

Poins.  Zounds,  yet  fat  paunch,  an  ye  »all  me 
coward,  I'll  stab  thee 

Fal.  I  call  thee  coward !  I'll  see  thee  damned  ere 
I  call  thee  coward :  but  I  would  give  a  thousand 
pound,  I  could  run  as  fast  as  thou  canst.  You  are 
straight  enough  in  the  shoulders,  you  care  not  who 
sees  your  back  :  Call  you  that  backing  of  your 
friends  ?  A  plague  upon  such  backing  !  give  me 
them  that  will  face  me. — Give  me  a  cup  of  sack. 
I  am  a  rogue,  if  I  drunk  to-day. 

P.  Hen.  O,  villain !  thy  lips  are  scarce  wiped 
since  thou  drunk'st  last 

Fal.  All's  one  for  that.  A  plague  of  all  cow- 
ards, still  sav  I.  [He  drinks. 

P.  Hen.  What's  the  matter  ? 

Fal.  What's  the  matter?  there  be  four  of  us 
here  have  ta'en  a  thousand  pound  this  morning. 

P.  Hen.  Where  is  it.  Jack  ?  ivhere  is  it  ? 

Fal.  Where  is  it  ?  taken  from  us  it  is :  a  hun^ 
dred  upon  four  of  us. 

P.  Hen.  What,  a  hundred,  man  ? 


(1>  Stockines. 
(2)  A  town  in  Westmoreland,  famous  for  making 
cloth, 


FIRST  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV.  ^ctH. 

Fd.  I  am  a  rogue,  if  I  were  not  at  half-sword 
with  a  dozen  of  them  two  hours  together.  I  have 
'scap'd  by  miracle.  I  am  eight  times  thrust  through 
the  doublet ;  four,  through  the  hose  ;  my  buckler 
cut  through  and  through ;  my  sword  hacked  like  a 
hand-saw,  ecce  signum.  I  never  dealt  better  since 
I  was  a  man  ;  all  ivould  not  do.  A  plague  of  all 
cowards ! — Let  them  speak :  if  they  speak  more  or 
less  than  truth,  they  are  villains,  and  the  sons  of 
darkness. 

P.  Hen.  Speak,  sirs;  how  was  it? 

Gads.  We  four  set  upon  some  dozen, 

Fal.  Sixteen,  at  least,  my  lord. 

Gads.  And  bound  them. 

Peto.  No,  no,  they  were  not  bound. 

Fal.  You  rogue,  they  were  bound,  every  man 
of  them :  or  I  am  a  Jew  else,  an  Ebrew  Jew. 

Gads.  As  we  were  sharing,  some  six  or  seven 
fresh  men  set  upon  us, 

Fal.  And  unbound  the  rest,  and  then  come  in 
the  other. 

P.  Hen.  What,  fought  ye  with  them  all  ? 

Fal.  All?  I  know  not  what  ye  call,  all ;  but  if  I 
fought  not  with  fifty  of  them,  I  am  a  bunch  of  ra- 
dish :  if  there  were  not  two  or  three  and  fifty  upon 
poor  old  Jack,  then  I  am  no  two-legged  creature. 

Poins.  Pray  God,  you  have  not  murdered  some 
of  them. 

Fal.  Nay,  that's  past  praying  for :  for  I  have 
peppered  two  of  th6m  :  two,  1  am  sure,  I  have 
paid  ;  two  rogues  in  buckram  suits.  I  tell  thpe 
nlial,  Hal, — if  I  tell  thee  a  lie,  spit  in  my  face,  call 
me  horse.  Thou  knowest  my  old  ward  ; — here  I 
lay,  and  thus  I  bore  my  point.  Four  rogues  in 
buckram  let  drive  at  me, 

P.  Hen.  What,  four  ?  thou  said'st  but  two,  even 
now. 

Fal.  Four,  Hal ;  I  told  thee  four. 

Poins.  Ay,  ay,  he  said  four. 

Fal.  These  four  came  all  a-front,  and  mainly 
thrust  at  me.  I  made  me  no  more  ado,  but  took 
all  their  seven  points  in  my  target,  thus. 

P.  Hen.  Seven  ?  why,  there  were  but  four,  even 
now. 

Fal.  In  buckram. 

Poins.  Ay,  four,  in  buckram  suits. 

Fal.  Seven,  by  these  hilts,  or  I  am  a  villain  else. 

P.  Hen.  Pry'thee,  let  him  alone ;  we  shall  have 
more  anon. 

Fal.  Dost  thou  hear  me,  Hal  ? 

P.  Hen.  Ay,  and  mark  thee  too.  Jack. 

Fal.  Do  so,  for  it  is  worth  the  listening  to.  These 
nine  men  in  buckram,  that  I  told  thee  of, 

P.  Hen.  So,  two  more  already. 

Fal.  Their  points  being  broken, 

Poins.  Down  fell  thcirhose. 

Fal.  Began  to  give  me  ground :  But  I  followed 
me  close,  came  in  foot  and  hand  ;  and,  with  a 
thought,  se\t;n  of  the  eleven  I  paid. 

P.  Hen.  O,  monstrous !  eleven  buckram  men 
grown  out  of  two  I 

Fal.  But,  as  the  devil  would  have  it,  three  mis- 
begotten knafes,  in  Kendal^  Rreen,  came  at  my 
back,  and  let  drive  at  me  ; — for  it  was  so  dark, 
Hal,  that  thou  could'st  not  see  thy  hand. 

P.  Hen.  These  lies  are  like  the  father  that  be- 
ijcts  them  ;  pross  as  a  mountain,  open,  palpable. 
Why,  thou  clay-brained  cjuts;  thou  knotty-pated 
fool ;  thou  whoreson,  obscene,  greasy,  tallow- 
keech.' ■^ 

Fal.  What,  art  thou  mad  ?  art  thou  mad  ?  is  not 
the  truth,  the  truth  ? 


(3)  A  round  lump  of  fat. 


Scene  IV. 


FIRST  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV. 


31)5 


P.  Ktn.  Why,  how  could'st  thou  know  these 
men  in  Kendal  green,  when  it  was  so  dark  thou 
could'st  not  see  thy  hand  ?  come,  tell  us  your  reason  \ 
What  sayest  tliou  to  this  ? 

Poirtj.' Come,  your  reason,  Jack,  your  reason. 

Fal.  Vv"hat,  upon  compulsion?  No;  were  I  at 
the  strappado,  or  all  the  racks  in  the  world,  I  would 
not  tell  you  on  compulsion.  Give  you  a  reason 
on  compulsion  !  11'  reasons  were  as  plenty  as  black- 
berries, 1  would  give  no  man  a  reason  upon  com- 
pulsion, I. 

P.  Hm.  I'll  be  no  longer  ffuilty  of  this  sin  :  this 
sanguine  coward,  this  bed-prcsser,  this  horse-back- 
breaker,  this  huge  hill  of  flesh ; 

Fal.  Away,  you  starveling,  you  elf-skin,  you 
dried  neat's-tongue,  bull's  pizzle,  you  stock-fish, — 
O,  for  breath  to  utter  what  is  like  thee  ! — you  tai- 
lor's yard,  you  sheath,  >ou  bow-case,  you  vile 
standing  tuck  ; 

P.  Hen.  Well,  breathe  a  while,  and  then  to  it 
again :  and  when  thou  hast  tired  thyself  in  base 
comparisons,  hear  me  speak  but  this. 

Poins.  Mark,  Jack. 

P.  He7i.  Wc  two  saw  you  four  set  on  four  ;  you  \ 

bound  them,  and  were  masters  of  their  wealth. 

Mark  now,  how  plain  a  tale  shall  put  you  down. — 
Then  did  we  two  set  on  you  four  :  and,  with  a 
word,  out-faced  you  from  your  prize,  and  have  it; 
yea,  and  can  show  it  you  here  in  the  house  : — and, 
Falstaff,  you  carried  your  guts  away  as  nimbly, 
with  as  quick  dexterity,  and  roared  for  mercy,  and 
still  ran  and  roared,  as  ever  I  heard  bull-calf. 
What  a  slave  art  thou,  to  hack  thy  sword  as  thou 
hast  done ;  and  then  say,  it  was  in  fight !  ^Vhat 
trick,  what  device,  what  starting-hole,  canst  thou 
now  find  out,  to  hide  thee  from  this  open  and  ap- 
parent shame  ? 

Poitis.  Come,  let's  hear.  Jack ;  What  trick  hast 
thou  now  ?     • 

Fal.  By  the  Lord,  I  knew  ye,  as  well  as  he  that 
made  ye.  Why,  hear  ye,  my  masters  :  Was  it  for 
me  to  kill  the  heir  apparent  ?  Should  I  turn  upon 
the  true  prince  ?  Why,  thou  knowest,  I  am  as  va- 
liant as  Hercules :  but  beware  instinct ;  the  lion  will 
not  touch  the  true  prince.  Instinct  is  a  great  mat- 
ter ;  I  was  a  coward  on  instinct.  I  shall  think  the 
better  of  myself  and  thee,  during  my  life ;  I,  for  a 
Taliant  lion,  and  thou  for  a  true  prince.    But,  by 

the  Lord,  lads,  I  am  glad  you  have  the  money. 

Hostess,  clap  to  the  doors  :  watch  to-night,  pray 
to-morrow, — Gallants,  lads,  boys,  hearts  of  goldf, 
all  the  titles  of  good  fellowship  come  to  you ! 
What,  shall  we  be  merry  ?  shall  we  have  a  play 
extempore  ? 

P.  Hen.  Content ; — and  the  argument  shall  be, 
thv  running  away. 

Fal.  Ah !  no  more  of  that,  Hal,  an  thou  lovest  me. 

Enter  Hostess. 

Host.  My  lord  the  prince, 

P.  Hen.  How  now,  my  lady  the  hostess  ?  what 
say'st  thou  to  me  ? 

Host.  Marry,  my  lord,  there  is  a  nobleman  of 
the  court  at  door,  would  speak  with  you  :  he  says, 
he  comes  from  your  father. 

P.  Hen.  Give  him  as  much  as  will  make  him  a 
roval  man,  and  send  him  back  a^in  to  my  mother, 

Fal.  What  manner  of  man  is  lie  ? 

Host.  An  old  man. 

Fal.  What  doth  gravity  out  of  his  bed  at  mid- 
night ? — Shall  I  give  him  his  answer? 

(1)  In  the  fact.     (2)  Drunkenness  and  poverty. 
(3)  Bombast  is  the  stufiing  of  clothes. 


P.  Hen.  Pr'ythce,  do.  Jack. 

Fal.  'Faith,  and  I'll  send  him  packing.       [Exit. 

P.  Hen.  Now,  sirs  ;  by'r  lady,  you  fought  (air  ;— 
so  did  you,  Peto ; — so  did  you,'  Bardolph :  you  are 
lions  too,  you  ran  away  upon  instinct,  you  will  not 
touch  the  true  prince  ;  no, — fie ! 

Bard.  'Faith,  I  ran  when  I  saw  others  run. 

P.  Hen.  Tell  me  now  in  earnest,  How  came 
Falstafl^s  sword  so  hacked  ? 

Ptto.  Why,  he  hacked  it  with  his  dagger;  and 
said,  he  would  swear  truth  out  of  Englanil  but  he 
would  make  you  believe  it  was  done  hi  fight ;  and 
persuaded  us  to  do  the  like. 

Bard.  Yea,  and  to  tickle  our  noses  with  spear- 
grass,  to  make  them  bleed  ;  and  then  to  beslubber 
our  garments  with  it,  and  to  swear  it  was  the  blood 
of  true  men.  I  did  that  I  did  not  this  seven  year 
before,  I  blushed  to  hear  his  monstrous  devices. 

P.  Hen.  O  villain,  thou  stolest  a  cup  of  sack 
eighteen  years  ago,  and  wert  taken  with  the  man- 
ner," and  ever  since  tViou  hast  blushed  extempore  ; 
Thou  hadst  fire  and  sword  on  thy  side,  and  yet 
thou  ran'st  a\vay  ;  What  instinct  hadst  thou  for  it  I 

Bard.  My  lord,  do  you  see  these  meteors  ?  do 
veil  behold  these  exhalations? 

P.  Hen.  I  do. 

Bard.  What  think  you  they  portend  ? 

P.  HeiK  Hot  livers  and  cold  purses.' 

Bard.  Choler,  my  lord,  if  rightly  taken. 

P.  Heji.  No,  if  rightly  take'h,  halter. 

Re-enter  Falstaff. 

Here  comes  lean  Jack,  here  comes  bare  bone.  How 
now,  my  sweet  creature  of  bombast  ?^  How  long 
is't  a^o.  Jack,  since  thou  Sawest  thine  own  knee? 

F(u.  My  own  knee  ?  when  I  was  about  thy  years, 
Hal,  I  was  not  an  eagle's  talon  in  the  waist;  I 
could  have  crept  into  any  alderman's  thumb-ring: 
A  plague  of  sighinrr  and  grief!  it  blows  a  man  up 
like  a  bladder.  There's  villanous  news  abroad: 
here  was  sir  John  Bracy  from  your  father ;  you 
must  to  the  court  in  the  morning.  That  same  mad 
fellow  of  the  north,  Percy ;  and  he  of  Wales,  that 
giiTe  Amaimon*  the  bastinado,  and  made  Lucifer 
cuckold,  and  swore  the  devil  his  true  liegeman  upon 
the  cross  of  a  Welsh  hook, — What,  a  plague,  call 
you  him  ? 

Poins.  O,  Glendower. 

Fal.  Owen,  Owen;  the  same; — and  his  son-in- 
law,  Mortimer  ;  and  old  Northumberland ;  and 
that  sprightly  Scot  of  Scots^  Douglas,  that  runs 
o'horseback  up  a  hill  perpendicular. 

P.  Hen.  He  that  rides  at  high  speed,  and  with 
his  pistol  kills  a  sparrow  flying. 

Fal.  You  have  hit  it.  , 

P.  Hen.  So  did  he  never  the  sparrow. 

Fal.  Well,  that  rascal  hath  good  mettle  in  him ; 
he  will  not  run. 

P.  Hen.  Why,  what  a  rascal  art  thou  then,  to 
praise  him  so  for  running  ? 

Fal.  O'horseback,  ye  cuckoo !  but,  afoot,  he  "will 
not  budge  a  foot. 

P.  Hen.  Yes,  Jack,  upon  instinct. 

Fal.  I  grant  ye,  upon  instinct.  Well,  he  is  there 
too,  and  one  Mordake,  and  a  thousand  blue-caps* 
more :  Worcester  is  stolen  away  to-night ;  Ihj 
father's  beard  is  turned  white  with  the  news ;  you 
may  buy  land  now  as  cheap  as  stinking  mackarel. 

P.  Hen.  Why  then, 'tis  like,  if  there  come  a  hot 

(4)  A  demon ;  who  is  described  as  one  of  the 
four  kings,  who  rule  over  all  the  demons  in  the 
world. 

(5)  Scotsmen  in  blue  bonnets, 


aiHi 


FIRST  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV. 


^ct  II. 


June,  and  this  civil  bunbling  hold,  wc  shall  buy 
maidenheads  as  they  buy  hob-nails,  by  the  hundred. 

Fal.  By  the  mass,  lad,  thou  sayest  true  ;  it  is 
like,  ^ve  shall  have  good  tradinj^  that  way. — But, 
tell  mc,  Hal,  art  lliou  not  horribly  afeard  ?  thou 
being  heir  apparent,  could  the  world  pick  thee  out 
three  such  enemies  again,  as  that  fiend  Doufjlas, 
that  spirit  Percy,  and  that  devil  Glendower  ?  Art 
thou  not  horribly  afraid?  doth  »ot  thy  blood  thrill 
at  it  ? 

P.  Hen.  Not  a  whit,  ITaith ;  I  lapk  some  of  thy 
instinct. 

Fal.  Well,  thou  wilt  be  horribly  chid  to-morroiv. 
when  thou  comest  to  thy  fallicr :  if  thou  love  me, 
practise  an  answer. 

P.  Hen.  Do  thou  stand  for  my  father,  and  ex- 
amine me  upon  the  particulars  of  my  life. 

Fal.  Shall  I?  content: — This  chair  shall  be  my 
state,'  this  dagger  my  sceptre,  and  this  cushion  my 
crown. 

P.  Hen.  Thy  state  is  taLcn  for  a  joint-stool,  thy 
golden  sceptre  for  a  Icat'en  (.uigijcr,  and  thy  prC' 
cious  rich  crown,  for  a  pitii'ul  bald  crown  ! 

Fal.  Well,  an  the  fire  of  grace  be  not  quite  out 
of  thee,  now  shalt  thou  be  moved. — Give  me  a  cup 
of  sack,  to  make  mine  eyes  look  red,  that  it  may 
be  thou<3:ht  I  have  wept :  for  I  must  speak  in  paS' 
sion,  and  I  will  do  it  in  Icing  Camb^'ses'-  vein. 

P.  Hen.  AVell,  here  is  my  leg.^ 

Fal.  And  here  is  my  speech : — Stand  aside,  no- 
bility. 

Jlost.  This  is  excellent  sport,  i'failh. 

Fal.  Weep  not,  sweet  queen,  for  trickling*  tears 
are  vain. 

Host.  O,  the  father,  how  ne  holds  his  counte- 
nance ! 

Fal.  For  God's  sate,  lords,  convey  my  tristful* 
queen. 
For  tears  do  stop  the  flood-gates  of  her  eyes. 

Host.  0  rare !  he  doth  it  like  as  one  of  these 
harlotry  players,  as  I  erer  see.  . 

Fal.  Peace,  good  pint-pot;  peace,  good  tickle- 
brain.' — Harry,  I  do  not  otdv  marvel  where  t^u 
spendest  thy  time,  but  also  how  thou  art  accom- 
panied :  for  though  the  camomile,  the  more  it  is 
trodden  on,  the  faster  it  grows,  yet  youth,  the  iftore 
it  is  wasted,  the  sooner  it  wears.  That  thou  art 
my  son,  I  have  partly  thy  mother's  word,  partly 
my  own  opinion  ;  but  chieflvj  a  villanous  trick  of 
thme  eye,  and  a  foolish  liangmg  of  thy  nether  lip, 
that  doth  warrant  me.  If  then  thou  be  son  to  me, 
here  lies  the  point ; — Why,  being  son  to  me,  art 
thou  so  pointed  at  ?  Shall  the  blessed  sun  of  heaven 
prove  a  micher,"^  and  eat  blackberries  ?  a  question 
not  to  be  asked.  Shall  the  son  of  England  prove 
a  thief,  and  take  purses?  a  question  to  be  asked. 
There  is  a  thipg,  Harry,  which  thou  hast  often 
heard  of,  and  it  is  known  to  many  in  our  land  by 
the  name  of  pitch:  this  pitch,  as  ancient  writers  do 
report,  doth  defile  ;  so  doth  the  company  thou 
keepest:  for,  Harry,  now  I  do  not  speak  to  thee  in 
drink,  but  in  tears  ;  not  in  pleasure,  but  in  passion; 
not  in  words  onlj',  but  in  v.oes  also : — And  yet 
there  is  a  virtuous  man,  whom  I  hav^  oHen  noted 
in  thy  company,  but  I  know  not  his  name. 

P.  Hen.  What  manner  of  man,  an  it  like  your 
majesty  ? 

Fal.  A  good  portly  man,  i'faith,  and  a  corpu- 

(1)  Chair  of  state. 

(2)  A  character  in  a  Tragedy  by  T.  Preston,  1570. 
(3^  Obeisance.  (4)  Sorrowful. 

(51  Name  of  a  strong  liquor.        (6)  A  truant  boy. 
(7)  A  young  rabbit. 


lent;  of  a  cheerful  look,  a  pleasing  eye,  and  a 
most  noljle  carriage ;  and,  as  I  think,  his  age  some 
fifty,  or,  by'r  lady,  inclining  to  threescore  ;  and  now 
I  remember  me,  his  name  is  Falstafl":  if  that  man 
should  be  lewdly  given,  he  dcceiveth  me ;  for,  Har- 
ry, I  see  virtue  in  nis  looks.  If  then  the  tree  may 
be  known  by  the  fruit,  as  the  fruit  by  the  tree,  then, 
peremptorily  I  speak  it,  there  is  virtue  in  that  Fal- 
stafl": him  keep  with,  the  rest  banish.  And  tell 
me  now,  thou  naughty  varlet,  tell  me,  where  hast 
thou  been  this  month  ? 

P.  Hen.  Dost  thou  speak  like  a  king?  Do  thou 
stand  for  me,  and  I'll  play  my  father. 

Fal.  Depose  me?  if  thou  dost  it  half  so  gravely, 
so  majestically,  both  in  word  and  matter,  hang  mc. 
up  by  the  heels  for  a  rabbit-sucker,'  or  a  poufter's 
liare. 

P.  Hen.  Well,  here  I  am  set. 

Fal.  And  here  I  stand : — judge,  my  masters. 

P.  Hen.  Now,  Harry  ?  whence  come  you  ? 

Fal.  My  noble  lord,  from  Eastcheap. 

P.  Hen.  The  complaints  I  hear  of  thee  arc 
grievous. 

Fal.  'Sblood,  my  lord,  they  are  false : — nay,  I'll 
tickle  ye  for'  a  young  prince,  i'failh. 

P.  Hen.  Sv.-earest  thou,  ungracious  boy  ?  hence- 
forth ne'er  look  on  me.  Thou  art  violently  carried 
away  from  grace  :  there  is  a  devil  haunts  thee,  in 
the  likeness  of  a  fat  old  man  :  a  tun  of  man  is  thy 
companion.  Wliy  dost  thou  converse  with  that 
trunk  of  humours,  that  bolting-hutch'  of  beastli- 
ness, that  swoln  parcel  of  dropsies,  that  huge  bom- 
bard^ of  sack,  tliat  stuffed  cloak  bag  of  guts,  that 
roasted  Manningtree"*  ox  with  the  pudding  in  his 
belly,  that  reverend  vice,  that  grey  iniquity,  that 
father  rullian,  that  vanity  in  years  f  Wherein  is  he 
ood,  but  to  taste  sack  and  drink  it  ?  wherein  neat 
and  cleanly,  but  to  carve  a  capon  and  eat  it  ? 
wherein  cunning,  but  in  craft?  wiierein  crafty,  but 
in  viUany?  wherein  ■villanous,  but  in  all  things? 
wherein  worthy,  but  in  nothing  ? 

Fal.  I  would,  your  grace  would  take  me  with 
you ;"  Whom  means  your  grace? 

P.  Hen.  That  villanous,  abominable  misleader 
of  vouth,  Falstaff',  that  old  white-bearded  Satan. 

Fal.  My  lord,  the  man  I  know. 

P.  Hen.  I  know,  thou  dost. 

Fal.  But  to  say,  I  know  more  harm  in  him  than 
in  myself,  were  to  say  more  than  1  l;now.  That  he 
is  old  (the  more  the  pity,)  his  white  hairs  do  wit- 
ness it:  but  that  he  is  (saving  your  reverence)  a 
whoremaster,  that  I  utterly  deny.  If  sack  and  su- 
gar be  a  fault,  God  help  the  wicked  !  If  to  be  old 
and  merry  be  a  sin,  then  many  an  old  host  that  I 
know,  is  damned  :  if  to  be  fat  be  to  be  hated,  then 
Pharaoh's  lean  kine  are  to  be  loved.  No,  my  ^ood 
lord  ;  banisli  Peto,  banish  Bardolph,  banish  Poms  : 
but  for  sweet  Jack  Falstaff,  kind  Jack  Falstaff, 
true  Jack  Falstaff,  valiant  Jack  Falstaff,  and  there- 
fore more  valiant,  being  as  ne  is,  old  Jack  Falstaff, 
banish  not  him  thy  Harry's  company ;  banish  plump 
Jack,  and  banish  all  the  world. 

P.  Hen.  I  do,  I  will.  [Ji  knocking  heard. 

[Exeitnt  Hostess,  Francis,  and  Bardolph. 
lie-enter  Bardolph,  running. 

Bard.  O,  my  lord,  my  lord  ;  the  sheriff,  with  a 
most  monstrous  watch,  is  at  the  door. 

Fal.  Out,  you  roeue !  play  out  the  play :  I  have 
much  to  say  in  the  behalf  of  that  Falstaff. 

S)  Tlie  machine  which  separates  flour  from  bran. 
|9)  A  leather  black-jack  to  hold  beer. 
(10^  In  Essex,  where  a  large  ox  was  roasted  whole. 
(11)  Go  no  faster  than  I  can  follow. 


Seme  1. 


FIRST  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV. 


397 


Re'enter  Hostess,  hastily. 

Host.  O  Jesu,  my  lord,  my  lord ! 

Fal.  Heigh,  heigh !  t!ie  devil  rides  upon  a  fid- 
dle-stick: What'slhe  matter? 

Host.  The  slieriff  and  all  the  watch  are  at  the 
door :  they  are  come  to  search  llie  house :  Shall  I 
let  them  in  1 

Fal.  Dost  thou  hear,  Hal?  never  call  a  true 
piece  of  gold,  a  counterfeit :  thou  art  essentially 
mad,  without  seeming  so. 

P.  Hen.  And  thou  a  natural  coward,  without 
instinct. 

Fal.  I  deny  your  major ;  if  you  will  deny  the 
sheriff,  so  ;  ii  not,  let  him  enter :  if  I  become  not 
a  cart  as  well  as  another  man,  a  plague  on  my 
bringing  up !  I  hope,  I  shall  as  soon  be  strangled 
with  a  halter,  as  another. 

P.  Hen.  Go,  hide  thee  behind  the  arras;' — the 
rest  walk  up  above.  Now,  my  masters,  for  a  true 
face,  and  good  conscience. 

Fal.  Both  which  I  have  had :  but  their  date  is 
out,  and  therefore,  I'll  hide  me. 

[Exeunt  all  but  the  Prince  and  Poins. 

P.  Hen.  Call  in  the  sheriff. 

Enter  Sherifl"  anrf  Carrier. 
Now,  master  sheriff;  what's  your  will  with  me? 

Sker.  First,  pardon  me,  my'lord.    A  hue  and  cry 
Hath  follow'd  certain  men  unto  this  house. 
P.  Hen.  What  men  ? 

Sher.  One  of  them  is  well  known,  my  gracious 
lord, 
A  gross  fat  man. 

Car.  As  fat  as  butter. 

P.  Hen.  The  man,  I  do  assure  you,  is  not  here ; 
For  I  myself  at  this  time  have  employ'd  him. 
And,  sheriff,  I  will  engaTC  my  word  to  thee. 
That  I  will,  by  to-morrow  dinner-time. 
Send  him  to  answer  thee,  or  any  man. 
For  any  thing  he  shall  be  charg'd  withal: 
And  so  let  me  entreat  you  leave  the  house. 

Sker.  I  will,  my  lord :  There  are  two  gentlemen 
Have  in  this  robbery  lost  three  hundreu  marks. 
P.  Hen.  It  may  be  so :  if  he  have  robb'd  these 
men, 
He  shall  he  answerable  ;  and  so,  farewell. 
Sher.  Good  night,  my  noble  lord. 
P.  Hen.  I  think  it  is  good  morrow  ;  is  it  not? 
Sher.  Indeed,  my  lord,  I  think  it  be  two  o'clock 
[Exetjn/ Sheriff  and  Carrier. 
P.  Hen.  This  oily  rascal  is  known  as  well  as 
Paul's.-    Go,  call  him  forth. 

Poins.  Falstaff! — fast  asleep  behind  the  arras, 
and  snorting  like  a  horse. 

P.  H«i.  Hark,   how  hard  he  fetches  breath: 
Search  his  pockets.    [Poins  searches.]    What  hast 
thou  found  ? 
Poins.  Nothing  but  papers,  niy  lord.    , 
P.  Hen.  Let's  see  what  they  be :  read  them. 
Poins.  Item,  A  capon,  -s.  2d. 
Item,  Sauce,  4d. 
Item,  Sack,  two  gallons,  5s.  Sd. 
Item,  Anchovies,  and  sack  afte'r  supper,  2s.  6d. 
Item,  Bread,  a  halfpenny. 

P.  Hen.  O  monstrous !  but  one  halfpenny  worth 
of  bread  to  this  intolerable  deal  of  sack  ! — What 
there  is  else,  keep  close  ;  we'll  read  it  at  more  ad- 
vantage :  there  let  him  sleep  till  day.  I'll  to  the 
court  m  the  morning :  we  must  all  to  the  wars,  and 
thy  place  shall  be  honourable.  I'll  procure  this  fat 
rogue  a  charge  of  foot ;  and,  I  know,  his  death 


will  be  a  march  of  twelve-score.     The  moner 
shall  be  paid  back  again  with  advantage.    Be  with 
me  betimes  in  the  morning  ;  and  so  good  morrow, 
Poins. 
Poins.  Good  morrow,  good  my  lord.     [Exeunt. 


(n  Tapestry. 
\3)  Beginning. 


(2)  St.  Paul's  cathedral. 


ACT  JU. 

SCEJ^E  /.-^Bangor.  ^  room  in  the  archdeacon's 
house.  Enter  Hotspur,  Worcester,  Mortimer, 
and  Glendower. 

.Mart.  These  promises  are  fair,  the  parties  sure, 
And  our  induction^  full  of  prosperous  hope. 

Hot.  Lord  Mortimer,  and  cousin  Glendower,-— 

Wil)  you  sit  down  ? 

And,  uncle  Worcester : — A  plague  upon  it ! 
I  have  forgot  the  map. 

Glend.  No,  here  it  is. 

Sit,  cousin  Percy ;  sit,  good  cousin  Hotspur: 
For  by  that  nauie  as  oft  as  Lancaster 
Doth  speak  of  you,  his  cheek  looks  pale ;  and  with 
A  rising  sigh,  he  wisheth  you  in  heaven. 

Hot,  And  you  in  hell,  as  often  as  he  hears 
Owen  Glendower  spoke  of. 

Glend.  I  cannot  blame  him  :  at  my  nativity, 
The  front  of  heaven  was  full  of  fiery  shapes, 
Of  burning  cressets  ;"  and  at  my  birth. 
The  frame  and  huge  foundation  of  the  earth 
Shak'd  like  a  coward. 

Hot.  ^^niy>  so  it  would  have  done 

At  the  same  season,  if  your  mother's  cat  had 
But  kitten'd,  though  yourself  had  ne'er  been  bom. 

Glend.  I  say,  the  earth  did  shake  when  I  was 
born.' 

Hot.  And  I  say,  the  earth  was  not  of  my  mind. 
If  you  suppose,  as  fearing  you  it  shook. 

Glend.  The  heavens  were  all  on  fire,  the  earth 
did  tremble. 

HU.  0,  then  the  earth  shook  to  see  the  heavens 
on  fire, 
An4||iot  in  fear  of  your  nativity. 
Diseased  nature  oftentimes  breaks  forth 
In  strange  eruptions :  oft  the  teeming  earth 
Is  with  aldnd  of  cholic  pinch'd  and  vex'd 
By  the  imprisoning  of  unruly  wind 
VVithin  her  womb  ;  which,  for  enlargement  striving, 
Shakes  the  old  beldame  earth,  and  topples' down 
Steeples,  and  moss-grown  towers.    At  your  birth. 
Our  grandam  earth,  having  this  distemperature. 
In  passion  shook. 

Glend.  Cousin,  of  many  men 

I  do  not  bear  these  crossings.    Give  me  leave 
To  tell  you  once  again, — ^that  at  my  birth. 
The  front  of  heaven  was  full  of  fiery  shapes : 
The  goats  ran  from  the  mountains,  and  the  nerds 
Were  strangely  clamorous  to  the  frighted  fields. 
These  sitrns  have  mark'd  me  extraordinary ; 
And  all  the  courses  of  my  life  do  show, 
I  am  not  in  the  roll  of  common  men. 
Where  is  he  living, — clipp'd  in  with  the  sea 
That  chides  the'  banks   of  England,  Scotland, 

Wales, — 
Which  calls  me  pupil,  or  hath  read  to  me  T 
And  bring  him  out,  that  is  but  woman's  son, 
Can  trace  me  in  the  tedious  ways  of  art, 
And  hold  me  pace  in  deep  experiments. 
Hoi.  I  think,  there  is  no  man  speaks  better 
Welsh: 

(4)  Lights  set  crossways  upon  beacons,  and  also 
upon  poles,  which  were  us'ed  in  processions,  &c. 

(5)  Tumbles, 


30S 


FIRST  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV. 


\Ail  Ilh 


I  will  to  dinner, 

Mort.  Peace,  cousin  Percy ;  you  will  make  him 
mad. 

Glend.  I  can  call  spirits  from  the  vasty  deep. 

Hot.  Why,  so  can  I ;  or  so  can  any  man  : 
But  will  they  come,  when  you  do  call  for  them  ? 

Glend.  VVhv,  I  can  teachyou,  cousin,  to  command 
The  devil. 

Hot.  And  I  can  teach  thee,  coz,  to  shame  the  devil. 
By  telling  truth  ;  Tell  truth,  and  shame  the  devil. — 
If  thou  have  power  to  raise  him,  hring  him  hither. 
And  I'll  be  sworn,  I  have  power  to  shame  him  hence. 
O,  while  you  live,  tell  truth,  and  shame  the  devil. 

Mort.  Come,  come. 
No  more  of  this  unprofitable  chat. 

Glend,   Three  times  hath  Henry  Bolingbroke 
made  head 
Against  my  power :  thrice  from  the  banks  of  Vv'ye, 
And  sandy-bottom'd  Severn,  have  I  sent  him, 
Bootless'  home,  and  weather-beaten  back. 

Hot.  Home  without  boots,  and  in  foul  weather 
too! 
How  'scapes  he  agues,  in  the  devil's  name  ? 

Glend.  Come,  here's  the  map  ;  Shall  we  divide 
our  right. 
According  to  our  three-fold  order  ta'en  ? 

Mart.  The  archdeacon  hath  divided  it 
Into  Ihree  limits,  very  equally  : 
England,  from  Trent  and  Severn  hitherto. 
By  south  and  east,  is  to  my  part  assign'd  : 
All  westward,  Wales  beyond  the  Severn  shore, 
And  all  the  fertile  land  witliin  that  bound. 
To  Owen  Glendower; — and,  dear  coz,  to  you 
The  remnant  northward,  lyino-  ofl'from  Trent, 
And  our  indentures  tripartite^  are  drawn  : 
Which  being  sealecj^interchangeably, 
(A  business  that  this  night  may  execute,) 
To-morrow,  cousin  Percy,  you,  and  I, 
And  my  good  lord  of  Worcester,  will  set  forth. 
To  meet  your  father,  and  the  Scottish  power,' 
As  is  appointed  us,  at  Shrewsbury, 
My  father  Glendower  is  not  ready  yet, 
Nor  shall  we  need  his  help  these  fourteen  days : — 
Within  that  space,    [To  Glend.]   you  may  have 

drawn  together 
Your  tenants,  friends,  and  neighbouring  gentlemen. 

Glend.  A  shorter  time  shall  send  me  to  you,  lords. 
And  in  my  conduct  shall  your  ladies  come : 
From  whom  you  now  must  steal,  and  take  no  leave ; 
For  there  will  be  a  world  of  water  shed, 
Upon  the  parting  of  your  wives  and  you. 

Hot.  Methinks,  my  moiety,*  north  from  Burton 
here. 
In  quantity  equals  not  one  of  yours  : 
See,  how  this  river  comes  me  cranking  in, 
And  cuts  me,  from  the  best  of  all  my  land, 
A  huge  half  moon,  a  monstrous  cantle'  out. 
I'll  have  the  current  in  this  place  damm'd  up ; 
And  here  the  smug  and  silver  Trent  shall  run, 
In  a  new  channel,  fair  and  evenly : 
It  shall  not  wind  with  such  a  deep  indent. 
To  rob  me  of  so  rich  a  bottom  here. 

Glend.  N>ot  wind  ?  it  shall,  it  must ;  you  see,  it 
doth. 

Mart.  Yea, 
But  mark,  how  he  bears  his  course,  and  runs 

me  up 
With  like  advantage  on  the  other  side  ; 
Gelding*  the  opposed  continent  as  much, 
As  on  the  other  side  it  takes  from  you. 


(1)  Unsuccessful 
(4)  Part. 


(2)  Three  copies.    (3)  Force, 
(4)  Part.  (5)  Corner,  (6)  Cutting 

(7)  Candlestick,     (8)  The  writer  of  the  wUcles, 


I  Wor.  Yea,  but  a  little  charge  will  trench  him 
here, 
And  on  this  north  side  win  this  cape  of  land ; 
And  then  he  runs  straight  and  even. 

Hot.  I'll  have  it  so  ;  a  little~charge  will  do  it, 

Glend.  I  will  not  have  it  alter'd. 

Hot.  Will  not  you  ? 

Glend.  No,  nor  you  shall  not. 

Hot.  Who  shall  say  me  nay  ? 

Glend.  Why,  that  will  I. 

Hot.       -         Let  me  not  understand  you  then, 
Speak  it  in  Welsh. 

Glend.  I  can  speak  English,  lord,  as  well  as  you ; 
For  I  was  train'd  up  in  the  English  court : 
Where,  being  but  young,  I  framed  to  the  harp 
Many  an  EngUsh  ditty,  lovely  well. 
And  gave  the  tongue  a  helpful  ornament ; 
A  virtue  that  was  never  seen  in  you. 

Hot.  Marry,  and  I'm  glad  of  it  with  all  my  heart ; 
I  had  rather  be  a  kitten,  and  cry— mew, 
Than  one  of  these  same  metre  ballad-mongers : 
I  had  ratiier  hear  a  brazen  canstick'  turn'd, 
Or  a  dry  wheel  grate  on  an  axle-tree ; 
And  that  would  set  my  teeth  nothujg  ou  edge, 
Nothing  so  much  as  mincing  poetry  ; 
'Tis  like  t!ie  forc'd  gate  of  a  shuffling  nag. 

Glend.  Come,  you  shall  have  Trent  turn'd. 

Hot.  I  do  not  care :  I'll  give  thrice  so  much  land 
To  any  well-deserving  friend  ; 
But,  in  the  way  of  bargain,  mark  ye  me, 
i'li  cavil  on  the  ninth  part  of  a  hair. 
Are  the  indentures  drawn  ?  shall  we  be  gone  ? 

Glend.  The  moon  sliiaes  fair,  you  may  away  by 
night : 
I'll  haste  the  writer,'  and,  withal, 
Break^  with  your  wives  of  your  departure  hence : 
I  am  afraid,  my  daughter  will  run  mad. 
So  much  she  doteth  on  her  Mortimer,  [Exit, 

J\Im-t.   Fie,  cousin  Percy !   how  you  cross  mv 
father!  '' 

Hot.  I  cannot  choose :  sometimes  he  angers  me 
With  telling  me  of  the  moldwarp'"  and  the  ant, 
Of  the  dreamer  Merlin  and  his  prophecies  ; 
And  of  a  dragon  and  a  finless  fish, 
A  cfip-wing'd  griihn,  and  a  moulten  raven, 
A  couching  lion,  and  a  ramping  cat, 
And  such  a  deal  of  skimble-skamble  stuff 
As  puts»me  from  my  faith,     I  tell  you  what, — 
He  held  me,  but  last  night,  at  least  nine  hours 
In  reckoning  up  the  several  devils'  names. 
That   were    his  lackeys :    I  cried,  humph,— and 

well, — go  to, — 
But  mark'd  him  not  a  word.     0,  he's  as  tedious 
As  is  a  tired  horse,  a  railing  wife  ; 
Worse  than  a  smoky  house  : — I  had  rather  live 
With  cheese  and  garlic,  in  a  windmill,  far, 
Than  feed  on  cates,"  and  have  him  talk  to  me. 
In  any  summer-house  in  Christendom, 

J^Io)-t.  In  faith,  he  is  a  worthy  gentleman  ; 
Exceedingly  well  read,  and  profited 
In  strange  concealments  ;  '^  valiant  as  a  lion, 
And  wond'rous  affable  ;  and  as  bountiful 
As  mines  of  India.     Shall  I  tell  you,  cousin  ? 
He  holds  your  temper  in  a  high  respect. 
And  curbs  himself  even  of  his  natural  scope, 
When  you  do  cross  his  humour  ;  faith,  he  does 
I  warrant  you,  that  man  is  not  alive. 
Might  so  have  tempted  him  as  you  have  done, 
Without  the  taste  of  danger  and  reproof; 
But  do  not  use  it  oft,  let  me  entreat  you. 

Wor.  In  faith,  my  lord,  you  are  too  wilful-blame; 


I 


(9)  Break  the  matter. 
(11)  Dainties, 


(10)  Mole. 
(12)  Secrets, 


Seme  It. 


FlilST  PARt  OP  KING  HfiNRY  IV.' 


399 


And  since  your  Cominw  hither  hare  done  enough 
To  put  him  quite  beside  his  patience. 
You  must  needs  learn,  lord,  to  amend  this  fault : 
Though  sometimes  itshowgreatness,courage,blood, 
(And  that's  the  dearest  grace  it  renders  you,) 
Yet  oftentimes  it  doth  present  harsh  rage, 
Defect  of  manners,  want  of  government. 
Pride,  haughtiness,  opinion,  and  disdain : 
The  least  of  wliich,  haunting  a  nobleman, 
Loseth  men's  hearts  ;  and  leaves  behind  a  stain 
Upon  the  beauty  of  all  parts  besides, 
Bezuiling  them  of  commendation. 
Hot.  Well,  I  am  school'd ;    good  manners  be 
your  speed ! 
Here  come  our  wives,  and  let  us  take  our  leave. 
Re-enltr  Glendower,  rcilh  the  Ladies. 
Jdorl.  This  is  the  deadly  spite  that  aniers  me, — 
My  wife  can  speak  no  Eng-lish,  I  no  Welsh. 

Glend.   My  daughter  weeps  ;   she  will  not  part 
with  you. 
She'll  be  a  soldier  too,  she'll  to  the  wars. 
J\lort.  Good  father,  tell  her, — that  she,  and  my 
aunt  Percy, 
Shall  follow  in  your  conduct'  speedily. 

[Glendower  speaks  to  his  dauglUer  in  Welsh, 
and  she  answers  him  in  the  same. 
Glend.  She's  desperate  here  ;   a  peevish   self- 
will'd  harlotry, 
One  no  persuasion  can  do  good  upon. 

[Lady  M.  speaks  to  Mortimer  in  Welsh. 

Jdort.  I  understand  thy  looks :  that  pretty  Welsh 

Which  thou  pourest  down   from  these  swelling 

heavens, 
I  am  too  perfect  in  ;  and,  but  for  shame. 
In  such  a  parley  would  I  answer  thee. 

[Lady  M.  speaks. 
I  understand  thy  kisses,  and  thou  mine, 
And  that's  a  feeling  disputation : 
But  I  will  never  be  a  truant,  love. 
Till  I  have  learn'd  thy  language  ;  for  tliy  tongue 
Makes  Welsh  as  sweet  as  ditties  highly  penn'd, 
Sui>g  by  a  fair  queen  in  a  summer's  bower, 
With  ravishing  division  to  her  lute.^ 

Glend.  Nay,  if  you  melt,  then  will  she  run  mad. 
[Lady  M.  speaks  again. 
Mort.  O,  I  am  ignorance  itself  in  this. 
Glend.  She  bids  you 
Upon  the  wanton  rushes  lay  you  down, 
And  rest  your  gentle  head  upon  her  lap, 
.\nd  she  will  sing  the  song  that  pleaseth  you, 
And  on  your  eye-lids  crown  the  god  of  sleep. 
Charming  your  blood  witli  pleasing  heaviness  ; 
Making  such  difference  'tivixt  ^fake  and  sleep, 
As  is  the  difference  betwixt  dav  and  night, 
The  hour  before  the  heavenlj-harness'd  team 
Begins  his  golden  progress  in  the  east. 
Mart,  ^\1th  all  my  heart  I'll  sit,  and  hear  her 
sing : 
By  that  time  will  our  book,'  I  think,  be  drawn. 

Glend.  Do  so ; 
And  those  musicians  that  shall  play  to  you. 
Hang  in  the  air  a  thousand  leagues  from  hence ; 
Yet  straisht  they  shall  be  here  ;  sit,  and  attend. 

Hot.  Come,  Kate,  thou  art  perfect  in  lying  down  : 
Come,  quick,  quick  ;  that  I  may  lay  my  head  in  thy 
la{). 
Lady  P.  Go,  ye  giddy  goose. 

Glendower  speaks  some  Welsh  words,  and  then  the 
music  plays. 

1)  Guard,  escort. 

(2)  A  compliment  to  queen  Elizabeth. 

(3)  Our  paper  of  conditions. 


Hot. 


Now  I  perceive,  the  devil  understands 
Welsh ;  » 

And  'lis  no  marvel,  he's  so  humorous. 
By'r  ladv,  he's  a  good  musician. 

Lady  J*.  Then  should  you  be  nothing  but  mu- 
sical ;  for  you  are  altogether  governed  by  humours. 
Lie  still,  ye  thief,  and  hear  the  lady  sing  in  Welsh. 

Hot.  I  had  rather  hear  Lady,  my  brach,*  howl 
in  Irish. 

Lady  P.  Would'st  thou  have  thy  head  broken  ? 

Hot.  No. 

Lady  P.  Then  be  still. 

Hot.  Neither ;  'tis  a  woman's  fault. 

Lady  P.  Now  God  help  thee  ! 

Hot.  To  the  Welsh  lady's  bed. 

Lady  P.  What's  that  ? 

Hot.  Peace  !  she  sings. 

^  Welsh  SONG  sung  by  Lady  M. 

Hot.  Come,  Kate,  I'll  have  your  song  too. 

Lady.  P.  Not  mine,  in  good  sooth. 

Hot.  Not  yours,  in  good  sooth!  'Heart,  you  swear 
like  a  comfit-maker's  wife !  Not  you,  in  good  sooth ; 
and,  A^  true  as  I  live ;  and,  As  God  shall  mend 
me  •  end,  As  sure  as  day  : 
Ancfgiv'st  such  sarcenet  surety  for  thy  oaths, 
As  if  thou  never  walk'dst  further  than'Finsbury.* 
Swear  me,  Kate,  like  a  lady,  as  thou  art, 
A  good  mouth-tilling  oath  ;  and  leave  in  sooth. 
And  such  protest  of  pepper-gingerbread. 
To  velvet-guards,'  and  Sunday-citizens. 
Come,  sing. 

Lady  P.  I  will  not  sing.       , 

Hot.  'Tis  the  nest  way  to  turn  tailor,  or  be  red- 
breast teacher.  An  the  indentures  be  drawn,  I'll 
away  within  these  two  hours ;  and  so  come  in  when 
ye  w'ill.  [Exit. 

Glend.  Come,  come,  lord  Mortimer ;  you  are  as 
slow. 
As  hot  lord  Percy  is  on^fire  to  go. 
By  this  our  book's  drawn :  we'll  but  seal,  and  then 
To  horse  immediately. 

Mrrt.  With  all  my  heart    [Exe. 

SCEJ^''E  n. — London.  tS  room  in  tlu  palace.  En- 
ter  King  Henry,  Prince  ojT  Wales,  and  Lords. 

K.  Hen.   Cords,  give  us  leave ;   the  prince  of 
Wales  and  I 
Must  have  some  conference :  But  be  near  at  hand, 
For  we  shall  presently  have  need  of  you. — 

[Exeunt  Lords. 
I  know  not  whether  God  will  have  it  so. 
For  some  displeasing  service  1  have  done, 
That  in  his  secret  doom  out  of  my  blood 
He'll  breed  revengement  and  a  scourge  for  me  ; 
But  thou  dost  in  thy  passages  of  life. 
Make  me  believe,  that  thou  art  only  mark'd 
For  the  hot  vengeance  and  the  rod  of  heaven, 
To  punish  my  mistreadings.    Tell  me  else, 
Could  such  inordinate,  and  low  desires, 
Such  poor,  such  bare,  such  lewd,  such  mean  at- 
tempt?,' 
Such  barren  pleasures,  rude  societj'. 
As  thou  art  match'd  withal,  and  grafted  to," 
Accompany  the  greatness  of  thy  blood. 
And  hold  their  level  with  thy  princely  heart  ? 

P.  Hen.  So  please  your  majesty,  I  would  I  could 
Quit  all  offences  with  as  clear  excuse, 
As  well  as,  I  am  doubtless,  I  can  purge 

(4)  Hound.  (5)  In  Moorfields. 

(6)  Laced  velvet,  the  finery  of  cockneys. 

(7)  Unworthv  iMirlprtakings. 


400 


FIRST  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV. 


Act  in. 


Myself  of  many  I  am  charg'd  withal : 

Yet  such  extenuation  let  me  beg, 

As,  in  reproof  of  many  tales  devis'd, — 

Which  oft  the  ear  of  !|reatness  needs  must  hear, — 

By  smiling  pick-thanks'  and  base  newsmongers, 

I  may,  for  some  things  true,  wherein  my  youth 

Hath  faulty  wander'd  and  irregular. 

Find  pardon  on  my  true  submission. 

K.  Hen.  God  pardon  thee  ! — yet  let  me  wonder, 
Harry, 
At  thy  affections,  which  do  hold  a  wing 
Quite'  from  ihe  flight  of  all  tiiy  ancestors. 
Thy  place  in  council  thou  hast  rudely  lost, 
Which  by  thy  younger  brother  is  supplied ; 
And  art  almost  an  alien  to  the  hearts 
Of  all  the  court  and  princes  of  my  blood  : 
The  hope  and  expectation  of  thy  lime 
Is  ruin'd  ;  and  the  soul  of  eve;-y  man 
Prophetically  does  fore-think  thy  fall. 
Haa  I  80  lavish  of  my  presence  been, 
So  common-hackney'd  in  the  eyes  of  men, 
So  stale  and  cheap  to  vulg-ar  company ; 
Opinion,  that  did  help  me  to  the  crown, 
Had  still  kept  loyal  to  possession  ;- 
And  left  me  in  reputeless  banishment, 
A  fellow  of  no  mark,  nor  likelihood. 
By  being  seldom  seen,  I  could  not  stir,        ' 
But,  like  a  comet,  I  was  wondcr'd  at: 
That  men  would  tell  their  children,  Thin  is  he  ; 
Others  would  say, — Where  ?  ichich  is  BoUngbroke  ? 
And  then  I  stole  all  courtesy  from  heaven. 
And  dress'd  myself  in  such  humility. 
That  I  did  pluck  allegiance  from  men's  hearts, 
Loud  shouts  and  salutations  from  their  mouths, 
Even  in  the  presence  ef  the  crowned  king. 
Thus  did  I  keep  uiy  p«rson  fresh,  and  new ; 
My  presence,  like  a  robe  pontifical. 
Ne'er  seen,  but  wonder'd  at :  and  so  my  stale. 
Seldom,  but  sumptuous,  showed  like  a  feast ; 
And  won,  by  rareness,  such  solemnity. 
The  skipping  king,  he  ambled  up  and  down 
With  shallow  jesters,  and  rash  bavin^  wits, 
Sooi\  kindled,  and  soon  burn'd:  carded  his  state; 
Mingled  his  royalty  with  capering  fools  ; 
Had  his  great  name  profaned  with  their  scorns ; 
And  gave  his  countenance,  against  his  name. 
To  laugh  at  gibing  boys,  and  stand  the  pusii 
Of  every  beardless  vain  comparative:* 
Grew  a  companion  to  the  common  streets, 
EnfeofTd'  himself  to  popularity: 
That  bein?  daily  swallou'd  by  men's  e3-cs, 
They  surfeited  with  honey ;  and  began 
To  loathe  the  taste  of  sweetness,  whereof  a  little 
More  than  a  little  is  by  much  too  much. 
So,  when  he  had  occasion  to  be  seen. 
He  was  but  as  a  cuckoo  is  in  June, 
Heard,  not  re;^arded  ;  seen,  but  with  such  eyes. 
As,  sick  and  blunted  with  comniunity, 
Allbrd  no  (extraordinary  gaze. 
Such  as  is  bent  on  sun-like  majesty 
When  it  shines  seldom  iu  admirin'r  eyes: 
But  rather  droivz'd,  and  hung  their  eye-lids  down, 
Slept  in  his  face,  and  render'd  such  aspect 
As  cloudy  men  use  to  their  adversaries  ; 
Being  witli  his  presence  glutted,  fjorg'd,  and  full. 
And  m  that  very  line,  Harry,  stand'st  thou: 
For  thou  hast  lost  thy  prJIicely  privilege, 
With  vile  participation  ;  not  an  eye 
But  is  a- weary  of  thy  common  sight. 
Save  mine,  which  hath  desir'd  to  see  thee  more ; 


(2 

crown 


1)  Officious  parasites. 

True  to  hun  that  had  then  possession  of 
1. 


8! 


the 


AVhich  now  doth  that  I  would  not  have  it  do, 
Make  blind  itself  with  foolish  tenderness. 

P.  Hen.  I  shall  hereafter,  my  thrice-gracious  lord. 
Be  more  myself. 

K.  Hen.  For  all  the  world. 

As  thou  art  to  this  hour,  was  Richard  then 
When  I  from  France  set  foot  at  Kavenspurg ; 
And  even  as  I  was  then,  is  Percy  now. 
Now  by  my  sceptre,  and  my  soul  to  boot, 
He  hath  more  ivortliy  interest  to  the  state, 
Than  thou,  the  shadow  of  succession  ; 
For,  of  no  right,  nor  colour  like  to  right. 
He  doth  fill  liulds  with  harness^  in  the  realm ; 
Turns  head  against  the  lion's  armed  jaws ; 
And,  being  no  more  in  debt  to  years  than  thou, 
Leads  ancient  lords  and  reverend  bishops  pn, 
To  bloody  battles,  and  to  bruising  arms. 
\Vhat  never-dyin_^  honour  hath  he  got 
Against  renowned  Douiilas  ;  whose  high  deeds. 
Whose  hot  incursions,  and  great  name  in  arms. 
Holds  from  all  soldiers  chief  majority, 
And  military  title  capital. 

Through  all'the  kingdoms  that  acknowledge  Christ? 
Thrice  hath  this  Hotspur  Mars  in  swathing  clothes, 
This  iidant  warrior,  in  his  enterprises 
Discomfitted  great  Douglas  :  ta'en  him  once, 
Enlarged  him,  and  made  a  friend  of  him, 
To  fill  the  mouth  of  deep  defiance  up. 
And  shake  tlie  peace  and  safety  of  our  throne. 
And  T«*ftt  say  you  to  this  ?  Percy,  Northumberland, 
The  araibishop's  grace  of  York,  Douglas,  Mor 

timer. 
Capitulate'  against  us,  and  are  up. 
But  wherefore  do  I  tell  these  news  to  Ihee? 
Why,  Harry,  do  I  te!I  thee  of  mv  foes, 
Which  art  my  near'staiid  dearest*  enemy? 
Thou  that  art  like  enough, — through  vassal  fear, 

Base  inclination,  and  the  start  of  spleen, 

To  fisht  against  me  under  Percy's  pay. 

To  dog  his  heels,  and  court' sy  at  his  frowns, 

To  show  how  much  degenerate  thou  art. 

P.  Hen.  Do  not  think  so,  you  shall  not  find  it  so ; 
And  God  forgive  them,  that  have  so  much  sway'd 
Your  majesty's  good  thoughts  away  from  me ! 
I  will  redeem  all  this  on  Percy's  head. 
And,  ill  the  closing  of  some  glorious  day, 
Be  bold  to  tell  you,  that  I  am  your  son  ; 
When  I  will  wear  a  garment  all  of  blood. 
And  stain  my  favours  in  a  bloody  mask. 
Which,  wasli'd  away,  sh.all  scour  my  shame  with  it. 
And  that  shall  be  the  day,  whene'er  it  lights. 
That  this  same  child  of  honour  and  renown, 
This  gallant  Hotspur,  this  all-praised  knight, 
And  your  unthouyht-of  Harry,  chance  to  meet: 
For  every  lionoursitting  on  his  helm, 
'Would  iiicy  were  multitudes  ;  and  on  my  head 
Mv  shames  rodoubled !  for  the  time  will  come. 
That  I  shall  make  this  northern  youth  exchange 
His  glorious  deeds  for  my  indisnilies. 
Percy  is  but  my  factor,  good  m"y  lord. 
To  engross  up  glorious  deeds  on  mv  behalf; 
And  I  will  call  him  to  so  strict  account, 
That  he  shall  render  every  glory  up. 
Yea,  even  the  slightest  worship  of  his  time, 
Or  I  will  tear  the  reckoning  from  his  heart. 
This,  in  the  name  of  God,  I  promise  here : 
The  which  if  he  be  pleas'd  I  shall  perform, 
I  do  beseech  your  majesty,  may  salve 
The  loni-grown  wounds  of  my  intemperance: 
If  not,  the  end  of  life  cancels  all  bands ;' 

(3)  Brushwood.  (4)  Rival.  (5)  Possessed. 
(6)  Armour.  (7)  Combine.  (8)  Most  fatal. 
(9)  Bonds. 


Scene  ///. 


FIRST  PART  OP  KING  HENRY  IV. 


401 


And  I  will  die  a  hundred  thousand  deaths,  Hgnis  faluus,  or  a  ball  of  wildfire,  there's  no  pur- 

Ere  break  the  smallest  parcel'  of  this  vow.     _         cnase  in  money.    0,  thou  art  a  perpetual  triumph^ 
K.  Hf.n.  A  hundred  thousand  rebels  die  in  this  : — |an  everlasting  bonfire-li^ht !  Tnou  hast  saved  me 

a  thousand  marks  in  links  and  torches,   walking 
with  thee  in  the  niorht,  betwixt  tavern  and  tavern  : 


Thou  shalt  have  charge,  and  sovereign  trust,  herein 

Enter  Blunt; 
How  now,  good  Blunt?  thy  looks  are  full  of  speed. 

BImU.  So  hath   the   business  that  I  come   to 
speak  of. 
Lord  Mortimer  of  Scotland  hath  sent  word, — 
That  Douglas,  and  the  English  rebels,  met. 
The  eleventh  of  this  month,  at  Shrewsbury  : 
A  mighty  and  a  fearful  head  they  are, 
If  promises  be  kept  on  every  hand. 
As  ever  ottur'd  foul  play  in  a  state. 

K,  Hen.  The  earl   of  Westmoreland  set  forth 
to-day ; 
With  him  my  son,  lord  John  of  Lancaster ; 
For  this  advertisement-  is  five  days  old  : — 
On  Wednesday  next,  Harry,  you  shall  set 
Forward ;  on  Thursday,  we  ourselves  will  march : 
Our  meeting  is  Bridgnorth:  and,  Harry,  you 
Shall  march  through  Glostershirc ;  by  which  ac- 
count. 
Our  business  valued,  some  twelve  days  hence 
Our  general  forces  at  Bridgnorth  shall  meet. 
Our  hands  are  full  of  business  :  let's  away ; 
Advantage  feeds  him  fat,^  wMle  men  delay,    [Exe, 

SCEJ^E    /7/— Eastcheap.    A  room  in  the  Boar's 
Head  Tavern.    Enter  Va\sl3.S  and  Bardolph. 


Fal.  Bardolph,  am  I  not  fallen  away  vilely  since 
this  last  action  ?  do  I  not  bate  ?  do  I  not  dwindle  ? 
AVhy,  my  skin  hangs  about  me  like  an  old  lady's 
loose  gown  ;  I  am  withi  r'd  like  an  old  apple-John. 
Well,  I'll  repent,  and  that  suddenly,  while  I  am  in 
some  lildng  ;•"  I  shall  be  out  of  heart  shortly,  and 
then  I  shall  have  no  strength  to  repent.  An  1  have 
not  forgotten  what  the  inside  of  a  church  is  made 
of,  I  am  a  pepper-corn,  a  brewer's  horse :  the  inside 
of  a  church !  Company,  villanous  company,  hath 
been  the  spoil  of  me. 

Bard.  Sir  John,  you  are  so  fretful,  you  cannot 
live  Ion?. 

Fal.  Why,  there  is  it : — come,  sing  me  a  bawdy 
song ;  make  me  merry.  I  was  as  virtuously  given, 
as  a  gentleman  need  to  be ;  virtuous  enough :  swore 
little  •  diced,  not  above  seven  times  a  week ;  went 
to  a  i)awdy-house,  not  above  once  in  a  quarter— 
of  an  hour  ;  paid  money  that  I  borrowed,  three  or 
four  times  ;  lived  well,  and  in  good  compass :  and 
now  I  live  out  of  all  order,  out  of  all  compass. 

Bard.  Why,  you  are  so  fat,  sir  John,  that  you 
must  needs  be  out  of  all  compass  ;  out  of  all  rea- 
sonable compass,  sir  John. 

Fal.  Do  thou  amend  thy  face,  and  I'll  amend  my 
life:  Thou  art  our  admiral,' thou  bearest  the  lan- 
tern in  the  poop, — but  'tis  in  the  nose  of  thee ;  thou 
art  the  knight  of  the  burning  lamp. 

Bard.  Why,  sir  John,  my  face  does  you  no  harm. 

Fal.  No,  I'll  be  sworn ;  I  make  as  good  use  of 
it  as  many  a  man  doth  of  a  death's  head,  or  a  ?ne- 
mehto  mori :  I  never  see  thy  face,  but  I  think  upon 
bell-fire,  and  Dives  that  lived  in  purple  ;  for  there 
he  is  in  his  robes,  burning,  burning.  If  thou  wert 
any  way  given  to  virtue,  I  would  swear  by  thy 
face ;  my  oath  should  be,  By  this  fire  :  but  thou  art 
altotretber  given  over;  and  wert  indeed,  but  for 
the  light  in  thy  face,  the  son  of  utter  darkness, 
When  thou  ran'st  up  Gads-hill  in  the  night  to  catch 
my  horse,  if  I  did  not  think  thou  hadst  been  an 


but  the  sack  that  thou  hast  drunk  me,  would  have 
bought  me  lights  as  good  cheap,  at  the  dearest 
chandler's  in  Europe.  I  have  maintained  that 
salamander  of  yours  with  fire,  any  time  this  two 
and  thirty  years  ;  Heaven  reward  me  for  it ! 

Bard.  'S  blood,  I  would  my  face  were  in  your 
belly! 

Fal.  God-a-mercy!  so  should  I  be  sure  to  be 
heart-burned. 

Enter  Hostess. 

How  now,  dame  Partlct  the  hen  ?'  have  you  in- 
quired yet,  who  pick'd  my  pocket  ? 

Host.  Why,  sir  John !  what  do  you  think,  sir 
John  ?  Do  you  think  I  k^  thieves  in  my  house  ?  I 
have  searched,  I  have  iriqbired,  so  has  my  husband, 
man  by  man,  boy  by  boy,  servant  by  servant :  the 
tithe  ofcUwiir  was  never  lost  in  my  house  before. 

l^of«4fOT  lie,  hostess  ;  Bardolph  was  shaved,  and 
lo^ffliany  a  hair :  and  I'll  be  sworn,  my  pocket  was 
pij^d :  Go  to,  you  are  a  woman,  go. 

Host.  Who,  I  ?  I  defy  thee :  I  was  never  called 
so  in  mine  own  house  before. 

Fal.  Go  to,  I  know  you  well  enough. 

Host.  No,  sir  John';  you  do  not  Know  me,  sit 
John :  I  know  you,  sir  John :  you  owe  me  money, 
sir  John,  and  now  you  pick  a  quarrel  to  beguile  me 
of  it :  I  bought  you  a  dozen  of  shirts  to  your  back. 

Fal.  Dowlas,  filthy  dowlas:  I  have  given  them 
away  to  bakers'  wives,  and  they  have  made  bolters 
of  them. 

Host.  Now,  as  I  am  a  true  woman,  holland  of 

eight  shillinjrs  an  ell.  You  owe  money  here  besides, 

John,  (or  your  diet,   and  by  drinkings,   and 


(I)  Part.    (2)  Intelligence. 
(4)  Hare  some  flesh. 


(3)  Feeds  himself. 
(5)  Admiral's  sliip. 


money  lent  you,  four  and  twenty  pound. 

Fal.  He  had  his  part  of  it ;  let  him  pay. 

Host.  He  ?  alas,  he  is  poor ;  he  hath  nothing. 

Fal.  How!  poor?  look  upon  his  face;  What  call 
you  rich?  let  them  coin  his  nose,  let  them  coin  his 
cheeks  ;  I'll  not  pay  a  denier.  ^Vhat,  will  you  make 
a  yOunker  of  me?  shall  I  not  take  mme  ease  in  mine 
inn,  but  I  shall  have  my  pocket  picked?  I  have 
lost  a  seal-ring  of  my  grandfather's,  worth  forty 
mark. 

Host.  0  Jesu !  I  have  heard  the  prince  tell  him, 
I  know  not  how  oft,  that  that  ring  was  copper. 

Fal.  How  !  the  prince  is  a  Jack,'  a  sneak-cup ; 
and,  if  he  were  here,  I  would  cudgel  him  like  a 
dog,  if  he  would  say  so. 

Enter  Prince  Henry  and  Poins,  marching.  Fal- 
stafT  meets  the  Prince,  Tplaying  on  his  truncheon 
like  afiff. 

Fal.  How  now,  lad  ?  is  the  wind  in  that  door, 
i'faith  ?  must  we  all  march  ? 

Bard.  Yea,  two  and  tAvo,  Newgate-fashion. 

Host.  My  lord,  I  pray  you,  hear  me. 

P.  Hen.  What  sayest  thou,  mistress  Quickly? 
How  does  thy  husband  ?  I  love  him  well,  he  is  an 
honest  man. 

Host.  Good  my  lord,  hear  me. 

Fitl.  Pr'ythee,  let  her  jftone,  and  list  to  me. 

P.  Hen.  What  sayest  thou,  Jack  ? 

Fal.  The  other  night  I  fell  asleep  here  behind 
the  arras,  and  had  my  pocket  picked  :  this  house, 

(6)  In  the  story-book  of  Reynard  the  Fox. 

(7)  A  term  of  contempt  frequently  used  by 
Shakspeare. 

SB 


M 


IB  turned  bawdy-house,  they  pick  pockets. 

P.  Hen.  What  didst  thou  lose.  Jack  ? 

Fal.  Wilt  thou  believe  me,  Hal  ?  three  or  four 
bonds  of  forty  pound  a-piece,  and  a  seal-ring  of  my 
grandfather's. 

P.  Hen.  A  trifle,  some  eight-penny  matter, 

Host.  So  I  told  him,  my  lord  ;  and  1  said,  I 
heard  your  grace  say  so :  And,  my  lord,  he  speaks 
most  vilely  of  you,  like  a  foul-mouthed  man  as  he 
m ;  and  said,  he  would  cudgel  you. 

P.  Hen.  What !  he  did  not  ? 

Host.  There's  neither  faith,  truth,  norwoman- 
nood  in  me  else. 

P.  Hen.  There's  no  more  faitji  in  thee  than  in  a 
stewed  prune ;  nor  no  more  truth  in  thee,  than  in 
a  drawn  fox;  and  for  womanhood,  maid  Marian' 
may  be  the  deputy's  wife  of  the  ward  to  thee.  Go, 
you  thins;,  go. 

Host.  Say,  what  thing  ?  wliat  thing  ? 

Fed.  What  thing  ?  why,  a  thing  to  thank  God  on. 

Host.  I  am  no  thing  to  thank  God  on,  I  would 
thou  should'st  know  it ;  1  am  an  honest  man's  ^vife : 
and,  setting  thy  knighthood  aside,  thou  art  a  knave 
to  call  me  so. 

Fal.  Setting  thy  womanhood  aside,  thou  art  a 
beast  to  say  otherwise. 

Host.  Say,  what  beast,  thou  knave  thou  ? 

Fal.  What  beast  ?  why,  an  otter. 

P.  Hen.  An  otter,  sir  John  ?  why  an  otter  ? 

Fal.  Why  ?  she's  neither  fish,  nor  flesh ;  a  man 
knows  not  %vhere  to  have  her. 

Host.  Thou  art  an  unjust  man  in  saying  so; 
thou  or  any  man  knows  where  to  have  me,  thou 
knave  thou ! 

P.  Hen.  Thou  sayest  true,  hostess ;  and  he  slan- 
ders thee  most  grossly. 

Host.  So  he  doth  you,  my  lord ;  and  said  this 
other  day,  you  ought  him  a  thousand  pound. 

P.  Hen.  Sirrah,  do  I  owe  you  a  thousand  pound  ? 

Fal.  A  thousand  pound,  Hal  ?  a  million :  thy  love 
is  worth  a  million  ;  thou  owcst  me  thy  love. 

Host.  Nay,  my  lord,  he  called  you  Jack,  and 
said,  he  would  cudgel  you. 

Fal.  Did  I,  Bardolph  ? 

Bard.  Indeed,  sir  John,  you  said  so. 

Fal.  Yea  •  if  he  said,  my  ring  was  copper. 

P.  Hen.  1  say,  'tis  copper :  Darest  thou  be  as 
good  as  thy  word  no%v  ? 

Fal.  Why,  Hal,  thou  knowest,  as  thou  art  but 
man,  I  dare :  but,  as  thou  art  prince,  I  fear  thee, 
as  I  fear  the  roaring  of  the  lion's  whelp. 

P.  Hen.  And  why  not,  as  the  lion  ? 

Fd.  The  king  himself  is  to  be  feared  as  the  lion : 
Dost  thou  think,  I'll  fear  thee  as  I  fear  thy  father  ? 
nay,  an  I  do,  I  pray  God,  my  girdle  break ! 

P.  Hen.  O,  if  it  should,  how  would  thy  guts  fall 
about  thy  knees  !  But,  sirrah,  there's  no  room  for 
faith,  truth,  nor  honesty,  in  this  bosom  of  thine :  it 
is  filled  up  with  guts,  and  midrifl^.  Charge  an 
honest  woman  with  picking  thy  pocket !  Why,  thou 
whoreson,  impudent,  embossed^  rascal,  if  there 
were  any  thing  in  thy  pocket  but  tavern-reckonings, 
memorandums  of  bawdy-houses,  and  one  poor 
penny-worth  of  sugar-candy,  to  make  thee  long- 
winded  ;  if  thy  pocket  were  enriched  with  any 
other  injuries  but  these,  I  am  a  villain.  And  yet 
you  will  stand  to  it ;  you  will  not  pocket  up  wrong : 
Art  thou  not  ashamed  ? 

Fal.  Dost  thou  hear,  Hal  ?  thou  knoWest,  in  the 
state  of  innocency,  Adam  fell ;  and  what  should 

(1)  A  man  dressed  like  a  woman,  who  attends 
morris-dancers. 

(2)  Swoln,  puffy. 


FIRST  PART  OP  KING  HENRY  IV- 


,3ct  If. 


poor  JackFalstaff  do,  in  the  days  of  villany  ?    Thou 
seest,  I  have  more  flesh  than  another  man ;  and 

therefore  more  frailty. You  confess  then,  you 

picked  my  pocket  ? 

P.  Hen.  It  appears  so  by  the  story. 

Fal.  Hostess,  I  forgive  thee  :  Go,  make  ready 
breakfast ;  love  thy  husband,  look  to  thy  servants, 
cherish  thy  guests :  thou  shalt  find  me  tractable  to 
any  honest  reason:  thou  seest,  I  am  pacified. — Still? 
— Nay,  pr'ythee,  be  gone.  [Exit  Hostess.]  Now, 
Hal,  to  the  news  at  court :  lor  the  robbery,  lad, — 
How  is  that  answered  ? 

P.  Hen.  O,  my  sweet  beef,  I  must  still  be  good 
angel  to  thee : — The  monev  is  paid  back  again. 

Fal.  0,  I  do  not  like  that  paying  back,  'tis  a 
double  labour. 

P.  Hen.  I  am  good  friends  with  my  father,  and 
may  do  any  thing. 

Fal.  Rob  me  the  exchequer  the  first  thing  thou 
doest,  and  do  it  with  unwashed  hands  too. 

Bard.  Do,  my  lord. 

P.  Hen.  1  have  procured  thee,  Jack,  a  charge 
of  foot. 

Fal.  I  would,  it  had  been  of  horse.  Where  shall 
I  find  one  that  can  steal  well  ?  O  for  a  fine  thief,  of 
the  age  of  two  and  twenty,  or  thereabouts !  I  am 
heinously  unprovided.  W'ell,  God  be  thanked  for 
these  rebels,  they  offend  none  but  the  virtuous  ;  I 
laud  them,  I  praise  them. 

P.  Hen.  Bardolph 

Bard.  My  lord. 

P.  Hen.  Go  bear  this  letter  to  lord  John  of 
Lancaster, 
My  brother  John  ;  this  to  my  lord  of  Westmore- 
land.— 
Go,  Poins,  to  horse,  to  horse  ;  for  thou,  and  I, 

Have  thirty  miles  to  ride  yet  ere  dinner-time. 

Jack, 

Meet  me  to  morrow  i'the  Temple  hall. 

At  two  o'clock  i'the  afternoon  : 

There  shalt  thou  know  thy  charge ;  and  there 

receive 
Money,  and  order  for  their  furniture. 
The  land  is  burning  ;  Percy  stands  on  high ; 
And  either  tliev,  or  we,  must  lower  lie. 

[Exexmt  Prince,  Poins,  and  Bardolph. 

Fal.   Rare  words  !   brave  world  ! Hostess, 

my  breakfast,  come: — 
O,  I  could  wish,  this  tavern  were  my  drum.  [£xt/. 


ACT  IV. 


SCE^E   I. — The  rebel  camp,  near  Shrewsbury. 
Enter  Hotspur,  Worcester,  and  Douglas. 

Hot.  Well  said,  my  noble  Scot :  If  speaking  truth. 
In  this  fine  age,  were  not  thought  flatterv. 
Such  attribution  should  the  Douglas'  have. 
As  not  a  soldier  of  this  season's  stamp 
Should  go  so  general  current  through  the  world. 
By  heaven,  I  cannot  flatter ;  I  defy* 
The  tongues  of  soothers  ;  but  a  braver  place 
In  my  heart's  love,  hath  no  man  than  yourself: 
Nay,  task  me  to  the  word ;  approve  me,  lord. 

Doug.  Thou  art  the  king  of  honour : 
No  man  so  potent  breathes  upon  the  ground, 
But  I  will  beard'  him. 

Hot.  Do  so,  and  'tis  well : — 

(3)  This  expression  is  applied  by  way  of  pre- 
eminence to  the  head  of  the  Douglas  family. 

(4)  Disdain.       (5)  Meet  him  face  to  face^ 


Beent  t. 


FIRST  PART  Of  KING  HENRY  IV. 


4n3 


Enter  a  Messenger,  with  letters. 
What  letters  hast  thou  there  ? — I  can  but  thank  you. 

Mess.  These  letters  come  from  your  father, — 

J£ot.  Letters  from  him  !  why  comes  he  not  him- 
self? 

Jdess.  He  cannot  come,  my  lord ;  he's  grievous 
sick. 

Hot.  Zounds!  how  has  he  the  leisure  to  be  sick, 
In  such  a  justling  time  ?  Who  leads  his  power  ?' 
Under  whose  government  come  they  along? 

JSess.  His  letters  bear  his  mind,  not  I,  my  lord. 

Wor.  I  pr'ythee,  tell  me,  doth  he  keep  his  bed  ? 

JSIess.  He  did,  my  lord,  four  days  ere  I  set  forth ; 
And  at  the  time  of  my  departure  thence, 
He  was  much  fear'd  6y  his  physicians. 

Wor.  I  would,  the  state  of  time  had  first  been 
whole. 
Ere  he  by  sickness  had  been  visited  ; 
His  health  was  never  belter  worth  than  now. 

Hot.  Sick  now  !  droop  now  1  this  sickness  doth 
infect 
The  very  life-blood  of  our  enterprise  ; 

'Tis  catching  hither,  even  to  our  camp. 

He  writes  me  here, — that  inward  sickness — 

And  that  his  friends  by  deputation  could  not 

So  soon  be  drawn  ;  nor  did  he  think  it  meet. 

To  lay  so  dangerous  and  dear  a  trust 

On  an)'  soul  remov'd,  but  on  his  own. 

Yet  doth  he  give  us  bold  advertisement, — 

That  with  our  small  conjunction,  we  should  on. 

To  see  how  fortune  is  dispos'd  to  us : 

For,  as  he  writes,  there  is  nc  quailing'  now  ; 

Because  the  king  is  certainly  poflsess'd^ 

Of  all  our  purposes.     What  saj  you  to  it? 

Wor.  Your  father's  sickness  is  a  maim  to  us. 

Hot.  A  perilous  gash,  a  very  limb  lopp'd  off': — 
And  yet,  in  faith,  'tis  not;  his  present  want 
Seems  more  than  we  shall  find  it : — Were  it  good. 
To  set  the  exact  wealth  of  all  our  states 
All  at  one  cast  ?  to  set  so  rich  a  main 
On  the  nice  hazard  of  one  doubtful  hour? 
It  were  not  good :  for  therein  should  we  read 
The  very  bottom  and  the  soul  of  hope  ; 
The  very  list,*  the  very  utmost  bound 
Of  ail  our  fortunes. 

Done:.  'Faith,  and  so  we  should ; 

Wliere^  now  remains  a  sweet  reversion  : 
We  may  boldly  spend  upon  the  hope  of  what 
Is  to  come  in : 
A  comfort  of  retirement  lives  in  this. 

Hot.  A  rendezvous,  a  home  to  fly  unto, 
If  that  the  devil  and  mischance  look  big 
Upon  the  maidenhead  of  our  affairs. 

Wor.  But  yet,  I  would  your  father  had  been 
here. 
The  quality  and  hair^  of  our  attempt 
Brooks  nodivision :  It  will  be  thought 
Bv  some,  that  know  not  why  he  is  away, 
That  wisdom,  loyalty,  and  mere  dislike 
Of  our  proceedings,  kept  the  earl  from  hence ; 
And  think,  how  such  an  apprehension 
May  turn  the  tide  of  fearful  faction, 
And  breed  a  kind  of  question  in  our  cause : 
For,  well  you  know,  we  of  the  offering  side 
Must  keep  aloof  from  strict  arbitrement ; 
And  slop  all  sight-holes,  every  loop,  from  whence 
The  eye  of  reason  mav  pry  in  upon  us  : 
This  absence  of  your  father's  draws  a  curtain. 
That  shows  the  ignorant  a  kind  of  fear 
Before  not  dreamt  of. 


(2)  Languishing.     (3)  Informed. 
(4)  Line.  (5)  Whereas. 

^6)  The  complexion,  the  character. 


{\)  Forces 
(4)  Line 


Hot.  You  strain  loo  far. 

I,  rather,  of  his  absence  make  this  use ; — 
It  lends  a  lustre,  and  more  great  opinion, 
A  larger  dare  to  our  great  enterprise, 
Than  if  the  earl  were  here :  for  men  must  think, 
If  we,  without  his  help,  can  make  a  head 
To  push  against  the  kingdom  ;  with  his  help, 
We  shall  o'erturn  it  topsy-turvy  down. — 
Yet  all  goes  well,  yet  all'our  joints  are  whole. 

Doug.  As  heart  can  think :  there  is  not  such  a 
word 
Spoke  of  in  Scotland,  as  this  term  of  fear. 

Enter  Sir  Richard  Vernon. 

H<^.  My  cousin  Vernon  !  welcome,  by  mv  soul. 

Ver.  Pray  God,  my  news  be  worth  a  welcome, 
lord. 
The  earl  of  Westmoreland,  seven  thousand  strong, 
Is  marching  hitherwards ;  with  him,  prince  John. 

Hot.  No  harm :  What  more  ? 

Ver.  And  further,  I  have  learn'd, — 

The  king  himself  in  person  is  set  forth. 
Or  hitlierwards  intended  speedily. 
With  strong  and  mighty  preparation. 

Hot.  He  shall  be  welcome  too.  Where  is  His  son. 
The  nimble-footed  mad-cap  prince  of  Wales, 
And  his  comrades,  that  dan 'd'  the  world  aside. 
And  bid  it  pass  ? 

Ver.  All  fumish'd,  all  in  arms, 

All  plum'd  like  estridges*  that  wing  the  wind ; 
Bated  like  eagles  having  lately  bath'd  ;• 
Glittering  in  golden  coats,  like  images ; 
As  full  of  spirit  as  the  month  of  May, 
And  gorgeous  as  the  sun  at  midsummer ; 
Wanton  as  youthful  goats,  wild  as  young  bulls. 
I  saw  young  Harry, — witli  his  beaver  on, 
Hiscuisses'"  on  his  thighs,  gallantly  arm'd, — 
Rise  from  the  ground  like  feather'd  Mercury, 
And  vaulted  with  such  ease  into  his  seat. 
As  if  an  angel  dropp'd  down  from  the  clouds, 
To  turn  and  wind  a  fiery  Pegasus, 
And  witch"  the  world  with  noble  horsemanship. 

Hot.  No  more,  no  more ;  worse  than  the  sun 
in  March, 
This  praise  doth  nourish  agues.    Let  them  come ; 
They  come  like  sacrifices  in  their  trim, 
And  to  the  fire-ey'd  maid  of  smoky  war. 
All  hot,  and  bleeding,  will  we  offer  them : 
The  mailed  Mars  shall  on  his  altar  sit. 
Up  to  the  ears  in  blood.    I  am  on  fire, 
To  hear  this  rich  reprisal  is  so  nigh. 
And  yet  not  ours : — Come,  let  me  take  my  horsey 
Who  is  to  bear  me,  like  a  thunderbolt. 
Against  the  bosom  of  the  prince  of  Wales : 
Harry  to  Harry  shall,  hot  horse  to  horse. 
Meet,  and  ne'er  part,  till  one  drop  down  a  corse.—* 
0,  that  Glendower  were  come ! 

Ver.  There  b  more  news : 

I  learn'd  in  Worcester,  as  I  rode  along, 
He  cannot  draw  his  power  this  fourteen  days. 

Dmg.  That's  the  worst  tidings  that  I  hear  of  yet. 

Wor.  Ay,  by  my  faith,  that  bears  a  frosty  sound. 

Hot.  What  may  the  king's  whole  battle  reach 
unto  ? 

Ver.  To  thirty  thousand. 

Hot.  Forty  let  it  be; 

My  father  and  Glendower  being  both  away. 
The  powers  of  us  may  serve  so  great  a  day. 
Come,  let  us  make  a  muster  speedily : 
Doomsday  is  near ;  die  all,  die  merrily. 

(7)  Threw  off.    (8)  Dressed  with  ostrich  feathers. 
(9)  Fresh  as  bu-ds  just  washed.       HOI  Armour. 
(11)  Bewitch,  charm. 


404 


FIRST  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV. 


JTcllK 


Doug.  Talk  not.  6f  dying j  I  am  out  of  fear 
Of  death,  or  death's  haad,  (or  this  one  half  year. 

[Exeunt. 

SCEJfE  II. — ^  public  road  near  Covenb-y.  Enter 
Falstaff  and  Bardolph. 

Fal.  Bardolph,  get  thee  before  to  Coventry;  fill 
me  a  bottle  of  sack:  our  soldiers  shall  march 
through ;  we'll  to  Siitton-Colfield  to-night. 

Bard.  Will  yofl  tpve  me  money,  captain  ? 

Fal.  Lav  out,  lay  out. 

Bard.  This  bottle  makes  an  angel. 

Fal.  An  if  it  do,  take  it  for  thy  labour ;  and  if 
it  make  twentj-,  take  them  all,  I'll  answer  the  coin- 
age. Bid  my  lieutenant  Pcto  meet  me  at  the 
town's  end. 

Bard.  I  will,  captain  :  farewell.  [Exit. 

^  JW.**ff  I  be  not  ashamed  of  my  soldiers,  I  am 
a  souced  gurnet. '  I  have  jnisused  the  king's  press 
damnably.  I  have  got^'^'Cxchange  of  a  Hundred 
and  fifty  soldiers,  three  hundred  and  odd  pounds. 
I  press  me  none  but  good  householders,  yeomen's 
sons :  inquire  me  out  contracted  bachelors,  such  as 
had  been  asked  twice  on  the  banns  ;  such  a  com- 
modity of  warm  slaves,  as  had  as  lief  hear  the  devil 
as  a  drum ;  such  as  fear  the  report  of  a  caliver," 
•worse  than  a  struck  fowl,  or  a  hurt  wild-duck.  I 
pressed  me  none  but  such  toasts  and  butter,  with 
heaPK  in  their  bellies  no  bificrer  than  pin's  heads, 
and  they  have  boucht  out  their  services ;  and  now 
my  whole  charsre  consists  of  ancients,  corporals, 
lieutenants,  gentlemen  of  companies,  slaves  as  rag- 
ged as  Lazarus  in  the  painted  cloth,  where  the 
glutton's  dogs  licked  his  sores:  and  such  as,  in- 
deed, were  never  soldiers ;  but  discarded  unjust 
serving-men,  younsjer  sons  to  younger  brothers,  re- 
volted tapsters,  and  ostlers  trade-fallen;  the  cankers 
of  a  calm  world,  and  a  long  peace ;  ten  times  more 
dishonourable  ragged  than  an  old  faced  ancient:' 
and  such  have  I,  to  lill  up  the  rooms  of  them  that 
have  bought  out  their  services,  that  you  wouldlhink, 
that  I  had  a  hundred  and  fifty  tattered  proaio;als, 
latelv  come  from  swine-keeping,  from  eating  draff" 
and  Husks.  A  mad  fellow  met  riie  on  the  way,  and 
told  me,  I  had  unloaded  all  the  gibbets,  and  pressed 
the  dead  bodies.  No  eye  hath  seen  such  scare- 
crows. I'll  not  march  through  Coventry  with  them, 
that's  fiat: — Nay,  and  the  villains  march  wide  be- 
twixt the  legs,  as  if  they  had  gyves*  on ;  for,  indeed, 
I  had  the  roost  of  them' out  of  prison.  There's  but 
a  shirt  and  a  half  in  all  my  company ;  and  the  half- 
shirt  is  two  napkins,  tacked  together,  and  thrown 
over  the  shoulders,  like  a  herald's  coat  withbut 
sleeves  ;  and  the  shirt,  to  say  the  truth,  stolen  from 
my  host  at  Saint  Alban's,  or  the  red-nose  inn- 
keeper of  Daintry.*  But  that's  all  one ;  they'll  JRnd 
linen  enough  on  every  hedge. 

Enter  Prince  Henry  and  Westmoreland. 

P.  Hen.  How  now,  blown  Jack?  how  now,  quilt? 

Fal.  What,  Hal?  How  now,  mad  wag?  what  a 
devil  dost  thou  in  Warwickshire  ? — My  good  lord 
of  Westmoreland,  I  cry  you  mercy  ;  I  thought  your 
honour  had  already  been  at  Shrewsbury. 

West.  'Faith,  sir  John,  'tis  more  than  time  that 
I  were  there,  and  yoa  too ;  but  my  powers  are 
there  already :  The  kinsr,  I  can  tell  you,  looks  for 
us  all ;  we  must  away  all  night. 

Fal.  Tut,  never  fear  me ;  I  am  as  vigilant  as  a 
cat  to  steal  cream. 

P.  Hen.  I  think,  to  steal  cream,  indeed ;  for  thy 


(1)  A  fish. 
(4)  Fetters. 


(2)Ai 


nin.         (3)  Standartl. 
[5)  Daventry, 


theft  hath  already  made  thee  butler.    But  tell  me, 
Jack ;  whose  fellows  are  these  that  come  after  ? 

Fat.  Mine,  Hal,  mine. 

P.  Hen.  I  did  never  see  such  pitiful  rascals. 

Fal.  Tut,  tut ;  good  enough  to  toss ;  food  for 
jiowder,  food  for  powder ;  they'll  fill  a  pit,  as  well 
as  better :  tush,  man,  mortal  men,  mortal  men. 

West.  Ay,  but,  sir  John,  melhinks  they  are  ex- 
ceeding poor  and  bare  ;  too  beggarly. 

Fal.  'Faith,  for  their  poverty,— I  know  not  where 
they  had  that :  and  for  their  bareness, — I  am  sure, 
they  never  learned  that  of  me. 

P.  Hen.  No,  I'll  be  sworn;  unless  you  call 
three  fingers  on  the  ribs,  bare.  But,  sirrah,  make 
haste ;  Percy  is  already  in  the  field. 

Fal.  Whatj  is  the  king  encamped  ? 

West.  He  IS,  sir  John ;  I  fear,  we  shall  stay  too 
long. 

Fal.  Well, 
To  the  latter  end  of  a  fray,  and  the  beginning  of  a 

feast, 
Fits  a  dull  fighter,  and  a  keen  guest.         [Exetmt, 

SCEJ^E  III. — The  rebel  camp  near  Shretosbury. 

Enter  Hotspur,  Worcester,  Douglas,  and  Ver 

non. 

Hot.  We'll  fight  with  him  to-night, 

Wor.  It  may  not  be. 

Doug.  "You  give  him  then  advantage. 

Ver.  Not  a  whit. 

Hot.  ^Vhy  say  you  so  ?  looks  he  not  for  supply? 

Ver.  So  do  we. 

Hot.  His  is  certain,  ours  is  doubtful. 

Wor.  Good  cousin,  be  advis'd;  stir  not  to-night. 

Ver.  Do  not,  my  lord. 

Doug.  You  do  not  counsel  well ; 

You  speak  it  out  of  fear,  and  cold  heart. 

Ver.  Do  me  no  slander,  Douglas  :  by  my  life, 
(And  I  dare  well  maintain  it  with  my  life,) 
If  well-respected  honour  bid  me  on, 
I  hold  as  little  counsel  with  weak  fear. 
As  you  my  lord,  or  any  Scot  that  lives  : — 
Let  it  be  seen  to-morrow  in  the  battle, 
Which  of  us  fears. 

Doug.  Yea,  or  to-night. 

Ver.  "        Content. 

Hot.  To-night,  say  I. 

Ver.  Come,  come,  it  mav  not  be. 

I  wonder  much,  being  men  of  such  great  leading,* 
That  you  foresee  not  what  impediments 
Drag  back  our  expedition  :  Certaui  horse 
Of  my  cousin  Vernon's  are  not  yet  come  up : 
Your  uncle  Worcester's  horse  came  but  to-day ; 
And  now  their  pride  and  mettle  is  asleep, 
Their  courage  with  hard  labour  tame  and  dull. 
That  not  a  horse  is  half  the  half  himself. 

Hot.  So  dre  the  horses  of  the  enemy 
In  general,  journey-bated,  and  brought  low ; 
The  better  part  of  ours  is  full  of  rest. 

Wor.  The  number  of  the  king  exccedeth  ours  : 
For  God's  sake,  cousin,  stay  till  all  com.e  in. 

[The  trumpet  smmds  a  parley. 

Enter  Sir  Walter  Blunt. 
Blunt.  I  come  with  gracious  offers  from  the  king, 
If  vou  vouchsafe  me  hearing,  and  respect. 
Hot.  Welcome,  sir  Walter  Blunt ;  And  'would 
to  God, 
You  were  of  our  determination  ! 
Some  of  us  love  you  well :  and  even  those  some 
Envy  your  great  deserving,  and  good  name ; 
Because  you  are  not  of  our  quality,' 

(6)  Conduct,  experience.         (7)  Fellowship, 


Scene  IV. 


FIRST  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV. 


405 


But  stand  agaliist  us  like  an  enemy. 

Blunt.   And  God   defend,  but   still   I   should 
stand  so. 
So  long  as,  out  oflimit,  and  true  rule, 
You  stand  against  anointed  majesty ! 
But,  to  my  charge. — The  king  hath  sent  to  know 
The  nature  of  your  griefs  ;'  and  whereupon 
You  conjure  from  the  breast  of  civil  peace 
Such  bold  hostility,  teaching  this  duteous  land 
Audacious  cruelty :  If  that  the  king 
Have  any  way  your  good  deserts  forgot, — 
Which  he  confcsseth  to  be  manifold, — 
He  bids  you  name  your  2;riefs ;  and,  with  all  speed 
You  shall  have  your  desiies,  with  interest ; 
And  pardon  absolute  for  yourself,  and  these, 
Herein  misled  by  your  suggestion. 

Hot.  The  king  is  kind  ;  and,  well  we  know,  the 
king 
Knows  at  what  time  to  promise,  when  to  pay. 
My  father,  and  my  uncle,  and  myself. 
Did  give  him  that  same  royalty  he  wears  : 
And, — when  he  was  not  six  and  twenty  strong, 
Sick  in  the  world's  rejjard,  wretched  and  low, 
A  poor  unminded  outlaw  sneaking  home, — 
My  father  gave  him  welcome  to  the  shore : 
And, — when  he  heard  him  swear,  and  vow  to  God, 
He  came  but  to  be  duke  of  Lancaster, 
To  sue  his  liver}',^  and  beg  his  peace.; 
With  tears  of  innocency,  and  terms  of  zeal, — 
My  father,  in  kind  heart  and  pity  mov'd, 
Swore  him  assistance,  and  pcrform'd  it  too. 
No%v,  when  the  lords,  and  barons  of  the  realm, 
Perceiv'd  Northumberland  did  lean  to  him. 
The  more  and  less'  came  in  with  cap  and  knee ; 
Met  him  in  boroughs,  cities,  villages  ; 
Attended  him  on  bridges,  stood  in  lanes,     ' 
I^aid  crifls  before  him,"proffer'd  him  their  oaths, 
Gaveliim  their  heirs  ;  as  pages  follow'd  him, 
Even  at  the  heels,  in  ;rolden  multitudes. 
He  presently, — as  greatness  knows  itself, — 
Steps  me  a  little  higher  than  his  vow 
Made  to  my  father,  while  his  blood  was  poor, 
Upon  the  naked  shore  at  Ravenspurg; 
And  now,  forsooth,  takes  on  him  to  reform 
Some  certain  edicts,  and  some  strait  decrees, 
That  lie  too  heavy  on  the  commonwealth  : 
Cries  out  upon  abuses,  seems  to  %veep 
Over  his  country's  v/rongs;  and,  by  this  face, 
This  seeming  brow  of  justice,  did  he  win 
The  hearts  of  all  that  he  did  angle  for. 
Proceeded  further  ;  cut  me  offihe  heads 
Of  all  the  favourites,  that  the  absent  king 
In  deputation  left  behind  him  here. 
When  he  was  personal  in  the  Irish  war. 

Blunt.  Tut,  I  came  not  to  hear  this. 

Hot.  Then,  to  the  point. 

In  short  time  after,  he  depos'd  the  king  ; 

Soon  after  that,  depriv'd  him  of  his  life  ; 

And,  in  the  neck  of  that,  task'd  the  whole  state : 

To  make  that  worse,  sufler'd  his  kinsman,  March, 

(Who  is,  if  every  owner  were  ivell  plac'd, 

Indeed  his  king,)  to  be  incag'd  in  Wales, 

There  without  ransom  to  lie  forfeited  : 

Disgrac'd  me  in  my  happy  victories  ; 

Sought  to  entrap  me  by  intelligence  ; 

Hated  my  uncle  from  the  council-board  ; 

In  rage  dismiss'd  my  father  from  the  court; 

Broke  oath  on  oath,  committed  wrong  on  wrong : 

And,  in  conclusion,  drove  us  to  seek  out 

This  head  of  safety  ;  and,  withal,  to  pry 

Into  his  title,  the  which  we  find 

(1)  Grievances.     (2)  The  delivery  of  his  lands. 
(3)  The  greater  and  tho  less.        (4)  Letter. 


Too  indirect  for  long  continuance. 

Blunt.  Shall  I  return  this  answer  (o  the  king  ? 

Hot.  Not  so,  sir  Walter ;  we'll  withdra%v  awhile. 
Go  to  the  king^ ;  and  let  thgre  be  impawn'd 
Some  surety  for  a  safe  return  again, 
And  in  the  morning  early  shall  mine  uncle 
Bring  him  our  purposes :  and  so  farewell. 

Blunt.  I  would  you  would  accept  of  grace  and 
love. 

Hot.  And,  may  be,  so  we  shall. 

Blimt,  'Pray  heaven,  you  do ! 

SCfitATE  JV. — ^York.  .3  room  in  the  archbishop's 
house.  Enter  the  Jlrehbishop  of  York,  and  a 
Gentleman.  * 

.drch.  Hie,  good  sir  Michael ;  bear  this  sealed 
brief,* 
With  winged  haste,  to  the  lord  mareshal ; 
Tills  to  my  cousm  Scroop ;  and  all  the  rest 
To  whom  they  are  directed :  if  you  knew 
How  much  they  do  i]ii6ort,70U  would  make  haste. 

Gent.  My  good  lord, 
I  guess  their  tenor. 

^rdk  Like  enough  you  do. 

ToWnorrow,  good  sir  Michael,  is  a  day. 
Wherein  the  fortune  of  ten  thousand  men 
Must  bide  tiia  touch :  For,  sir,  at  Shrewsbury, 
As  I  am  truly  given  to  understand. 
The  kinsr,  with  micrhty  and  quick-raised  power, 
Meets  with  lord  Harry :  and  I  fear,  sir  Michael, — 
What  with  the  sickness  of  Northumberland, 
(Whose  power  vias  in  the  first  proportion,) 
And  what  with  Owen  Glcndower's  absence,  thence, 
( Who  with  them  was  a  rated  sinew  too,*^ 
And  comes  not  in,  o'er-rul'd  by  prophecies,) — 
I  fear,  the  power  of  Percj-  is  too  weak 
To  wage  an  instant  (rial  with  the  king. 

Gent.  Why,  good  my  lord,  you  need  not  fear ; 
there's  Doudas, 
And  Mortimer. 

^ircli.  .  No,  Mortimer's  not  there. 

Gent,  But  there  is  Mordake,  Vernon,  lord  Harry 
Percy, 
And  there's  my  lord  of  Worcester ;  and  a  head 
Of  gallant  wamors,  noble  gentlemen. 

.lirch.  And  so  there  is;  but  yet  the  king  hath 
drawn 
The  special  head  of  all  the  land  together ; — 
The  prince  of  Wales,  lord  John  of  Lancaster, 
The  noble  Westmoreland,  and  warlike  Blunt ; 
And  many  more  cor-rivals,  and  dear  men 
Of  estimation  and  command  in  arms. 

Gent.  Doubt  not,  my  lord,  they  shall  be  well 
oppos'd. 

Ardt.  I  hope  no  less,  yet  needful  'tis  to  fear , 
And,  to  prevent  the  worst,  sir  Michael,  speed: 
For,  if  lord  Percy  thrive  not,  ere  the  king 
Dismiss  his  power,  he  means  to  visit  us, — 
For  he  hath  heard  of  our  confederacy, — 
And  'tis  but  wisdom  to  make  strong  against  him ; 
Therefore,  make  haste :  I  must  go  write  again 
To  other  friends ;  and  so  farewell,  sir  Michael. 

[Exe.  teverally. 


ACT  V. 


SCEJiJ'E  T.—The  kinpr's  camp  near  Shrewshtry. 
Enter  King  Henr)',  Prince  Henry,  Prince  John 
of  Lancaster,  Sir  Walter, Blunt,  and  Sir  John 
FalStafi; 
K.  Hen.  How  bloodily  the  sun  begins  to  peer 

(5)  A  strength  on  which  we  reckoned. 


406 


FIRST  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV. 


^etr. 


Above  yon  busky"  hill !  the  day  looks  pale 
At  his  distemperature. 

P.  Hen.  The  southern  wind 

Doth  play  the  trumpet  to  his  purposes  ; 
And,  by  his  hollow  whistling  in  the  leaves, 
Foretells  a  tempestj  and  a  blustering  day. 

K.  Hen.  Then  with  the  losers  let  it  sympathize ; 
For  nothing  can  seem  foul  to  those  that  win. — 

Trumpet.    Enter  Worcester  and  Vernon. 
How  now,  my  lord  of  Worcester  ?  'tis  not  well, 
That  you  and  I  should  meet  upon  such  terms 
As  now  we  meet :  You  have  deceiv'd  our  trust ; 
And  made  us  dofi'^  our  easy  robes  of  peace, 
To  crush  our  old  limbs  in  ungentle  steel : 
This  is  not  well,  my  lord,  this  is  not  well. 
What  say  you  to't  ?  will  you  again  unknit 
This  churlish  knot  of  all-abhorred  war  ? 
And  move  in  that  obedient  orb  again. 
Where  you  did  give  a  fair  and  natural  light ; 
And  be  no  more  an  exhal'd  meteor, 
A  prodigy  of  fear,  and  a  portent 
Of  broached  mischief  to  the  unborn  times? 

Wor.  Hear  me,  my  liege : 
For  mine  own  part,  I  could  be  well  content 
To  entertain  the  lag-end  of  my  life 
With  quiet  hours  ;  for,  I  do  protest, 
I  have  not  sought  the  day  of  this  dislike. 

K.  Hen.  You  have  not  sought  for  it !  how  comes 
/      it  then  ? 

Fal.  Rebellion  lay  in  his  way,  and  he  found  it. 

P.  Hen.  Peace,  cnewet,'  peace. 

Wor.  It  pleas'd  your  majesty,  to  turn  your  looks 
Of  favour,  from  myself,  and  all  our  house ; 
And  yet,  I  must  remember  you,  my  lord, 
We  were  the  first  and  dearest  of  your  friends. 
For  you,  my  staff  of  office  did  I  break 
In  Richard's  time  ;  and  posted  day  and  night 
To  meet  you  on  the  way,  and  kiss  your  hand, 
When  yet  you  were  in  place  and  in  account 
Nothing  so  strong  and  fortunate  as  I. 
It  was  myself,  my  brother,  and  his  son, 
That  brought  you  home,  and  boldly  did  outdare 
The  dangers  of  the  time  :  You  swore  to  us, — 
And  you  did  swear  that  oath  at  Doncaster, — 
That  you  did  nothing  purpose  'gainst  the  state  ; 
Nor  claim  no  further  than  your  new-fall'n  right, 
The  seat  of  Gaunt,  dukedom  of  Lancaster : 
To  this  we  swore  our  aid.     But,  in  short  space. 
It  rain'd  down  fortune  showering  on  your  head  ; 
And  such  a  flood  of  greatness  fell  on  you, — 
What  with  our  help  ;  what  with  the  absent  king ; 
What  with  the  injuries  of  a  wanton  time ; 
The  seeming  sufierances  that  you  had  borne ; 
And  the  contrarious  winds,  that  held  the  king 
So  lone  in  his  unlucky  Irish  wars. 
That  all  in  England  did  repute  him  dead, — 
And,  from  this  swarm  of  fair  advantages, 
You  took  occasion  to  be  quickly  wbo'd 
To  gripe  the  general  sway  into  your  hand : 
Forgot  your  oath  to  us  at  Doncaster  ; 
And,  being  fed  by  us,  youus'd  us  so 
As  that  ungentle  gull,  the  cuckoo's  bird, 
Useth  the  sparrow :  did  oppress  our  nest ; 
Grew  by  our  feeding  to  so  great  a  bulk. 
That  even  our  love  durst  not  come  near  your  sight, 
For  fear  of  swallowing ;  but  with  nimble  wing 
We  ivere  enforc'd,  for  safety  sake,  to  fly 
Out  of  your  sight,  and  raise  this  present  head : 
Whereby  we  stand  opposed  by  such  means 
*l»  you  yourself  have  forg'd  against  yourself; 

n)  Woody.  (2)Putofi; 

(?)  A  chattering  bird,  a  pie 


By  tmkind  usage,  dangerous  countenance, 
And  violation  of  all  faith  and  troth 
Sworn  to  us  in  your  younger  enterprise. 

K.  Hen.  These  things,  indeed,  you  have  articu* 
lated,* 
Proclaim'd  at  market-crosses,  read  in  churches ; 
To  face  the  garment  of  rebellion 
With  some  hne  colour,  that  may  please  the  eye 
Of  fickle  changelings,  and  poor  discontents. 
Which  gape,  and  rub  the  elbow,  at  the  news 
Of  hurly-burly  innovation : 
And  never  yet  did  insurrection  want 
Such  water-colours,  to  impaint  his  cause  ; 
Nor  moody  beggars,  starving  for  a  time 
Of  pell-mell  havoc  and  confusion. 

/■'.  Hen.  In  both  our  armies,  there  is  many  a  soul 
Shall  pay  full  dearly  for  this  encounter. 
If  once  they  join  in  trial.     Tell  your  nephew, 
The  prince  of  Wales  doth  join  with  all  the  world 
In  praise  of  Henry  Percy  ;  By  my  hopes, — 
This  present  enterprise  set  oft  his  head, — 
I  do  not  think,  a  braver  gentleman. 
More  active-valiant,  or  more  valiant-young. 
More  darifig,  or  more  bold,  is  now  alive, 
To  grace  this  latter  age  with  noble  deeds. 
For  my  part,  I  may  speak  it  to  my  shame, 
I  have  a  truant  been  to  chivalry ; 
And  so,  I  hear,  he  doth  account  me  too  : 
Yet  this  before  my  father's  majesty, — 
I  am  content,  that  he  shall  take  the  odds 
Of  his  ^reat  name  and  estimation  ; 
And  will,  to  save  the  blood  on  either  side. 
Try  fortune  with  him  in  a  single  fight. 

K.  Hen.  And,  prince  of  Wales,  so  dare  we  ven- 
ture thee. 
Albeit,  considerations  infinite 
Do  make  against  it:— No,  good  Worcester,  no, 
We  love  our  people  well ;  even  those  we  love, 
That  are  misled  upon  your  cousin's  part : 
And,  will  they  take  the  offer  of  our  grace, 
Both  he,  and  they,  and  you,  yea.  every  man, 
Shall  be  my  friend  again,  and  I'll  be  his  : 
So  tell  your  cousin,  and  bring  me  word 
What  he  will  do  : — But  if  he  will  not  yield, 
Rebuke  and  dread  correction  wait  on  us. 
And  they  shall  do  their  oflice.     So,  be  gone ; 
We  will  not  now  be  troubled  with  reply : 
We  offer  fair,  take  it  advisedly. 

[Exeunt  Worcester  and  Vernon. 

P.  Hen.  It  will  not  be  accepted,  on  my  life : 
The  Douglas  and  the  Hotspur  both  together 
Are  confident  against  the  world  in  arms. 

K.  Hen.  Hence,  therefore,  every  leader  to  his 
charge ; 
For,  on  their  answer,  will  we  set  on  them : 
And  God  befriend  us,  as  our  cause  is  just ! 

[Exeunt  Kingr,  Blunt,  and  Prince  John. 

Fal.  Hal,  if  thou  see  me  down  in  the  battle,  and 
bestride  me,  so  ;  'tis  a  point  of  friendship. 

P.  Hen.  Nothing  but  a  colossus  can  do  thee  that 
friendship.    Say  thy  prayers^  and  farewell. 

Fal.  I  would  it  were  bed-time,  Hal,  and  all  well, 

P.  Hen.  Why,  thou  owest  God  a  death.    [Exit. 

Fal.  'Tis  not  due  yet:  I  would  be  loath  to  pay 
him  before  his  day.  What  need  I  be  so  forward 
with  him  that  calls  not  on  me  ?  Well,  'tis  no  mat- 
ter ;  Honour  pricks  me  on.  Yea,  but  how  if  honour 
prick  me  off"  when  I  come  on?  ho%v  then?  Can 
honour  set  to  a  leg  ?  No.  Or  an  arm  ?  No.  Or 
take  away  the  grief  of  a  wound  ?  No.  Honour 
hath  no  skill  in  surgery  then  ?  No.  What  is  honour  ? 
A  word.    What  is  in  that  word,  honour  ?  What  (« 

(4)  Exhibited  in  articles. 


Scene  //,  ///. 


FIRST  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV. 


m 


that  honour?  Air.  A  trim  reckoning ! — Who  hath 
it?  He  that  died  o'Wednesday.  Doth  he  feel  it? 
No.  Doth  he  hear  it  ?  No.  Is  it  insensible  then  ? 
Yea,  to  the  dead.  But  will  it  not  live  with  the 
livinc?  No.  Why?  Detraction  will  not  suffer  it : — 
therefore  I'll  none  of  it :  Honour  is  a  mere  scutch- 
eon,' and  so  ends  my  catecliism.  [Exit. 

SCE^TE  II.— The  rebel  camp.    Enter  Worcester 
and  Vernon. 

Wor.   0,  no,  my  nephew  must  not  know,  sir 
Richard, 
The  liberal  kind  offer  of  the  king. 

Ver,  'Twere  best  he  did. 

Wor.  Then  are  we  all  undone. 

It  is  not  possible,  it  cannot  be. 
The  king  shouW  keep  his  word  in  loving  us ; 
He  will  suspect  us  still,  and  find  a  time 
To  punish  this  offefice  in  other  laults : 
Suspicion  shall  be  all  stuck  full  of  eyes: 
For  treason  is  but  trusted  lilie  the  fox  : 
Who,  ne'er  so  tame,  so  cherish'd,  and  lock'd  up, 
Will  have  a  wild  trick  of  his  ancestors. 
Look  how  we  can,  or  sad,  or  merrily. 
Interpretation  will  misquote  our  looks ; 
And  we  shall  feed  like  oxen  at  a  stall. 
The  better  cherish'd,  still  the  nearer  death. 
jSIv  nephew's  trespass  may  be  well  forgot. 
It  liath  the  excuse  of  youth,  and  heat  of  blood ; 
And  an  adopted  name  of  privilege, — 
A  hair-brain'd  Hotspur,  govern'd  by  a  spleen : 
All  his  offences  live  upon  my  head, 
And  on  his  father's ; — we  did  train  him  on ; 
And,  his  corruption  bein;j  ta'en  from  us. 
We,  as  the  spring  cf  all,  shall  pay  for  all. 
Therefore,  good  cousin,  let  not  Harry  know, 
In  any  case,  tlie  ofler  of  the  king. 

Ver.  Deliver  what  you  will,  I'll  say,  'tis  so. 
Here  comes  your  cousin. 

Enter  Hotspur  and  Douglas ;  and  officers  and 
sMiers,  behind. 

Hot.  My  uncle  is  return'd : — Deliver  up 
Mvlord  of  Westmoreland. — ^Uncle,  what  news? 

Wor.  The  king  will  bid  you  battle  presently. 

Doug.  Defy  hiin  by  the  lord  of  Westmoreland. 

Hot.  Lord  Douglas,  go  you  and  tell  him  so. 

Doug.  Marry,  and  shall,  and  very  willingly. 

j_Exii 

Wor.  There  is  no  seeming  mercy  in  the  king. 

Hot.  Did  you  beg  any  ?  God  forbid  ! 

Wor.  I  told  him  gently  of  our  grievances. 
Of  Iris  oath-breaking  ;  which  he  mended  thus, — 
Bv  now  forswearing  that  he  is  forsworn : 
He  calls  us  rebels,  traitors  ;  and  will  scourge 
With  haughty  arms  this  hateful  name  in  us. 

Re-enter  Douglas, 
Doug.  Arm,  gentlemen ;  to  arms !  for  I  have 
thrown 
A  brave  defiance  in  king  Henry's  teeth, 
And  Westmoreland,  that  was  engag'd,did  bear  it; 
VVhich  cannot  choose  but  bring  him  quickly  on. 
Wor.  The  prince  of  Wales  stepp'd  forth  before 
the  king, 
And,  nephew,  challeng'd  you  to  single  fight. 

Hot.  O,  'would  the  quarrel  lay  upon  our  heads ; 
And  that  no  man  misht  draw  short  breath  to-day, 
But  I,  and  Harry  Monmouth !  Tell  me,  tell  me. 
How  show'd  his  tasking  ?  seemed  it  in  contempt  ? 
Ver.  No,  by  soul ;  I  never  in  my  life 

(1)  Painted  heraldrv  in  funerals, 
i2)  Recital.  f3^  Own. 


Did  hear  a  challenge  urg'd  more  modestly, 

Unless  a  brother  should  a  brother  dare 

To  gentle  exercise  and  proof  of  arms. 

He  gave  you  all  the  duties  of  a  man  ; 

Trimm'd  up  your  praises  with  a  princely  tongue ; 

Sf>oke  your  deservings  like  a  chronicle ; 

Making  you  ever  better  than  his  praise, 

By  still  dispraising  praise^  valued  with  you : 

And,  which  became  iiim  like  a  prince  indeed, 

He  made  a  blushing  cital*  of  himself; 

And  chid  his  truant  youth  with  such  a  grace. 

As  if  he  master'd  there  a  double  spirit. 

Of  teaching,  and  of  learning,  instantly. 

There  did  he  pause :  But  let  me  tell  the  world, — 

If  he  outlive  the  envy  of  this  day, 

England  did  never  owe'  so  sweet  a  hope, 

)>o  much  misconstrued  in  his  wantonness. 

Hot.  Cousin,  I  think,  thou  art  enamour'd 
Upon  his  follies  ;  never  did  I  hear 
Of  any  prince,  so  wild,  at  liberty : — 
But,  be  he  as  he  will,  yet  once  ere  night 
I  will  embrace  him  with  a  soldier's  arm. 

That  he  shall  shrink  under  my  courtesy. 

Arm,  arm,  with  speed : And,  fellows,  soldiers, 

friends, 

Better  consider  what  you  have  to  do, 
Than  I,  that  have  not' well  the  gift  of  tongue. 
Can  lift  your  blood  up  with  persuasion. 

Etiter  a  Messenger. 

J\Iess.  My  lord,  here  are  letters  for  you. 

Hot.  I  cannot  read  them  now. — 
0  gentlemen,  the  time  of  life  is  short ; 
To  spend  that  shortness  baselyj  were  too  long, 
If  life  did  ride  upon  a  dial's  pomt. 
Still  ending  at  the  arriral  of  an  hour. 
An  if  we  live,  we  live  to  tread  on  kings ; 
If  die,  brave  deatli,  when  princes  die  with  us  t 
Now  for  our  conscience, — the  arms  are  fair, 
When  the  intent  of  bearing  them  is  just. 

Enter  another  Messenger. 

J\Iess.  My  lord,  prepare ;  the  king  comes  on  apace. 

Hot.  I  thank  him,  that  he  cuts  me  from  my  tale. 
For  I  profess  not  talking ;  Only  this — 
Let  each  man  do  his  best :  and  here  draw  I 
A  sword,  whose  temper  I  intend  to  stain 
With  the  best  blood  that  I  can  meet  withal 
In  tlie  adventure  of  this  perilous  day. 
Now, — Esperance  I* — Percy ! — and  set  on. 
Sound  all  the  lofty  instruments  of  war, 
And  by  that  music  let  us  all  embrace : 
For,  heaven  to  earth,  some  of  us  never  shall 
A  second  time  do  such  a  courtesy. 

[The  trtimpets  sound.    They  enUtraee, 
and  exeunt.] 

SCEJ^E  III.— Plain  near  Shrttosbttry.  Exevr- 
aions,  and  parties  fighting.  Jllarum  to  the  iat< 
tie.    Then  enter  Douglas  and  Blunt,  meeting. 

Blunt.  What  w  thy  name,  that  in  the  battle  thus 
Thou  Grossest  me  ?  what  honour  dost  thou  seek 
Upon  my  head  ? 

Dou^.  Know  then,  my  name  is  Douglas ; 

And  I  do  haunt  thee  in  the  battle  thus,    . 
Because  some  tell  me.  that  thou  art  a  king. 

Blunt.  They  tell  thee  true. 

Doug.  The  lord  of  Stafford  dear  to-day  hath 
bought 
Thv  likeness ;  for,  instead  of  thee,  king  Harry, 
This  sword  hath  ended  him :  so  shall  it  thee. 
Unless  thou  yield  thee  as  my  prisoner. 


(4)  The  motto  of  the  Percy  family. 


4m 


FIRST  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV. 


^etr. 


Blunt.  I  was  not  born  a  yielder,  thou  proud  Scot ; 
And  thou  shall  tind  a  king  thai  will  reven>re 
Lord  StaHbrd'a  death. 

[They  fight,  and  Blunt  is  slain. 

Enter  Hotspur. 

Hot.  0  Douglas,  hadst  thou  fought  at  Holme- 
don  thus, 
I  never  had  triumph'd  upon  a  Scot. 

Doug.   All's  done,  all's  won  ;  here  breathless 
lies  the  king. 

Hot.  Where  ? 

Doug.  Here. 

Hot.  This,  Douglas  ?  no,  I  know  this  face  full 
well : 
A  gallant  knisht  he  was,  his  name  was  Blunt ; 
Semblably'  furnish'd  like  the  king  himself. 

Doug.  A  fool  go  with  thy  soul,  whither  it  goes ! 
A  borrow'd  title  hast  thou  bought  too  dear. 
Why  didst  thou  tell  me  that  thou  wert  a  king  ? 

Hot.  The  kin^  hath  many  marching  in  his  coats. 

Doug.  Now,  by  my  sword,  1  will  kill  all  his  coats ; 
I'll  murder  all  his  wardrobe,  piece  by  piece. 
Until  I  meet  the  king. 

Hot.  Up,  and  away ; 

Our  soldiers  stand  full  fairly  for  the  day.  [Exeunt. 
Other  alarums.    Enter  Falstaff. 

Fat.  Though  I  could  'scape  shot-free  at  London, 
I  fear  the  shot  here ;  here's  no  scoring,  but  upon  the 
paVfe. — Soft!  who  art  thou?  Sir  Walter  Blunt:— 
there's  honour  for  you:  Here's  no  vanity  ! — I  am 
as  hot  as  molten  lead,  and  as  heavy  too :  God  keep 
lead  out  of  me :  I  need  no  more  weight  than  mine 
own  bowels. — I  have  led  my  raggamuffins  where 
they  are  peppered :  there's  but  three  of  my  hundred 
and  fifty  left  alive ;  and  they  are  for  the  town's  end, 
to  beg  during  life.  But  who  comes  here  ? 
Enter  Prince  Henry. 

P.  Hen.  What,  stand'st  thou  idle  here  ?  lend  me 
thy  sword : 
Many  a  nobleman  lies  stark  and  stiffs 
Under  the  hoofs  of  vaunting  enemies. 
Whose  deaths  are  unreveng'd :  Pr'ythee,  lend  thy 
sword. 

Fat.  0  Hal,  I  pr'ythee,  give  me  leave  to  breathe 
a  while. — Turk  Gregory  never  did  such  deeds  in 
arms,  as  I  have  done  this  day.  I  have  paid  Percy, 
I  have  made  him  sure. 

P.  Hen.  He  is,  indeed ;  and  living  to  kill  thee. 
Lend  me  thy  sword,  I  pr'ythee. 

Fat.  Nay,  before  God,  Hal,  if  Percy  be  alive, 
thou  get'st  not  my  sword ;  but  take  my  pistol,  if 
thou  wilt. 

P.  Hen.  Give  it  me :  What,  is  it  in  the  case  ? 

Fal.  Ay,  Hal ;  'tis  hot,  'tis  hot ;  there's  that  will 
sack  a  city. 

[The  Prince  draws  out  a  bottle  of  sack. 

P.  Hen.  What,  is't  a  time  to  jest  and  dally  now  ? 

t Throws  it  at  him,  and  exit. 
„  e  alive,  Pll  pierce  him.  If 
he  do  come  in  my  waj,  so :  if  he  do  not,  if  1  come 
in  his,  willingly,  let  him  make  a  carbonado*  of  me. 
I  like  not  such  grinning  honour  as  sir  Walter  hath : 
Give  me  life  :  which  if  I  can  save,  so  ;  if  not, 
honour  comes  unlooked  for,  and  there's  an  end. 

[Exit. 
SCEJfE  IV.— Jtioiher  part  of  the  field.  Jllarums. 
Excursions.     Enter  the  King,  Prince  Henry, 
Prince  John,  and  Westmoreland. 
if.  Hen.  I  pr'ythee, 


(1)  In  resemblance. 

(2)  A I 


piece  of  meat  cut  crosswise  for  the  gridiron. 


Harry,  withdraw  thyself;  thou  bleed'st  toomucb  :— 
Lord  John  of  Lancaster,  go  you  with  him. 

P.  John.  Not  I,  my  lord,  unless  I  did  bleed  too. 

P.  Hen.  I  do  beseech  your  majesty,  make  up, 
Lest  your  retirement  do  amaze  your  friends. 

K.  Hen.  I  will  do  so  : — 
My  lord  of  Westmoreland,  lead  him  to  his  tent. 

West.  Come,  my  lord,  I  will  lead  you  to  your  tent 

P.  Hen.  Lead  me,  my  lord  ?  I  do  not  need  your 
help : 
And  heaven  forbid,  a  shallow  scratch  should  drive 
The  prince  of  Wales  from  such  a  field  as  tliis  ; 
Where  stain'd  nobility  lies  trodden  on. 
And  rebels'  arms  triumph  in  massacres  ! 

P.  John.  We  breathe  too  long : — Come,  cousin 
Westmoreland, 
Our  duty  this  way  lies ;  for  God's  sake,  come. 

[Exeu7it  Prince  John  and  Westmoreland. 

P.  Hen.   By  heaven,  thou  hast  deceiv'd  me, 
Lancaster, 
I  did  not  think  thee  lord  of  such  a  spirit : 
Before,  I  lov'd  thee  as  a  brother,  John ; 
But  now,  I  do  respect  thee  as  my  soul. 

K.  Hen.  I  saw  him  hold  lord  Piercy  at  the  point, 
With  lustier  maintenance  than  I  did  look  for 
Of  such  an  ungrown  warrior. 

P.  Hen.  0,  this  boy 

Lends  mettle  to  us  all !  [Exit. 

.Alarums.    Enter  Douglas. 

Doug.  Another  king  !  they  grow  like  Hydra's 
heads : 
I  am  the  Douglas,  fatal  to  all  those 
That  wear  those  colours  on  them. — What  art  thou. 
That  counterfeit'st  the  person  of  a  king  ? 

K.  Hen.  The  king  himself;  who,  Douglas,  grieves 
at  heart. 
So  many  of  his  shadows  thou  hast  met. 
And  not  the  very  king.    I  have  two  boys. 
Seek  Percy,  and  thyself,  about  the  field  : 
But,  seeing  thou  fall'st  on  me  so  luckily, 
I  will  assay  thee ;  so  defend  thyself. 

Doug.  I  fear,  thou  art  another  counterfeit ; 
And  yet,  in  faith,  thou  bear'st  thee  like  a  king : 
But  mine,  I  am  sure  thou  art,  whoe'er  thou  be, 
And  thus  I  win  thee. 

[They  fight ;  the  King  heitig  in  danger, 
enter  Prince  Henry. 

P.  Hen.  Hold  up  thy  head,  vile  Scot,  or  thou 
art  like 
Never  to  hold  it  up  a^ain  !  the  spirits 
Of  Shirly,  Stafford,  Blunt,  are  in  my  arms : 
It  is  the  prince  of  Wales,  that  threatens  thee ; 
Who  never  promiseth,  but  he  means  to  pay. — 

[They  fight;  Douglas  ^ici. 
Cheerly,  my  lord  ;  How  fares  your  grace  ? — 
Sir  Nicholas  Gawsey  hath  for  succour  sent. 
And  so  hath  Clifton  :  I'll  to  Clifton  straight. 

K.  Hen.  Stay,  and  breathe  awhile : — 
Thou  hast  redeem'd  thy  lost  opinion  ;' 
And  show'd,  thou  mak'st  some  tender  of  my  life, 
In  this  fair  rescue  thou  has  brought  to  me. 

P.  Hen.  O  heaven !  they  did  me  too  much  in  ■ 
jury. 
That  ever  said,  I  hearken'd  for  your  death. 
If  it  were  so,  I  might  have  let  alone 
The  insulting  hand  of  Douglas  over  you. 
Which  would  have  been  as  speedy  in  your  end, 
As  all  the  poisonous  potions  in  the  world. 
And  sav'd  the  treacherous  labour  of  your  son. 

K.  Hen.  Make  up  to  Clifton,  I'll  to  sir  Nicholas 
Gawsey.  [£rtt  King  Henry 

(3)  Reputation. 


Seme  V. 


FIRST  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV. 


400 


Enter  Hotspur. 


Hot.  If  I  mistake  not,  thou  art  Harry  Monmouth. 

P.  Hen.  Thou  speak'st  as  if  I  would  deny  my 
name. 

Hot.  My  name  is  Harry  Percy, 

P.  Hen.  Why,  then  I  see 

A  very  valiant  rebel  of  the  name. 
I  am  the  prince  of  Wales ;  and  think  not,  Percy, 
To  share  with  me  in  glory  any  more : 
1  wo  stars  keep  not  their  motion  in  one  sphere; 
Nor  can  one  England  brook  a  double  reign, 
Of  Harry  Percy,  and  ihe  prince  of  VV'alcs. 

Hot.  Nor  shall  it,  Harry,  for  the  hour  is  come 
To  end  the  one  of  us ;  And  'would  to  God, 
Thy  name  in  arms  ^vere  now  as  great  as  mihe  ! 

P.  Hen.  I'll  make  it  greater,  ere  I  part  from  thee ; 
And  all  the  budding  honours  on  thy  crest 
I'll  crop,  to  make  a  garland  for  my  head. 

Hot.  I  can  no  longer  brook  thy  vanities. 

[Theyfi^ht. 
Enter  Falstaff. 

Fd.  Well  said,  Hal !  to  it,  Hal !— Nay,  you  shall 
find  no  boy's  play  here,  I  can  tell  you. 

Enter  Douglas  ;  he  fights  with  Falstaff,  who  falls 
down  as  If  he  were  dead,  and  exit  Douglas.  Hot- 
spur is  wounded,  andfculs. 
Hot.  O,  Harry,  thou  hast  robli'd  me  of  my  youth : 
I  better  brook  the  loss  of  brittle  life, 
Than  those  proud  titles  thou  hast  won  of  me ; 
They  wound  my  thoughts,  worse  than  thy  sword 

my  ilesh : 

But  thought's  the  slave  of  life,  and  life  time's  fool ; 
And  time,  that  takes  survey  of  all  the  world, 
Must  have  a  stop.    O,  I  could  prophesy. 
But  that  the  earthy  and  cold  hand  of  death 
Lies  on  my  tongue  : — No,  Percy,  thou  art  dust. 
And  food  for — —  [Dies. 

P.  Hen.   For  worms,  brave  Percy:  Fare  thee 
well,  srreat  heart ! — 
Ill-weav'd  ambition,  how  much  art  thou  shrunk ! 
When  that  this  body  did  contain  a  spirit, 
A  kingdom  for  it  was  too  small  a  bound ; 
But  now,  tv?o  paces  of  the  vilest  earth 
Is  room  enough : — This  earth,  that  bears  thee  dead. 
Bears  not  alive  so  stout  a  gentleman. 
If  thou  wert  sensible  of  courtesy, 
1  should  not  make  so  dear  a  show  of  zeal  :— 
But  let  my  favours'  hide  thy  mangled  face ; 
And,  even  in  thy  behalf,  I'll  thank  myself 
For  doing  these  fair  rites  of  tenderness. 
Adieu,  and  take  thy  praise  with  thee  to  heaven ! 
Thy  ignominy  sleep  with  thee  in  the  grave. 
But  not  remember'd  in  thy  epitaph ! — 

[He  sees  Falstaff  on  the  ground. 
What !  old  acquaintance  !  could  not  all  this  flesh 
Keep  in  a  little  life  ?  Poor  Jack,  farewell ! 
I  could  have  better  spar'd  a  better  man. 
O,  I  should  have  a  heavy  miss  of  thee, 
If  I  were  much  in  love  with  vanity. 
Death  hath  not  struck  so  fat  a  deer  to-day, 
Though  many  dearer,  in  this  bloody  fray : 
Etnbowell'd  will  I  see  Ihee  by  and  \)y  ; 
Till  then,  in  blood  by  noble  Percy  lie.  [Exit. 

Fal.  [Rising  slowly.]  Embowell'd  !  If  thou  em 
bowel  me  to-day,  I'll  give  you  leave  to  poivdcr*  me, 
and  eat  me  too,  to-morrow.  'Sblood,  'twas  time 
to  counterfeit,  or  that  hot  termaErant  Scot  had  paid 
me  scot  and  lot  too.  Counterfeit?  I  lie,  I  am  no 
counterfeit :  To  die,  is  to  be  a  counterfeit ;  for  he 
is  but  the  counterfeit  of  a  man,  who  hath  net  the 

(1)  Scarf  with  which  he  covers  Percy's  face. 


life  of  a  man :  but  to  counterfeit  dying,  when  a 
man  thereby  liveth,  is  to  be  no  counterfeit,  but  the 
true  and  perfect  ima^e  of  life  indeed.  The  better 
part  of  valour  is— discretion:  in  the  which  better 
part,  I  have  saved  my  life.  Zounds,  I  am  afraid 
of  this  gunpowder  Percy,  though  he  be  dead  : 
How,  if  he  should  counterfeit  too,  and  rise  ?  I  am 
afraid  he  would  ^rove  the  better  counterfeit.  There- 
fore I'll  make  him  sure :  yea,  and  I'll  swear  I  kill- 
ed him.  Why  may  not  he  rise,  as  well  as  I  ? 
Nothing  confutes  me  but  eyes,  and  nobody  sees 
me.  Therefore,  sirrah,  [Stabbiiig  him.]  with  a  new 
wound  in  your  thigh,  come  yoir  along  with  me. 

[Takes  Hotspur  on  his  back. 
Iie-e7itEr  Prince  Henry  and  Prince  John. 

P.  Hen.  Come,  brother  John,  full  bravely  hast 
thou  flesh'd 
Thy  maiden  sword. 

P.  John.  But  sod !  whom  have  we  here  ? 

Did  you  not  tell  me,  thijjiit  man  was  dead  ? 

P.  Hen.  I  did ;  I  saw  him  dead,  breathless  and 
bleeding 

Upon  tbeeround. 

Art  thou  Jilive  ?  or  is  it  phantasy 
That  plays  upon  our  eye-sight  ?  I  pr'ythce,  speak ; 
We  will  not  trust  our  eyes,  without  our  ears : — 
Thou  art  not  what  thou  seem'st. 

Fal.  No,  that's  certain  ;  I  am  not  a  double  man; 
but  if  I  bs  not  Jack  Falstaff,  then  am  I  a  Jack. 
There  is  Percy:  [Throwing  the  body  down.]  if 
your  father  will  do  me  any  lionour,  so ;  if  not,  let 
him  kill  the  next  Percy  himself.  I  look  to  be  either 
earl  or  duke,  I  can  assure  you. 

P.  Hen.  Why,  Percy  I  killed  myself,  and  saw 
thee  dead. 

Fal.  Didst  thou  ? — Lord,  lord,  how  this  world  is 
given  to  lying ! — I  grant  you,  I  was  down,  and  out 
of  breath ;  and  so  was  he :  but  we  rose  both  at  an 
instant,  and  fought  a  long  hour  by  Shrewsbury 
clock.  If  I  may  be  believed,  so  ;  if  not,  let  them, 
that  should  reward  valour,  bear  the  sin  upon  their 
own  heads.  I'll  take  it  upon  my  death,  I  gave 
him  this  wound  in  the  thigh:  if  the  man  were 
alive,  and  would  deny  it,  I  would  make  him  eat  a 
piece  of  my  sword. 

P.  John.  This  is  the  strangest  tale  that  e'er  I 
heard. 

P.  Hen.  This  is  the  strangest  fellow,  brother 

John. 

Come,  bring  your  luggag<5  nobly  on  your  back: 
For  my  part,  if  a  lie  may  do  thee  grace, 
I'll  gild  it  with  the  happiest  terms  I  have. 

[w9  retreat  is  sounded. 
The  trumpet  sounds  retreat,  the  day  is  ours. 
Come,  brother,  let's  to  the  highest  of  the  field. 
To  see  ■vvhat  friends  are  living,  who  are  dead. 

[Exeunt  Prince  Henry  and  Prince  John. 

Fal.  I'll  follow,  as  they  say,  for  reward.  Ho 
that  rewards  me,  God  re^vard  him  !  If  I  do  grow 
gieatj  I'll  grow  less ;  for  I'll  purge,  and  leave  sack, 
and  hve  cleanly,  as  a  nobleman  should  do. 

[Exit,  bearing  off  the  body. 

SCEJVE  v.— Another  part  of  the  field.  The 
trumpets  sound.  Enter  King  Henry,  Prince 
Henry,  Prince  John,  Westmoreland,  and  others; 
with  Worcester,  and  Vernon,  prisoners. 

K.  Hen.  Thus  ever  did  rebellion  find  rebuke.— 
Ill-spirited  Worcester ! — did  we  not  send  grace, 
Pardon,  and  terms  of  love  to  all  of  you? 
And  would'st  thou  turn  our  oflers  contrary? 

(2)  SalU 
3F 


410 


FIRST  1  itKT  OF  KING  HENRY  IV. 


»adr. 


Misuse  the  tenor  of  thy  kinsman's  trust  ? 
Three  knights  upon  our  party  slain  to  day, 
A  noble  earlj  and  many  a  creature  else, 
Had  been  alive  this  hour, 
If,  like  a  Christian,  thou  hadst  truly  borne 
Betwixt  our  armies  true  intelligence. 

Wor.  What  I  have  done,  my  safety  urg'd  me  to ; 
And  I  embrace  this  fortune  patiently. 
Since  not  to  be  avoided  it  falls  on  me. 

K.  Hen,  Bear  Worcester  to  the  death,  and  Ver- 
non too : 
Other  offenders  we  will  pause  upon. — 

[Exeunt  Worcester  and  Vernon,  guarded. 
How  woes  the  field  ? 

P.  Hen.  The  noble  Scot,  lord  Douglas,  when 
he  saw 
The  fortune  of  the  day  quite  turn'd  from  him. 
The  noble  Percy  slain,  and  all  his  men 
Upon  the  foot  of  fear, — fled  with  the  rest ; 
And,  falling  from  a  hill,  he  was  so  bruis'd. 
That  the  pursuers  took  him.    At  my  tent 
The  Douglas  is :  and  I  beseech  your  grace, 
I  may  dispose  of  him. 

K.  Hen.  With  all  my  heart. 


P.  Hen.  Then,  brother  John  of  Lancaster,  to 

you 
This  honourable  bounty  shall  belong : 
Go  to  the  Douglas,  and  deliver  him 
Up  to  his  pleasure,  ransomless,  and  free : 
His  valour  shown  upon  our  crests  to-day. 
Hath  taught  us  how  to  cherish  such  high  deeds, 
Even  in  the  bosom  of  our  adversaries. 
K.  Hen.  Then   this  remains, — that  ive  divido 

our  power. — 
You,  son  John,  and  my  cousin  Westmoreland, 
Towards  York  shall  bend  you,  with  vour  deareft 

speed. 
To  meet  Northumberland^  and  the  prelate  Scroop 
Who,  as  we  hear,  are  biisily  in  arms  : 
Myself, — and  you,  son  Harry, — will  towards  Wales 
To  fi£;ht  with  Glendower,  and  the  earl  of  March. 
Rebellion  in  this  land  shall  lose  his  sway. 
Meeting  the  check  of  such  another  day  : 
And  since  this  business  so  fair  is  done. 
Let  us  not  leave  till  all  our  own  be  won. 

[Extml 


/^ 


/ 


I 


^T^x. 


KING  HENRY  IV.  PART  II. 
Aci   V. — Scene  5. 


KING   HENRY  V. 
Act  III.— Scent  3. 


(    411    ) 

SECOND  PART  OF 

KING  HENRY  IV. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


King  Henry  the  Fourth. 

Henrv,  prmee.  of  Wales,   afUrwards') 

Kin<r  HenryV.  ; 
Thomas,  duke  oj  Clarence  ;  • 

Prince  John  of  Lancaster,  aflerwards  \  his  sons. 

(2  Henry  Y.)  duke  of  Bedford;        I 
Prince  Humphrey  o/Gtos<er,  afterwards 

(2  Henry  V. )  duke  of  Gioster  ;       ) 
Earl  of  Wanvick  ;  i 

Eari  of  Westmoreland ;  >  of  the  king^s  party. 
Gowcr  ;  Harcourl ;        ) 
Lord  chief  Justice  of  the  King^s  Bench. 
A  Gentleman  attending  on  the  Chief  Justice. 
Earl  of  Northumberland  ;  \ 

Scroop,  archbishop  of  York  ;  f    enemies  to 

Lord  Mowbray ;  Lord  Hastings ;       j     the  king. 
Lord  Bardolph ;  Sir  John  Coleville;  j 


Travcrs  a7id  Morton,  domestics  of  Northumberland. 

Falstaff,  Bardolph,  Pistol,  and  rage. 

Poins  and  Peto,  attendants  on  Prince  Henry. 

Shallow  and  Silence,  country  Justices. 

Davy,  servant  to  Shallow. 

Mouldy,  Shadoiv,  Wart,  Feeble,  and  BuIIcalf,  re- 

cndts. 
Fang  and  Snare,  sheriff^f  officers. 
Rumour.    A  Porter. 
Ji  Dancer,  speaker  of  the  Epilogue. 

Lady  Northumberland.    Lady  Percy. 
Hostess  Quickly.    Doll  Tear-sheet. 

Lords  and  other  attendants  ;  officers,  soldiers,  met' 
senger,  drawers,  beadles,  grooms,  4*c. 

Scene,  England. 


INDUCTION. 


WarKworth.    Before  Northumberland's  castle. 
Enter  Rumour,  painted  full  of  tongues. 

Rum.  Open  your  ears ;  For  which  of  you  will 
stop 
The  vent  of  hearing,  when  loud  Rumour  speaks  ? 
I,  from  the  orient  to  the  drooping  west. 
Making  the  wind  my  post-horse,  still  unfold 
The  acts  commenced  on  this  ball  of  earth  : 
Upon  my  tongues  continual  slanders  ride  ; 
The  which  in  every  language  I  pronounce. 
Bluffing  the  ears  of  men  with  false  reports. 
(  speak  of  peace,  while  covert  enmity. 
Under  the  smile  of  safety,  wounds  the  world  : 
And  who  but  Rumour,  who  but  only  I, 
Make  fearful  musters,  and  prepar'd  defence  ; 
Whilst  the  big  year,  swoll'n  with  some  other  grief, 
Is  thought  with  child  by  tiie  stern  tyrant  war. 
And  no  such  matter  ?  Rumour  is  a  pipe 
Blown  by  surmises,  jealousies,  conjectures  ; 
And  of  so  easy  and  so  plain  a  stop. 
That  the  blunt  monster  with  uncounted  heads, 
The  still-discordant  wavering  multitude. 
Can  play  upon  it.     But  what  need  I  thus 
My  well-known  body  to  anatomize 
Among  my  household  ?  Why  is  Rumour  here  ? 
I  run  before  king  Harry's  victory; 
Who,  in  a  bloody  field  by  Shrewsbury, 
Hath  beaten  down  young  Hotspur,  and  his  troops, 
Quenching  the  flame  of  bold  rebellion 
Even  with  the  rebel's  blood.    But  what  mean  I 
To  speak  so  true  at  first?  my  office  is 
To  noise  abroad,— that  Harry  Monmouth  fell 
Under  the  wrath  of  noble  Hotspur's  sword ; 
And  that  the  king  before  the  Douglas'  rage 
Stoop'd  his  anointed  head  as  low  as  death. 

(1)  Northumberland's  castle. 


This  have  I  rumour'd  through  the  peasant  towns 
Between  that  royal  field  of  Shrewsbury 
And  this  worm-eaten  hold  of  ragged  stone,' 
Where  Hotspur's  father,  old  Northumberland, 
Lies  crafty-sick :  the  posts  come  tiring  on, 
And  not  a  man  of  them  brings  other  news 
Than  they  have  learn'd  of  me ;  From  Rumour's 

tongues 
They  bring  smooth  comforts  false,  worse  than  true 

wrongs.  [Exit, 


ACT  I. 

SCEJ^E  L—The  same.    The  Porter  before  th* 
gate ;  Enter  Lord  Bardolph. 

Bard.  Who  keeps  the  gate  here,  ho  7 — ^Where  ia 

the  earl  ? 
Port.  What  shall  I  say  you  are? 
Bard.  Tell  thou  the  earl, 

That  the  lord  Bardolph  doth  attend  him  here. 
Port.  His  lordship  is  walk'd  forth  into  the  or- 
chard ; 
Please  it  your  honour,  knock  but  at  the  gate, 
And  he  hnnsclf  will  answer. 

Enter  Northumberland. 

Bard.  Here  comes  the  earl. 

JVbrtA.  What  news,  lord  Bardolph?  every  minuts 
now 
Should  be  the  father  of  some  stratagem  :* 
The  times  arc  wild ;  contention,  like  a  horse 
Full  of  high  feeding,  madly  hath  broke  loose, 
And  bears  down  all  before  him. 

Bard.  Noble  earl, 

I  bring  you  certai.i  news  from  Shrewsbury. 

J^ortn.  Good,  an  heaven  will ! 

Bard.  As  good  as  heart  can  wish  :-# 

The  king  is  almost  wounded  to  the  death ; 

(2)  Important  or  dreadful  event. 


41Si 


SECOND  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV. 


dclL 


And,  in  the  fortune  of  my  lord  your  son, 
Prince  Harry  slain  outright ;  and  both  the  Blunts 
Kill'd  by  the  hand  of  Douglas :  young  prince  John, 
And  Westmoreland,  and  Stafford,  fleU  ihe  lield  ; 
And  Harry  Monmouth's  brawn,  the  hulk  sir  John, 
Is  prisoner  to  your  son  :  O,  sucn  u  day. 
So  fou[;hi.,  so  ibllow'd,  and  so  fairly  won, 
Came  not,  till  now,  to  dignify  the  limes, 
Siisce  Cxsar's  fortunes ! 

Js''orlh.  IIov/ is  this  deriT'd? 

Saw  you  tlie  field  ?  came  you  from  Shrewsbury  ? 

Bard.  1  spake  with  one,  my  lord,  that  came  from 
thence ; 
A  gentleman  v/ell  bred,  and  of  good  name. 
That  freely  render'd  me  these  nev.-s  for  true. 

JVbrt'A.  Here  comes  my  servant,  Travers,  whom 
I  sent 
On  Tuesday  last  to  listen  afler  news. 

Bard.  i\ly  lord,  I  over-rode  him  on  the  way; 
And  he  is  furnish'djj(jiij(<iO certainties, 
More  tlian  he  haply  feiay'retiiin  from  me. 

Enter  Travers. 

J^orlh.  Now,  Travers,  ivhat  good  tidings  come 
with  you  V 

Tra.  My  lord,  sir  John  Umfrevile  turn'dmeback 
With  joyful  tidings;  ai:d,  being  better  hors'd, 
Out-rode  mc.    After  him,  came,  spurrinjr  hard, 
I A  gentleman  almost  forspent'  ivilh  speed^ 
That  stonp'd  by  me  to  breathe  his  bloodied  horse : 
He  ask'd  the  ivay  to  Chester ;  and  of  him  > 

I  did  demand,  what  news  from  Shrewsbury. 
He  told  me,  that  rebellion  had  bad  luck. 
And  that  young  Harry  Percy's  spur  was  cold: 
With  that,  he  gave  his  able  horse  the  head, 
Andj  bending  forward,  struck  his  armed  heels 
Agamst  the  panling  sides  w'his  poor  jade 
Up  to  the  rowel-head  ;  and,  starting  so. 
He  seem'd  in  running  to  devour  the  way, 
Staying  no  longer  question. 

Jyorlh.  Ha ! Again. 

Suid  he,  young  Harry  Percy's  spur  was  cold? 
Of  Hotspur,  coklspur?  tiiat  rebellion 
Had  met  ill  luck  ? 

Bard.  My  lord,  I'll  tell  you  what ; — 

If  my  young  lord  your  son  has  not  the' day, 
Upon  mine  honour,  for  a  silken  point* 
I'll  give  mr  barony  :  never  talk  of  it. 

J^'orlli.  Why  should  the  gentleman,  that  rode  by 
Travers, 
Give  tlien  such  instances  of  loss  ? 

Bard.  Who,  he  ? 

He  was  some  hilding^  fellow,  that  had  stol'n 
The  horse  he  rode  on  ;  and,  upon  my  life. 
Spoke  at  a  venture.  Look,  here  comes  more  news. 

Enttr  Morton. 

J'Torth.  Yea,  this  man's  brow,  like  to  a  title-leaf. 
Foretells  the  nature  of  a  tragic  tolume: 
So  looks  the  strond,  whereon  the  imperious  flood 

Hath  left  a  v/itncss'd  usurpation." 

Say,  Morton,  didst  thou  come  from  Shrewsbury? 

J\aor.  I  ran  from  Shrewsbury,  mv  noble  lord ; 
Where  hateful  death  put  on  his  ugliest  mask, 
To  fright  our  party. 

Js'crth.  How  doth  my  son,  and  brother? 

Thou  trcmblest ;  and  the  whiteness  in  thy  cheek 
Is  apter  than  thy  tongue  to  tell  thy  errand. 
Even  such  a  man,  so  faint,  so  spiritless. 
So  dull,  so  dead  iu  look,  so  v/o-begone, 

(1)  Exhausted.        (2)  Lace  tagged. 

(3)  Hilderling,  base,  cowardly. 

(4)  An  attestation  of  it«  ravage. 


Drew  Priam's  curtain  in  tlie  dead  of  night, 
And  would  have  told  him,  half  his  Troy  was  burn'd : 
But  Priam  found  the  fire,  ere  he  his  tongue, 
And  I  my  Percy's  death,  ere  thou  report'st  it. 
Tliis  tliou  wouldst  say, — Your  son  did  thus,  and 

thus ; 
Your  brother,  thus;  so  fought  the  noble  Douglas  ; 
Stopping  my  greedy  ear  with  their  bold  deeds ; 
But  \n  the  end,  to  stop  mine  car  indeed. 
Thou  hast  a  sigh  to  blow  away  this  praise. 
Ending  with — •brother,  son,  and  all,  arc  dead. 

Mor.  Douglas  is  living,  and  jour  brother, yet ; 
But,  for  my  lord  your  son, 

J^orth.  Why,  he  is  deaCf. 

See,  what  a  ready  tongue  suspicion  hath  ! 
He,  that  but  fears  the  thing  he  would  not  know, 
Hath,  by  instinct,  knowledge  from  others'  eyes. 
That  what  he  fear'd  is  chanced.  Yet  speak,  MortoQ^ 
Tell  thou  thy  earl,  his  divination  lies  ; 
And  I  will  take  it  as  a  sv.eet  disgrace. 
And  make  thee  rich  for  doing  me  such  wrong. 

JUor.  You  arc  too  great  to  be  by  mc  gainsaid : 
Your  spirit  is  too  true,  your  fears  too  certain. 

JiTorth.  Yet,  for  all  this,  say  not  that  Percy's  dead* 
I  see  a  strange  confession  in  thine  eye  : 
Thou  shak'st  thy  head,  and  hoid'st  it  fear,  or  sin, 
To  speak  a  truth.     If  he  be  slain,  say  so  : 
The  tonfjuf* offends  not,  that  reports  his  death: 
And  he  (loth  sin,  that  doth  belie  the  dead  ; 
Not  he,  trbich  says  the  dead  is  not  alive. 
Yet  the  first  bringer  of  unwelcome  news 
Hath  but  a  losing  oillcc ;  and  his  tongue 
Sounds  ever  after  as  a  sullen  bell, 
Remember'd  knelling  a  departed  friend. 

Bard.  I  cannot  think,  mv  lord,  your  son  is  dead. 

Mqi\  I  am  sorry.  I  should  force  you  to  believe 
That,  -which  I  would  to>teavcn  I  had  not  seen : 
But  these  mine  eyes  saw  him  in  bloody  state, 
Rend'ring  fi!intquittance,*wcar;cd  and  outbreath'd, 
To  Harry  Monmouth :  whose  swift  wrath beatdown 
The  never-daunted  Percy  to  the  earth, 
From  whence  with  life  he  never  more  sprung  up. 
In  fcw,*^  his  death  (whose  spirit  lent  a  /ire 
Even  to  the  dullest  peasant  in  his  camp,) 
Being  bruited'  once,  took  fire  and  heat  away 
From  the  best  temper'd  courage  in  his  troops  : 
For  from  his  metal  Vias  his  party  steel'd  ; 
Wliich  once  in  him  abated,  all  the  rest 
Turn'd  on  themselves,  like  dull  and  heavy  lead. 
And  as  the  thing  that's  heavy  in  itself. 
Upon  enforcement,  flies  with  greatest  speed ; 
So  did  our  men,  heavy  in  Hotspur's  loss. 
Lend  to  this  weight  such  lightness  with  their  fear, 
That  arrows  fled  not  swifter  toward  their  aim, 
Than  did  our  soldiers,  aiming  at  their  safety. 
Fly  from  the  field  :  Then  was'  that  noble  Worcester 
Too  Koon  ta'cn  prisoner :  and  that  furious  Scot, 
The  bloody  Douglas,  whose  well-labouring  sword 
Had  three  times  slain  Ihe  appearance  of  the  king, 
'Gan  vail'  his  stomach,  and  did  grace  the  shame 
Of  those  that  turn'd  their  backs ;  and,  in  his  flight, 
Stiunbling  in  fear,  was  took.    The  sum  of  all 
Is, — tliat  the  king  hath  won  ;  and  hath  sent  out 
A  speedy  power  to  encounter  you,  my  lord. 
Under  the  conduct  of  young  Lancaster, 
And  Westmoreland  :  this  is  the  news  in  full. 

JsTwlh.  For  this  I  shall  have  time  enough  to  mourn. 
In  poison  there  is  physic ;  and  these  news. 
Having  been  well,  that  would  have  made  me  sick, 
Being  sick,  have  in  some  measure  made  me  well : 
And  as  the  wretch,  whose  fever- weaken'd  joints. 


(o)  Return  of  blows. 
(7)  Reported. 


(6)  In  few  words. 
(8)  -       -  ■■ 


Let  fall. 


Scene  11. 


SECOND  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  \V. 


413 


Like  strengthless  hinges,  buckle  under  life 
Impatient  of  his  fit,  breaks  like  a  lire 
Out  of  his  keeper's  arms ;  even  so  my  limbs, 
Weaken'd  ivith  crief,  being'  now  cnrag'd  with  grief, 
Are  thrice  tliemsclves  ;  hence  therelbre,  thou  nice' 

crutch  ; 
A  scaly  gauntlet  now,  with  joints  of  steel. 
Must  glove  this  hand :  and  hence,  thou  sickly  quoif;- 
Thou  art  a  juard  too  wanton  for  the  head, 
Which  princes,  flesh'd  with  conquest,  aim  to  hit. 
No»v  bind  my  brows  with  iron  ;  and  approach 
The  ragared'st  hoar  that  time  and  spite  dare  bring, 
To  frown  upon  the  enrac'd  Northumberland  ! 
Let  heaven  kiss  earth  !    Now  let  not  nature's  hand 
Keep  the  wild  flood  confin'd  !  let  order  die ! 
And  let  this  world  no  longer  be  a  stage, 
To  feed  contention  in  a  lin<rcrin^  act ; 
But  let  one  spirit  of  tiie  first-born  Cam 
Reic;n  in  all  bosoms,  that,  each  heart  being  set 
On  bloody  courses,  the  rude  scene  may  end. 
And  darkness  be  the  burier  of  the  dead ! 

Tra.  This  strained  passion  doth  you  wrong,  my 
lord. 

Bard.  Sweet  earl,  divorce  not  wisdom  from  your 
honour. 

Mar.  The  lives  of  all  your  lovinnr  compiler '■■ 
Lean  on  your  health  ;  the  which,  if  you  j^ive  . 
To  stormy  passion,  must  perforce  decay. 
You  cast  the  event  of  war,  my  noble  lord. 
And  summ'd  the  account  of  chance,  fiefore  you 

said, 
Let  us  make  head.    It  was  your  presurmise, 
That  in  the  dole'  of  blows  your  son  might  drop: 
You  knew,  he  walk'd  o'er  perils,  on  an  edge, 
More  likely  to  fill  in,  than  to  get  o'er  : 
Y'ou  were  advis'd,  his  flesh  was  capable 
Of  wounds,  and  scars  ;  and  that  his  forward  spirits 
Would  lift  him  where  most  trade  of  danger  rang'd ; 
Yet  did  you  say, — Go  forth ;  and  none  of  this, 
Though  slronp;!y  apprehended,  could  restrain 
The  stiff-borne  action :  What  !iath  then  befallen, 
Or  what  hath  this  bold  enterprise  brought  forth, 
More  than  that  bcinrr  which  was  like  to  be  ? 

Bard.  We  all,  that  arc  enga;;cd  to  this  loss, 
Knew  that  we  ventur'd  on  such  dangerous  seas, 
That,  if  we  wrought  out  life,  'twas  ten  to  one : 
And  yet  vrc  ventur'd,  for  the  gain  propos'd 
Chok'd  the  respect  of  likely  peril  fear'd ; 
And,  since  we  are  o'erset.  Venture  again. 
Come,  we  will  all  put  forth  ;  body,  and  goods. 

Mor.  'Tis  more  than  time :  And,  my  most  noble 
lord, 

I  hear  for  certain,  and  do  speak  the  truth, 

The  gentle  archbishop  of  York  is  up. 
With  well-appointed  powers  ;•■  he  is  a  man, 
%NTio  with  a  double  surety  binds  his  followers. 
My  lord  your  son  had  only  but  the  corps. 
But  shadows,  and  the  shows  of  men,  to  fight: 
For  that  same  word,  rebellion,  did  divide 
The  action  of  their  oodles  from  their  souls ; 
And  they  did  fight  with  queaiiness,'  conslrain'd, 
As  men  drink  potions  ;  that  iheir  weapons  only 
Seem'd  on  our  side,  but,  for  their  spirits  and  souls, 
This  word,  rebellion,  it  had  froze  them  up. 
As  fish  are  in  a  pond :  But  now  the  bishop 
Turns  insurrection  to  religion  : 
Suppos'd  sincere  and  holy  in  his  thouehts. 
He's  follow'd  both  with  body  and  with  mind ; 
And  doth  enlarge  his  risine  with  the  blood 
Of  fair  king  Richard,  scrap'd  from  Pomfret  stones ; 

(1)  Triflinff.        (2)  Cap.        (3)  Distribution. 
(4)  Forces^         (5)  Against  their  stomachs. 
(6)  Greater.       (7)  Owned,       (8)  Gibe. 


I  Derives  from  heaven  his  quarrel,  and  his  cause ; 
Tells  them,  he  doth  bestride  a  bleeding  land. 
Gasping  for  life  under  great  Bolinebroke ; 
j  And  more,*  and  less,  do  flock  to  follow  him. 
I    JSTorth.  I  knew  of  this  before ;  but,  to  speak  truth. 
This  present  grief  had  wip'd  it  from  my  mind. 
Go  in  with  me  ;  and  counsel  every  man 
The  aptest  way  for  safety,  and  revenge : 
Get  posts,  and  letters,  and  make  friends  with  speed  • 
Never  so  few,  and  never  yei  more  need.    [Exeunt'. 

SCE.VE  77.— London.  Jl  street.  Enter  Sir  John 
Falstaff,  tcUk  hU  Page  bearins  his  sword  and 
buckler. 

Fal.  Sirrah,  you  giant,  what  says  the  doctor  to 
my  water  ? 

Page.  He  said,  sir,  the  water  itself  was  a  good 
healthy  water :  but,  for  the  party  that  owed*  it,  Ito 
might  have  more  diseas^^an  he  knew  for. 

Fal.  Men  of  all  sorUgpS  a  pride  to  gird'  at  me ; 
The  brain  of  this  fuolSn^iompounded  clav,  man,  is 
not  able  to  vent  any  thing  that  tends  to  laughter, 
more  than  I  invent,  or  is  invented  on  me :  I  am  not 
only  witty  in  myself,  but  the  cause  that  wit  is  in 
uli.cr  men.  I  do  here  walk  before  thee,  like  a  sow, 
'Llint  hath  o'erwhelmed  all  her  litter  but  one.  If  the 
•  put  thee  into  my  service  for  any  other  reason 
.0  set  me  off,  why  then  I  have  no  judgment. 
ii)uu  whoreson  mandrake,'  thou  art  fitter  to  be 
worn  in  my  cap,  than  to  wait  at  my  heels.  I  was 
never  manned  with  an  agate'"  till  n'ow  :  but  I  will 
set  you  neither  in  gold  nor  silver,  but  in  vile  appa- 
rel, and  send  you  back  again  to  your  master,  for  a 
jewel ;  the  Juvenal,  the  prince  your  master,  whose 
chin  is  not  yet  fledged.  I  will  sooner  have  a  beard 
grow  in  the  palm  of  my  hand,  than  he  shall  get  one 
on  his  cheek ;  and  yet  he  will  not  stick  to  say,  his 
face  is  a  face  royal :  God  may  finish  it  when  he 
will,  it  is  not  a  hair  a^iss  j-ct :  ho  may  keep  it  still 
as  a  face-royal,  for  a  barber  shall  never  earn  six- 
pence out  of  it ;  and  yet  he  will  be  crowing,  as  if 
he  had  wrjt  man  ever  since  his  father  was  a  bache- 
lor.   He  mav  keep  his  own  grace,  but  he  is  almost 

out  of  mine,   I   can    assure  him. What  said 

master  Dumbleton  about  the  satin,  for  my  short 
clock,  and  slops  ? 

Page.  He  said,  sir,  you  should  procure  him  bet- 
ter assurance  than  Bardolph :  he  would  not  take 
hLs  bond  and  ycurs  ;  he  liked  not  the  security. 

Fal.  Let  him  be  damned  like  a  glutton !  may 
his  tongue  be  hotter ! — A  whoreson  Achitophel !  a 
rascally  yea-forsooth  knave!  to  bear  a  gentleman 
in  hand,  and  then  stand  upon  security ! — The  whore- 
son smooth-pates'  do  now  wear  nothing  but  high 
shoes,  and  bunches  of  keys  at  their  girdles  ;  and  if 
a  man  is  thorough"  with  them  in  honest  taking  up, 

thtn  they  must  stand  upon security.    I  had  as 

lief  they  would  put  ratsbane  in  my  moutli,  ns  offer 
to  stop  it  with  security.  1  looked  he  should  have 
sent  me  two  and  twenty  yards  of  satin,  as  I  am  a 
true  knight,  and  he  sends  me  security.  Well,  he 
may  sleep  in  security ;  for  he  halh  the  liorn  of 
abundance,  and  the  lightness  of  his  wife  shines 
through  it:    and  yet  cannot  he  see,  though  he 

have  his  own  lantern  to  light  him. Where's 

Bardolph? 

Poge.  He's  gone  into  Smithfield,  to  buy  your 
worship  a  horse. 

Fal.  I  bouiiht  him  in  Paul's,  and  he'll  buy  me  a 
horse  in  Smithfield :  an  I  could  get  me  but  a  wife 

(9)  A  root  supposed  to  have  the  shape  of  a  man. 

(10)  A  little  figure  cut  in  an  agate. 

(11)  In  their  debt  » 


414 


SECOND  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IT. 


iclL 


in  the  stews,  1  were  manned,  horsed,  and  wived.' 
Enter  the  Lord  Chief  Justice,  and  an  attendant. 

Page.  Sir,  here  come"  the  nobleman  that  com- 
mitted the  prince  for  strikmg  him  about  Bardolph. 

Fal.  Wait  close  ;  1  will  not  see  him. 

Ch.  Just.  What's  he  that  goes  there  ? 

Mten.  Falstair,  an't  please  your  lordship. 

Ch.  Just.  He  that  was  in  question  for  the  robbery? 

Mten.  He,  mv  lord:  but  he  hath  since  done 
good  service  at  Shrewsbury  ;  and,  as  I  hear,  is 
now  going  wilh  some  charge  to  the  lord  John  of 

Ch.  Just.  What,  to  York  ?  Call  him  back  again. 

Mten.  Sir  John  Falstaft'! 

Fal.  Boy,  tell  him,  I  am  deaf. 

Page.  \  ou  must  speak  louder,  my  master  is  deaf. 

Ch.  Jusl.  I  am  sure,  he  is,  to  the  hearine;  of  any 
thina;  good. — Go,  pluck  him  by  the  elbow  ;  I  must 
speak  with  him. 

Mten.  Sir  John, 

Fal.  What !  a  young  knave,  and  beg !  Is  there 
not  v\'ars  ?  is  there  not  employment?  Doth  not  the 
king  lack  subjects?  do  not  the  rebels  need  sol- 
diers ?  Though  it  be  a  shame  to  be  on  any  side 
but  one.  it  is  worse  shame  to  bee  than  to  be  on  the 
worst  side,  were  it  worse  than  the  name  of  rebel- 
lion can  tell  how  to  make  it. 

Mten.  You  mistake  me,  sir. 

Fal.  Why,  sir,  did  I  say  you  were  an  honest 
man  ?  setting  m^  knighthood  and  my  soldiership 
aside,  I  had  lied  ix\  my  throat  if  I  had  said  so. 

Jitlen.  I  pray  you,  sir^  then  s6t  your  knishthood 
and  your  soldiership  aside ;  and  give  me  leave  to 
tell  you,  you  lie  in  your  throat,  if  you  say  I  am  any 
other  than  an  honest  man. 

Fd.  I  give  thee  leave  to  tell  me  so !  I  lay  aside 
that  which  grows  to  me !  If  thou  gctt'st  any  leave 
of  me,  hang  me ;  if  thou  takest  leave,  thou  wert 
better  be  hanged :  You  hunt-counter,'  hence ! 
avaunt ! 

Mien.  Sir,  my  lord  would  speak  with  you. 

Ch.  Just.  Sir  John  FalstafT,  a  word  with  you. 

Fal.  My  good  lord ! — God  give  your  lordship 
good  time  of  day.  I  am  glad  to  see  your  lordship 
abroad :  I  heard  say,  your  lordship  was  sick :  I 
hope  your  lordship  goes  abroad  by  advice.  Your 
lordship,  though  not  clean  past  your  youth,  hath 
yet  some  smack  of  aofe  in  you,  some  relish  of  the 
saltness  of  time  ;  and  I  most  humbly  beseech  your 
lordship,  to  have  a  reverend  care  of  your  hpalth. 

Ch.  Just.  Sir  John,  I  sent  for  you  before  your 
expedition  to  Shrewsbury. 

Fal.  An't  please  your  lordship,  I  hear,  his  ma- 
jesty is  returned  with  some  discomfort  from  Wales. 
Ch.  Just.  I  talk  not  of  his  majesty: — You  would 
not  come  when  I  sent  for  you. 

Fal.  And  i  hear  moreover,  his  highness  is  fallen 
into  this  same  whoreson  apoplexy. 

Ch.  Just.  Well,  heaven  mend  him !  I  pray,  let 
me  speak  with  you. 

Fal.  This  apoplexy  is,  as  I  take  it,  a  kind  of 
lethargv,  an't  please  your  lordship ;  a  kind  of  sleep- 
ing in  the  blood,  a  whoreson  tingling. 

Ch.  Just.  What  tell  y^ou  me  of  it?  be  it  as  it  is. 

Fal.  It  hath  its  original  from  much  grief;  from 

study,  and  perturbation  of  the  brain  :  I  have  read 

the  cause  of  his  cfTects  in  Galen  ;  it  is  a  kind  of 

deafness. 

(I)  Alluding  to  an  old  proverb :  Who  goes  to 
Westminster  for  a  wife,  to  St.  Paul's  for  a  man, 
and  to  Smithfield  for  a  horse,  may  meet  with  a 
>vhore,  a  knave,  and  a  jade. 


Ch.  Jusl.  I  think,  you  arc  fallen  into  the  dis- 
ease ;  for  you  hear  not  what  I  say  to  you. 

Fal.  Very  well,  my  lord,  very  well :  rather,  an't 
please  you,  it  is  the  disease  of  not  listening,  the 
malady  of  not  marking,  that  I  am  troubled  withal. 

Ch.  Just.  To  punish  you  by  the  heels,  would 
amend  the  attention  of  your  ears  ;  and  I  care  not, 
if  I  become  your  physician. 

Fal.  I  am  as  poor  as  Job,  my  lord  ;  but  not  so 
patient :  your  lordship  may  minister  the  potion  of 
imprisonment  to  me,  in  respect  of  poverty  ;  but 
how  1  should  be  your  patient  to  follow  your  pre 
scriptions,  the  wise  may  make  some  dram  of  a 
scruple,  or,  indeed,  a  scruple  itself. 

Cli.  Just.  I  sent  for  you,  when  there  were  mat- 
ters against  you  for  your  life,  to  come  speak  with 
me. 

Fal.  As  I  was  then  advised  by  my  learned  coun 
sel  in  the  laws  of  this  land-service,  I  did  not  come. 

Ch.  Just.  Well,  the  truth  is,  sir  John,  you  live 
in  great  infamy. 

Fal.  He  that  buckles  him  in  my  belt,  cannot 
live  in  less. 

Ck.  Just.  Your  means  are  very  slender,  and 
your  waste  is  great. 

Fal.  I  would  it  were  other%vise ;  I  would  my 
means  were  greater,  and  my  waist  slenderer. 

Ch.  Just.  You  have  misled  the  youthful  prince. 

Fal.  The  young  prince  hath  misled  me :  I  am 
the  fellow  with  the  great  belly,  and  he  my  dog. 

Ch.  Just.  AY  til,  I  am  loath  to  gall  a  new-healed 
wound ;  your  day's  service  at  Shrewsbury  hath  a 
little  gilded  over  your  night's  exploit  on  Gads-hill ; 
you  may  thank  the  unquiet  time  for  your  quiet  o'er- 
posting  that  action. 

Fal.  My  lord  ? 

Ch.  Just.  But  since  all  is  well,  keep  it  so :  wake 
not  a  sleeping  wolf. 

Fal.  To  wake  a  wolf,  is  as  bad  as  to  smell  a  fox. 

Ch.  .hist.  What !  you  are  as  %  candle,  the  bel- 
ter part  burnt  out. 

Fal.  A  wassel'  candle,  my  lord  ;  all  tallow :  if 
I  did  say  of  wax,  my  growth  would  approve  the 
truth. 

Ch.  Jusl.  There  is  pot  a  white  hair  on  your  face, 
but  should  have  his  etfect  of  gravity. 

Fnl.  His  effect  of  gravy,  gravy,  gravy. 

Ch.  Just.  You  follow  the  young  prince  up  and 
down,  like  his  ill  angel. 

Fal.  Not  so,  my  lord  ;  your  ill  angeH  is  light ; 
but,  I  hopCj  he  that  looks  "upon  me,  will  take  me 
without  weighing:  and  yet,  in  some  respects,  I 
grant,  I  cannot  go,  I  cannct  tell :»  A'irtue  is  of  so 
little  regard  in  these  coster-monger  times,  that  true 
valour  is  turned  bear-herd  :  Pregnancy"^  is  made  a 
tapster,  and  hath  his  quick  wit  ivastcd  in  giving 
reckonings  :  all  the  other  gifts  appertinenl  to  man, 
as  the  malice  of  this  age  shapes  them,  are  not 
worth  a  gooseberry.  You,  that  are  old,  consider 
not  the  capacities  of  us  that  are  young :  you 
measure  the  heat  of  our  livers  wilh  the  bitterness  of 
your  galls:  and  we  that  are  in  the  vaward'  of  our  , 
youth,  I  must  confess,  are  wags  too.  j 

Ch.  Jusl.   Do  you  set  down  your  name  in  the        J 
scroll  of  youth,  that  are  written  down  old  with  all         i 
the  characters  of  age  ?  Have  you  not  a  moist  eye? 
a  dry  hand?    a  yellow  cheek?  a  white  beard?  a 
decreasing  leg?  an  increasing  belly?  Is  not  your 
voice  broken  ?  your  wind  short  ?  your  chin  double  ? 

(2)  A  catch-pole  or  bum-bailiff. 

(3)  A  large  candle  for  a  feast. 

(4)  The  coin  called  an  ang^I.     (5)  Pass  current, 
(6)  Readiness.  (7)  Forepart, 


Scene  IL 


SECOND  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV. 


your  wit  single  ? '  and  every  part  about  you  blasted 
with  antiquity? 2  and  will  you  yet  call  yourself 
young  ?  Fie,  fie,  fie,  sir  John  ! 

Fm.  My  lord,  I  was  born  about  three  of  the 
clock  in  the  afternoon,  with  a  white  head,  and 
something  a  round  belly.  For  my  voice, — I  have 
lost  it  with  hollaing,  and  singing  of  anthems.  To 
approve  my  youth  further,  I  will  not :  the  truth  is, 
I  am  only  old  in  judgment  and  understanding  ; 
and  he  that  will  caper  with  me  for  a  thousand 
marks,  let  him  lend  me  the  money,  and  have  at 
him.  For  the  box  o'the  ear  that  the  prince  gave 
you, — he  gave  it  like  a  rude  prince,  and  you  took 
It  like  a  sensible  lord.  I  have  check'd  him  for  it ; 
and  the  young  lion  repents :  marry,  not  in  ashes, 
and  sackcloth ;  but  in  new  silk,  and  old  sack. 

Ch.  Just.  Well,  heaven  send  the  prince  a  better 
companion ! 

Fal.  Heaven  send  the  companion  a  better  prince ! 
I  cannot  rid  my  hands  of  him. 

Ch.  Jiist.  Well,  the  king  hath  severed  you  and 
prince  Harry:  I  hear,  you  are  goin?  with  lord 
John  of  Lancaster,  against  the  archbishop,  and 
the  earl  of  Northumberland. 

Fal.  Yea  ;  I  thank  your  pretty  sweet  wit  for  it. 
But  look  you  pray,  all  you  that  kiss  my  lady  peace 
at  home,  that  our  armies  join  not  in  a  hot  day! 
for,  by  the  Lord,  I  take  but  two  shirts  out  with  me, 
and  I  mean  not  to  sweat  extraordinarily:  if  it  be 
a  hot  day,  an  I  brandish  any  thing  but  my  bottle, 
I  would  I  might  never  spit  white  again.  There  is 
not  a  dangerous  action  can  peep  out  his  head,  but 
I  am  thrust  upon  it:  Well,  I  cannot  last  ever: 
But  it  was  always  yet  the  trick  of  our  English  na- 
tion, if  they  have  a  good  thin&  to  make  it  too  com- 
mon. If  you  will  needs  say,  1  am  an  old  man,  you 
should  give  me  rest.  I  would  to  God,  my  name 
were  not  so  terrible  to  the  enemy  as  it  is.  I  were 
better  to  be  eaten  to  death  with  rust,  than  to  be 
scoured  to  nothing  with  perpetual  motion. 

Ch.  Jjtst.  Well,  be  honest,  be  honest;  And  God 
bless  your  expedition ! 

Fal.  Will  your  lordship  lend  me  a  thousand 
pound,  to  furnish  me  forth ! 

Ch.  Just.  Not  a  penny,  not  a  penny ;  you  are 
too  impatient  to  bear  crosses.  Fare  you  %vell: 
Commend  me  to  mv  cousin  Westmoreland. 

[Exeunt  Chief  Justice  and  Attendant. 

Fal.  If  I  do,  fillip  me  with  a  three-man  beetle.' — 
A  man  can  no  more  separate  age  and  covetous- 
ness,  than  he  can  part  young  limbs  and  lechery : 
but  the  gout  galls  the  one,  and  the  pox  pinches  the 
other;  and  so  both  the  degrees  prevent*  my 
curses, — Boy ! 

Page.  Sir? 

Fal.  What  money  is  in  my  puijse  ? 

Pa^e.  Seven  groats  and  two-pence. 

Fd.  I  can  get  no  remedy  agamst  this  consump- 
tion of  the  purse  :  borrowing  only  lingers  and 
lingers  it  out,  but  the  disease  is  incurable.— Go, 
bear  this  letter  to  my  lord  of  Lancaster ;  this  to 
the  prince  ;  this  to  the  earl  of  Westmoreland  ;  and 
this  to  old  mistress  Ursula,  whom  I  have  weekly 
sworn  to  marry  since  1  perceived  the  first  white 
hair  on  my  chin :  About  it ;  you  know  where  to 
find  me.  [Exit  Page.]  A  pox  of  this  gout !  or,  a 
gout  of  this  pox !  for  the  one,  or  the  other,  plays 
«ie  rogue  with  mv  great  toe.  It  is  n6  matter,  if  I 
do  halt ;  I  have  the  wars  for  my  colour,  and  my 
pensions  shall  seem  the  more  reasonable :  A  good 

(1)  Small.  (2}  Old  age. 

(3)  A  large  wooden  hammer  so  heavy  as  to  re 
uuire  three  men  to  wieW  iW 


411 

wit  will  make  use  of  any  thing ;  1  will  turn  dis- 
eases to  commodity.  [ExU. 

SCEJfE  III.— York.  A  romn  in  the  archbishop's 
palace.  Enter  the  archbishop  o/York,  the  lords 
Hastings,  Mowbray,  and  Bardolph. 

Arch.  Thus  have  you  heard  our  cause,  and  known 
our  means ; 
And,  my  most  noble  friends,  I  pray  you  all, 
Speak  plainly  your  opinions  of  our  hopes : — 
And  first,  lord  marshal,  what  say  you  to  it? 

Mowb.  I  well  allow  the  occasion  of  our  arms : 
But  gladly  would  be  better  satisfied. 
How,  in  our  means,  we  should  advance  ourselves 
To  look  with  forehead  bold  and  big  enough 
Upon  the  power  and  puissance  of  the  king. 

Hast.  Our  present  musters  grow  upon  the 
To  five  and  twenty  thousaJid  men  of  choice ; 
And  our  supplies  live  largely  in  the  hope 
Of  great  Northumberland,  whose  bosom  burns 
With  an  incensed  fire  of  injuries. 

Bard.  The  question  then,  lord  Hastings,  stand- 
eth  thus ; — 
Whether  our  present  five  and  twenty  thousand 
May  hold  up  head  %vithout  Northumberland. 

Hast.  With  him,  we  may. 

Bard.  Ay,  marry,  there's  the  point : 

But,  if  without  him  we  be  thought  too  feeble, 
My  judraient  is,  we  should  not  step  too  far 
Till  we  nad  his  assistance  by  the  hand : 
For,  in  a  theme  so  bloody-fac'd  as  this, 
Conjecture,  expectation,  and  surmise 
Of  aids  uncertain,  should  not  be  admitted. 

Arch.  'Tis  very  true,  lord  Bardolph;  for,  indeed, 
It  was  young  Hotspur's  case  at  Shrewsbury. 

Bard.  It  was,  my  lord  ;  who  lin'd  himself  with 
hope, 
Eating  the  air  on  promise  of  supply. 
Flattering  himself  with  project  of  a  power 
Much  smaller  than  the  smallest  of  his  thoughts : 
And  so,  with  great  imagination, 
Proper  to  madmen,  led  his  powers  to  death, 
And,  winking,  leap'd  into  destruction. 

Hast.  But,  by  your  leave  it  never  yet  did  hurt. 
To  lay  down  likelihoods,  and  forms  of  hope. 

Bard.  Yes,  in  this  present  quality  of  war ; — 
Indeed  the  instant  action  (a  cause  on  foot,) 
Lives  so  in  hope,  as  in  an  early  spring 
We  see  the  appearing  buds ;  which,  to  prove  fruit, 
Hope  gives  not  so  much  warrant,  as  despair, 
That  frosts  will  bite  them.  When  we  mean  to  build, 
We  first  survey  the  plot,  then  draw  the  model ; 
And  when  we  see  the  figure  of  the  house, 
Then  must  we  rate  the  cost  of  the  erection :  « 
Which  if  we  find  outweighs  ability. 
What  do  we  then,  but  draw  anew  the  model 
In  fewer  offices  ;  or,  at  least,  desist 
To  build  at  all  ?  Much  more,  in  this  great  work 
(Which  is,  almost,  to  pluck  a  kingdom  down, 
And  set  another  up,)  should  we  survey 
The  plot  of  situation,  and  the  model ; 
Consent^  upon  a  sure  foundation  ; 
Question  surveyors ;  know  our  own  estate, 
How  able  such  a  work  to  undergo. 
To  weigh  against  his  opposite  ;  or  else. 
We  fortify  in  paper,  and  in  figures. 
Using  the  names  of  men,  instead  of  men  : 
Like  one,  that  draws  the  model  of  a  house 
Beyond  his  power  to  build  it ;  who,  half  througl), 
Gives  o'er,  and  leaves  his  part -created  cost 
A  naked  subject  to  the  weeping  clouds, 
And  waste  for  churlish  winter's  tyranny. 


(4)  Anticipate, 


(5)Agree, 


416 


SECOND  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV. 


jid  n. 


Hast.  Grant  that  our  hopes  (yet  likely  for  fair 
birth.) 
Should  be  still-born,  and  that  we  now  possess'd 
The  utmost  man  of  expectation  ; 
I  think,  we  are  a  body  strong  enough, 
Eren  as  we  are,  to  equal  with  the  king. 

Bard.   What!  is  the  king  but  five  and  twenty 
thousand  ? 

Hast.  To  us,  no  more ;  nay,  not  so  much,  lord 
Bardolph. 
For  his  divisions,  as  the  times  do  brawl, 
Are  in  three  heads :  one  power  against  the  French, 
And  one  against  Glendower  ;  perforce,  a  third 
Must  take  up  us :  So  is  the  unlirm  kin^ 
In  three  divided  ;  and  his  cofi'ers  sound 
With  hollow  poverty  and  emptiness. 

wJrc/t.  That  he  should  draw  his  several  strengths 
.4^  ..—together, 
|i-  '"And  come  ii;^;iiiist  us  in  full  puissance, 
Need  not  be  drcadud. 

Hast.  If  he  sbonld  do  so, 

He  leaves  his  back  unarm'd,  Ihel'ic;:!  li    i.d  Welsh 
Baying  him  at  the  heels :  never  fear  that. 

Bard.    Who,  is  it  like,  should  lead  his  forces 
hither  ? 

Hast.  The  duke  of  Lancaster,  and  Vv'estmor©' 
land : 
Against  the  Welsh,  himself,  and  Harry  Monmouth : 
But  who  is  substituted  'gainst  the  French, 
I  have  no  certain  notice. 

Jlrch.  Let  us  on ; 

And  publish  the  occasion  of  our  arms. 
The  commonwealth  is  sick  of  their  own  choice, 
Their  over-greedy  love  hath  surfeited : — 
A  habitation  giddy  and  unsure 
Hath  he,  that  buildeth  oa  the  vulgar  heart. 
O  thou  fond  many  !'  with  what  loud  applause 
Didst  thou  beat  heaven  with  blessing  Bolinybrokc, 
Before  he  was  what  thofi  would'st  have  him  beV 
And  being  now  trimm'd^  in  thine  own  desires, 
Thou,  beastly  feeder,  art  so  full  of  him, 
That  thou  provok'st  thyself  to  cast  him  up. 
So,  so,  thou  common  dog,  didst  thou  disgorge 
Thy  glutton  bosom  of  the  royal  Richard ; 
And  now  thou  would'st  eat  thy  dead  vomit  up. 
And  howl'stto  find  it.   What  trust  is  in  these  times? 
They  that,  when  Richard  liv'd,  would  have  him  die, 
Are  now  become  enamour'd  on  his  grave; 
Thou,  that  threw'st  dust  upon  his  goodly  head, 
When  through  proud  London  he  came  sigliing  on 
After  the  admired  heels  of  Bolingbroke, 
Cry'st  now,  0  eartli,  yield  us  that  king  agaiti, 
^nd  take  tlimi  this  !  O  thoughts  of  men  accurst! 
Past,  and  to  come,  seem  best ;  things  present,  worst. 

JV/oicft.  Shall  we  go  draw  our  numbers,  and  set  on  ? 

HaA.  We  are  time's  subjects,  and  time  bids  be 
gone.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  II. 


SCEJ^E  /.—London.  .9  street.  En/er  Hof*css  ; 
Fang,  and  his  boy,  toith  her ;  and  Snare  fcllow- 
ing. 

Host.  Master  Fang,  have  you  entered  the  action  ? 
Fang.  It  is  entered.  ' 

Host.  Where  is  yourveoman?^  Is  it  a  lusty  yeo- 
man ?  will  a'  stand  to't  ? 
Ftng.  Sirrah,  where's  Snare  ? 
Host.  O  lord,  ay :  good  master  Snare. 


(1)  Multitude. 

(3)  A  bailiff's  follower. 


(2)  Dress'd. 

(4)  Thrust.  (5)  Grasp. 


Snare.  Here,  here. 

Fang.  Snare,  we  must  arrest  sir  John  Falstaff. 

Host.  Yea,  good  master  Snare ;  I  have  entered 
him  and  all. 

Snare.  It  may  chance  cost  some  of  us  our  lives, 
for  he  will  stab. 

Host.  Alas  the  day !  take  heed  of  him ;  he 
stabbed  me  in  mine  own  house,  and  that  most 
beastly :  in  good  faith,  a'  cares  not  what  mischief 
he  doth,  if  his  weapon  be  out :  he  will  foin*  like 
any  devil ;  he  will  spare  neither  man,  woman,  nor 
child. 

Fang.  If  I  can  close  with  him,  I  care  not  for 
his  thrust. 

Host.  No,  nor  I  neither:  I'll  be  at  your  elbow. 

Fang.  An  1  but  fist  him  once ;  an  a'  come  but 
within  my  vice ;' — 

Host.  I  am  undone  by  his  going ;  I  warrant  you, 
he's  an  infinitive  thing  upon  my  score : — Good 
mastjer  Fang,  hold  him  sure  ; — good  master  Snare, 
let  him  not  'scape.  He  comes  continually  to  Pie- 
corner,  (saving  your  manhoods, )  to  buy  a  saddle  ; 
and  he's  indited  to  dinner  to  the  lubbar's  head  in 
Lumbert-street,  to  master  Smooth's  the  silkman :  I 
pray  ye,  since  my  exion  is  entered^  and  my  case 

» openly  known  to  the  world,  let  him  be  brought 
Lo  his  answer.  A  hundred  mark  is  a  long  loan 
fof%  poor  lone  woman  to  bear :  And  I  have  borne^ 
and  borne,  and  borne  ;  and  have  been  fubbed  off, 
and  fuDlJtoiAvofr,  and  fubbed  off,  from  this  day  to 
that  day,  tb^  it  is  a  shame  to  be  thought  on.  There 
is  no  honesty  in  such  dealing ;  unless  a  woman 
should  be  made  an  ass,  and  a  beast,  to  bear  every 
knave's  ivrong. 

Enter  Sir  John  Falstaff,  Page,  and  Bardolph. 
Yonder  he  comes ;  and  that  arrant  malmsey-nose 
knave,  Bardolph,  with  him.    Do  your  offices,  do 
your  offices,  master  Fang,  and  master  Snare ;  do 
me,  do  me,  do  me  your  ofEces. 

Fal.  How  now )  whose  mare's  dead  ?  what's 
the  matter  ? 

Fang.  Sir  John,  I  arrest  you  at  the  suit  of  mis- 
tress Quickly. 

F(d.  Away,  varlets ! — Draw,  Bardolph ;  cut  me 
off  the  villain's  head;  throw  the  que»n  in  the 
channel.  j 

Host.  Throw  me  in  the  channel  ?  I'll  throw  thee 
in  the  channel.  Wilt  thou  ?  wilt  thou  ?  thou  bas- 
tardly rogue  ! — Murder,  murder !  O  thou  honey- 
suckle" villain !  wilt  thou  kill  God's  officers,  and 
the  king's?  O  thou  honey-seed'  rogue!  thou  art  a 
honey-seed  ;  a  man-queller,  and  a  woman-quellcr. 

Fal.  Keep  them  off,  Bardolph. 

Fang.  A  rescue !  a  re?cue! 

Host.  Good  people,  bring  a  rescue  or  two. — 
Thou  wo't,  wo't  thou  ?  thou  wo't,  wo't  thou  ?  do, 
do,  thou  rogue !  do,  thou  hemp-seed ! 

Fal.  Awa\>  you  scullion !  you  rampallion !  you 
fustilarian !  I'lTlickle  your  catastrophe. 

Enter  the  Lord  Chief  Justice,  attended. 

Ch.  Jifst.  What's  the  matter?  keep  the  peace 
here,  ho !  " 

Host.  Good  my  lord,  be  good  to  me!  I  beseech 
yon.  stand  to  me  ! 

Ch.  Just.  How  now,  sir  John  ?  what,  are  you 
brawling  here? 
Doth  this  become  your  place,  your  time,  and  busi- 
ness? 
Yon  should  have  been  well  on  your  way  to  York. — 
Stand  from  him,  fellow ;  Wherefore  hang'st  thou 
on  him? 


(6)  Homicidal. 


(7)  Homicide. 


Seeiutt. 


SECOND  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV. 


417 


Host.  O  my  most  worshipful  lord,  an't  please 
your  grace,  I  am  a  poor  widow  of  Eastcheap,  and 
he  is  arrested  at  my  suit. 

Ch.  Just.  For  what  sum  ? 

Host.  It  is  more  than  for  some,  my  lord  ;  it  is  for 
all,  all  I  have :  he  hath  eaten  me  out  of  house  and 
home  ;  he  hath  put  all  my  substance  into  that  fat 
belly  of  his  :— but  I  will  have  some  of  it  out  again, 
or  I'll  ride  thee  o'nights,  like  the  mare. 

Fat.  I  think,  I  am  as  like  to  ride  the  mare,  if  I 
have  any  vantage  of  ground  to  get  up. 

Ch.  Just.  How  comes  this,  sir  John?  Fie!  what 
man  of  good  temper  would  endure  this  tempest  of 
exclamation  ?  Are  you  not  ashamed,  to  enforce  a 
poor  widoiv  to  so  rough  a  course  to  come  by  her 
own  ? 

Fal.  What  is  the  gross  sum  that  I  owe  thee  ? 

Host.  Marry,  if  thou  wert  an  honest  man,  thy- 
eelf,  and  the  money  too.  Thou  didst  SAvear  to  me 
upon  a  parcel-gill'  goblet,  sitting  in  my  Dolphin 
chamber,  at  the  round  table,  by  a  sea-coal  fire, 
upon  Wednesday  in  Whitsun  week,  when  the  prince 
broke  thy  head  for  liking  his  father  to  a  sinfring- 
man  of  Windsor;  thou  didst  swear  to  me  then,  as 
I  was  washing  thy  wound,  to  marry  me,  and  niako 
me  my  lady  thy  wife.  Canst  thou  deny  it?  Did 
not  good  wife  Keech,  the  butcher's  wife,  come  in 
then,  and  call  me  gossip  Quickly  ?  coming  in  to 
borrow  a  mess  of  vinegar ;  telling  us,  she  had  a 
good  dish  of  prawns ;  whereby  thou  didst  desire  to 
eat  some  ;  whereby  I  told  thee,  they  were  ill  for  a 
green  wound  ?  And  didst  thou  not,  when  she  was 
gone  down  stairs,  desire  me  to  be  no  more  so  fa- 
miliarity with  such  poor  people:  saying,  that  ere 
long  they  should  call  me  madam  ?  And  didst  thou 
not  Kiss  me,  and  bid  me  fetch  thee  thirty  shillings? 
I  put  thee  now  to  thy  book-oath ;  deny  it,  if  thou 
canst. 

Fal.  My  lord,  this  is  a  poor  mad  soul :  and  she 
says,  up  and  down  the  town,  that  her  eldest  son  is 
like  you :  she  hath  been  in  good  case,  and,  the 
truth  is,  poverty  hath  distracted  her.  But  for  these 
foolish  oflicers^  I  beseech  you,  I  may  have  redress 
against  them. 

Ch.  Just.  Sir  John,  sir  John,  I  am  well  acquaint- 
ed with  your  manner  of  wrenching  the  true  cause 
the  false  way.  It  is  not  a  confident  brow,  nor  the 
throng  of  words  that  come  with  such  more  than 
impudent  sauciness  from  you,  can  thrust  me  from 
a  level  consideration  ;  you  have,  as  it  ajipears  to 
me,  practised  upon  the  easy-yielding  spirit  of  this 
woman,  and  made  her  serve  your  uses  both  in 
purse  and  person. 

Host.  Yea,  in  troth,  my  lord. 

Ch.  Just.  Pr'ythee,  peace:— Pay  her  the  debt 
you  owe  her,  ana  unpay  the  villany  you  have  done 
with  her ;  the  one  you  may  do  with  sterling  money, 
and  the  other  with  current  repentance. 

Fal.  My  lord,  I  will  not  undergo  this  sneap*  with- 
out reply.  You  call  honourable  boldness,  impudent 
sauciness:  if  a  man  will  make  court'sy,  and  say 
nothing,  he  is  virtuous :  No,  my  lord,  my  humble 
duty  remembered,  I  will  not  be  your  suitor ;  I  say 
to  you,  I  do  desire  deliverance  from  these  officers, 
being  upon  hasty  employment  in  the  king's  affairs. 

Cn.  Jiisl.  You  speak  as  having  power  to  do 
wrong :  but  answer  in  the  effect  of  your  reputation,' 
and  satisfy  the  poor  woman. 

Fal.  Come  hither,  hostess.     [Taking  her  aside. 

Enter  Gower. 
Ch.  Just.  Now,  master  Gower ;  What  news? 

(1)  Partly  gilt.  (2)  Snub,  check. 


Gow.  The  king,  my  lord,  and  Harry  princ*  of 
Wales 
Are  near  at  hand  :  the  rest  the  paper  tells. 

Fal.  As  I  am  a  gentleman  ; 

Host.  Nay,  you  said  so  before. 

Fal.  As  I  am  a  gentleman ; Come,  no  more 

words  of  it. 

Host.  By  this  heavenly  ground  I  tread  on,  I  rouit 
be  fain  to  pawn  Bbth  iny  plate,  and  the  tapestry  of 
my  dining-chambers. 

Fal.  Glasses,  glasses,  is  the  only  drinking  :  and 
for  thy  walls,— a  pretty  slight  drollery,  or  the  story 
of  the  prodigal,  or  the  German  hunting  in  water- 
work,  is  worth  a  thousand  of  these  bed-hangings, 
and  these  flj-bitten  tapestries.  Let  it  be  ten  pound, 
if  thou  canst.  Come,  an  it  were  not  for  liiy  hu- 
mours, there  is  not  a  better  wench  in  England,  Go, 
wash  thy  face,  and  draw*  thy  action  :  OoBne,  tKoU 
must  not  be  in  this  huiqipar  uilh  me  ;  dost  not  know 
me  ?  Come,  come,  1  know  thou  wast  set  on  to  this. 

Host.  Pray  thee,  sir  John,  let  it  be  but  twenty 
noblesj^fcuih.  I  am  loath'  to  pawn  my  plate,  in 
goo^Mffiest,  la. 

FrnT^Lct  it  alone  ;  I'll  make  other  shift  :  you'll 
be  a  fool  still. 

Host.  Well,  you  shall  have  it,  though  I  pawn  my 
gown.  I  hope,  you'll  come  to  supper :  You'll  pay 
me  all  together '! 

Fal.  Will  I  live  ?— Go,  with  her,  with  her ;  [To 
Bardolph.]  hook  on,  hook  on. 

Host.  Will  you  have  Doll  Tear-sheet  meet  you 
at  supper? 

Fal.  No  more  words  ;  let's  haTe  her. 

[Examt  Host.  Bard,  officers,  and  page. 

Ch.  Just.  1  have  heard  better  news. 

Fal.  What's  tlie  news,  my  good  lord  ? 

Ch.  Jtist.  Where  lay  the  king  last  night  ? 

Goto.  At  Basingstoke,  my  lord. 

Fal.  I  hope,  my  lord,  all's  well :  What's  the 
news,  my  lord  ? 

Ch.  Just.  Come  all  his  forces  back? 

Goto.   No;   fifteen  hundred  foot,  fire  hundred 
horse. 
Are  march'd  up  to  my  lord  of  Lancasterj 
Against  Northumberland,  and  the  archbishop. 

Fal.  Comes  the  king  back  from  Wales,  my  noble 
lord? 

Ch.  Just.  You  shall  have  letters  of  mepresently : 
Come,  go  along  with  me,  good  master  Gower. 

Fal.  My  lord ! 

Ch.  Just.  What's  the  matter  ? 

Fal.  Master  Gower,  shall  I  entreat  you  with  me 
to  dinner? 

Gow.  I  must  wait  upon  my  good  lord  here :  I 
thank  you,  good  sir  John. 

Ch.  'Just.  Sir  John,  you  loiter  here  too  long, 
being  you  are  to  take  soldiers  up  in  counties  as 
you  go. 

F<u.  Will  you  sup  with  me,  master  Gower? 

Ch.  Just.  What  foolish  master  taught  you  these 
manners,  sir  John  ? 

Fal.  Master  Gower,  if  they  become  me  not,  he 
was  a  fool  that  taught  them  me.— This  is  the  right 
fencing  grace,  my  lord ;  tap  for  tap,  and  so  part  fair. 

Ch.  fust.  Now  the  Lord  lighten  thee !  thou  art 
a  great  fool.  [Exeunt. 

SCEJiTE  H.—The  same.  Mother  street.  Entir 
Prince  Henry  and  Poins. 

P.  Hen.  Trust  me,  I  am  exceeding  weary. 

Poins.  Is  it  come  to  that?  I  had  thoufrht  weari- 
ness durst  not  have  attached  one  of  so  high  blood, 

(3)  Suitable  to  joar  character.    (4)  Withdraw 
3  0 


418 


SECOND  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV. 


Act  II. 


P.  Hen.  'Faith,  it  does  me ;  though  it  discolours 
the  complexion  of  my  greatness  to  acknowledge  it. 
Doth  it  not  show  vilely  in  me,  to  desire  small  beer  ? 

Poins.  Why,  a  prince  should  not  be  so  loosely 
studied,  as  to  remember  so  weak  a  composition. 

P.  Hen.  Belike  then  my  appetite  was  not  princely 
got ;  for,  by  my  troth,  I  do  now  remember  the  poor 
creature,  small  beer.  But,  indeed,  these  humble 
considerations  make  me  out  of  lore  with  my  great 
ness.  What  a  disgrace  is  it  to  me,  to  remember 
thy  name  ?  or  to  know  thy  face  to-morrow  ?  or  to 
take  note  how  many  pair  of  silk  stockings  thou 
hast ;  viz.  these,  and  those  that  were  the  peach- 
coloured  ones  ?  or  to  bear  the  inventory  of  thy 
shirts ;  as,  one  for  superfluity,  and  one  other  for 
use  ? — but  that,  the  tennis-court  keeper  knows  bet- 
ter than  I ;  for  it  is  a  low  ebb  of  linen  with  thee, 
when  thou  keepest  not  racket  there  ;  as  thou  hast 
not  done  a  great  i\  hilc,  liecause  the  rest  of  thy  low- 
countries  have  made  a  shift  to  eat  up  thy  holland  : 
and  God  knows,  whether  those  that  bawl  out  the 
ruins  of  thy  linen,'  shall  inherit  his  kiag^m ;  hut 
the  midwives  say,  the  children  arc  not  intBM^ult: 
whereupon  the  world  increases,  and  kindredm^re 
mightily  strengthened.  'j^ 

Poins.  How  ill  it  follows,  after  you  have  labour- 
ed so  hard,  you  should  talk  so  idly !    Tell  me,  how- 
many  good  young  princes  would  do  so,  their  fathers 
being  so  sick  as  yours  at  this  time  is  ? 
,    P.  Hen.  Shall  I  tell  thee  one  thing,  Poins  ? 

Poins.  Yes ;  and  let  it  be  an  excellent  good  thing. 

P.  Hen.  It  shall  serve  among  wits  of  no  higher 
breeding  than  thine. 

Poins.  Go  to ;  I  stand  the  push  of  your  one 
thing  that  you  will  tell. 

P.  Hen.  Why,  I  tell  thee, — it  is  not  meet  that  I 
should  be  sad,  now  my  father  is  sick:  albeit  I 
could  tell  to  thee  (as  to  one  it  pleases  me,  for  fault 
of  a  better,  to  call  my  friend,)  I  could  be  sad,  and 
sad  indeed  too. 

Poins.  Very  hardly,  upon  such  a  subject. 

P.  Hen.  By  this  hand,  thou  think'st  me  as  far  in 
the  doil's  book,  as  thou,  and  Falstaff,  for  obduracy 
and  persistency :  Let  the  end  try  the  man.  But  I 
tell  thee. — my  heart  bleeds  inwardly,  that  my  father 
is  so  sick :  and  keeping  such  vile  company  as  thou 
art,  hath  in  reason  taken  from  me  all  ostentation 
of  sorrow. 

Poins.  The  reason  ? 

P.  Hen.  What  wouldst  thou  tliink  of  mc,  if  I 
should  weep  ? 

Poins.  I  would  tliink  thee  a  most  princely  hypo- 
crite. 

P.  Hen.  It  would  be  every  man's  thought :  and 
thou  art  a  blessed  fellow,  to  •think  as  every  man 
thinks ;  never  a  man's  thought  in  the  world  keeps 
the  road-way  better  than  thme :  every  man  would 
think  me  a  hypocrite  indeed.  And  what  accites 
your  most  worshipful  thought,  to  think  so  ? 

Poins.  W^hy,  .because  you  have  been  so  lewd, 
and  so  much  engraffed  to  Falstaff. 

P.  Hen.  And  to  thee. 

Poins.  By  this  light,  I  am  well  spoken  of,  I  can 
hear  it  with  my  own  ears :  the  worst  that  they  can 
say  of  me  is,  that  I  am  a  second  brother,  and  that 
I  am  a  proper  fellow  of  my  hands  ;  and  those  two 
things,  I  confess,  I  cannot  help.  By  the  mass,  here 
comes  Bardolph. 

P.  Hen.  And  the  boy  that  I  gave  Falstaflf:  he 
had  him  from  me  Christian  ;  and  look,  if  the  fat 
Tillain  have  not  transformed  him  ape. 

(1^  Children  wrapt  up  in  his  old  shirts, 
(2)  An  ale-house  window. 


Enter  Bardolph  and  Page. 


Bard.  'Save  your  grace ! 

P.  Hen.  And  yours,  most  noble  Bardolph ! 

Bard.  Come,  you  virtuous  ass,  fTo  the  page.] 
you  bashful  fool,  must  you  be  blushing  ?  ■vvheretore 
blush  you  now  ?  What  a  maidenly  man  at  arms  are 
you  become !  Is  it  such  a  matter^  to  get  a  pottle- 
pot's  maidenhead  ? 

Page.  He  called  rac  even  now,  my  lord,  through 
a  red  lattice.^  ajid  I  could  discern  no  part  of  his 
face  from  tne  %vindow :  at  last,  I  spied  his  eyes  ; 
and,  methought,  he  had  made  two  holes  in  the  ale- 
wife's  new  petticoat,  and  peeped  through. 

P.  Hen.  Hath  not  the  boy  profited  ? 

Bard.  Away,  you  whoreson  upright  rabbit, 
away ! 

Page.  Away,  you  rascally  Allhea's  dream, 
away ! 

P.  Hen.  Instruct  us,  boy :  What  dream,  boy? 

Page.  Marry,  my  lord,  Althea  dreamed  she  was 
delivered  of  a  fire-brand ;  and  therefore  I  call  him 
her  dream. 

P.  Heii.  A  crown's  worth  of  good  interpretation. 
—There  it  is,  boy.  [Gives  him  money. 

\t^oins.  O,  that  this  good  blossom  could  be  kept 
from  cankers ! — AVell,  there  is  sixpence  to  preserve 
thee. 

Bard.  ^An  you  do  not  make  him  be  hanged 
among  Tou,  the  gallows  shall  have  wrong. 

P.  Hen.  And  how  doth  thy  master,  Bardolph? 

Bard.  Well,  my  lord.  He  heard  of  your  grace's 
coming  to  town  ;  there's  a  letter  for  you. 

Poins.  Delivered  with  good  respect. — And  how 
doth  the  Martlemas,*  your  master  ? 

Bard.  In  bodily  health,  sir. 

Poins.  Marry,  the  immortal  part  needs  a  physi- 
cian :  but  that  moves  not  him  ;  though  that  be  sick, 
it  dies  not. 

P.  Hen.  I  do  allow  this  wen"  to  be  as  familiar 
with  me  as  my  dog :  and  he  holds  his  place ;  for, 
look  you,  how  \ie  writes. 

Poms.  [Reads.]  John  Falstaff,  knight, Every 

man  must  know  that,  as  oft  as  he  has  occasion  to 
name  himself.  Even  like  those  that  are  kin  to  the 
king;  for  they  never  prick  their  finger,  but  they 
say.  There  is  some  of  the  Icing^s  blood  spilt :  Hoio 
comes  that?  says  he,  that  takes  upon  him  not  lo 
conceive :  the  answer  is  as  ready  as  a  borrower's 
cap;  I  am  the  king''s  poor  cousin,  sir. 

P.  Hen.  Nay,  they  will  be  kin  to  us,  or  they  will 
fetch  it  from  Japhet.    But  the  letter : — 

Poins.  Sir  John  Falstaflj  knight,  to  the  son  of 
the  king,  nearest  his  father,  Harry,  prince  of 
Wales,  greeting. — ^W'hy,  this  is  a  certificate. 

P.  Hen.  Peace  I 

Poins.  /  will  imitate  the  honourable  Romati  in 
brevity  : — he  sure  means  brevity  in  breath ;  short- 
winded. — /  commend  me  to  thee,  I  commend  thee, 
and  Heave  thee.  Be  not  too  familiar  with  Poins, 
for  he  misuses  thy  favours  so  'much,  that  he  swears 
thou  art  to  man'y  his  sister  Nell.  Repent  at  idle 
times  as  thou  may''st,  and  so  farewell. 

Thine,  by  yea  and  no,  (which  is  as 
much  as  to  sai),  as  thou  nsest  him,) 
Jack  Falstaff^  tott^  my  familiars  ; 
John,  xmth  my  brothers  and  sisters, 
and  Sir  John,  icith  all  Europe. 
My  lord,  I  will  steep  this  letter  in  sack,  and  make 
him  eat  it. 

P.  Hen.  That's  to  make  him  eat  twenty  of  his 

(3)  Martinmas,  St.  Martin's  day  is  Nov.  II. 

(4)  Swollen  excrescence. 


Scent  III,  ir. 


SECOND  PART  OP  KING  HENRY  IV. 


4te 


words.  But  da  you  use  me  thus,  Ned  ?  must  I 
marry  your  sister  ? 

Poins.  May  the  wench  have  no  worse  fortune! 
but  I  never  said  so. 

P.  Hen.  Wei!,  thus  we  play  the  fools  with  the 
time  ;  and  the  spirits  of  the  wise  sit  in  the  clouds, 
and  mock  us. — Is  your  master  here  in  London  ? 

Bard.  Yes,  my  lord. 

P.  Hen.  Where  sups  lie  ?  Dolh  the  old  boar  feed 
in  the  old  frank?' 

Bard.  At  the  old  place,  my  lord  ;  in  Eastcheap. 

P.  Hen.  What  company  ? 

Par«.  Ephesians,  my  lord  ;  of  the  old  church. 

P.  Hen.  Sup  any  women  with  him? 

Pnq-f .  None,  my  lord,  but  old  mistress  Quickly, 
and  mistress  Doll  Tear-jheet. 

P.  Hen.  What  pa^an  may  that  be  ? 

Pag;e.  A  proper  gentlewoman,  sir,  and  a  kins- 
woman of  my  master's. 

P.  Hen.  Even  such  kin,  as  the  parish  heifers  are 
to  the  town  bull. — Shall  wc  steal  upon  them,  Ned, 
at  supper  ? 

Poins.  I  am  your  shadow,  my  lord ;  I'll  follow 
you. 

P.  Hen.  Sirrah,  you  bov, — and  Bardolph  ; — no 
word  to  your  master,  that  1  am  yet  come  to  town : 
There's  for  your  silence. 

Bard.  I  have  no  tonfruc,  sir. 

Page.  And  for  mine,  sir, — I  will  <rovern  it. 

P.  Hen.  Fare  ye  well  ;  <ro — [Eveimt  Bardolph 
and  Page.] — this'Doll  Tear-sheet  Khould  be  some 
road. 

Poins.  I  warrant  yoi!,  as  common  as  the  way 
between  Saint  Albaii's  and  London. 

P.  Hen.  How  misht  we  see  Falstaff  bestow 
himself  to-niirht  in  hi/ true  colours,  and  not  our- 
selves be  seen  ? 

Poin.i.  Put  on  two  leather  jerkins,  and  aprons, 
and  wait  upon  him  at  his  table,  as  drawers. 

P.  Hen.  From  a  god  to  a  bull  ?  a  heavy  descen- 
sion  !  it  was  Jove's  case.  From  a  prince  to  a  'pren- 
tice ?  a  low  transformation !  that  shall  be  mine : 
for,  in  cverv  thing-,  the  purpose  must  weiph  with 
the  folly.    Follow  me,  Ned.  [Exeunt 

^CE.YE  ///.— Warkworth.  Before  the  castle. 
Enter  Northumberland,  Lady  Northumberland, 
and  Lady  Percy. 

^ortlt.    I  pray  thee,  loving  wife,  and  gentle 
daughter. 
Give  even  way  unto  my  roush  affairs  : 
Put  not  you  on  the  visac;o  of  the  times. 
And  be,  like  them,  to  Percy  troublesome. 

Lady  J^.  I  have  given  over,  I  will  speak  no  more  : 
Do  vihat  you  will ;  your  wisdom  be  your  puide. 

J^orth.  Alas,  sweet  wife,  my  honour  is  at  pawn  ; 
And,  but  my  troing-,  nothing  can  redeem  it. 

Lady  P.  0,"yet,  for  God's  sake,  go  not  to  these 
wars ! 
The  time  was,  father,  that  you  broke  your  word, 
When  you  were  more  cndear'd  to  il  than  noiv  ; 
When  your  own  Percy, Avlien  my  heart's  dear  Harry, 
Threw  many  a  northward  look,  to  see  his  father 
Bring  up  his  powerJ  ;  but  he  did  lonp  in  vain. 
Who  then  persuackd  you  to  slay  at  home  ? 
There  were  two  honours  lost:  yours,  and  your  son's. 
For  yours, — may  heavenlv  glory  brighten  it ! 
For  iiis, — it  stuck  upon  him,  as  the  sun 
In  the  grey  vault  of  heaven  :  and,  by  his  light, 
Did  all  the  chivalry  of  England  move 
To  do  brave  acts ;  he  was,  indeed,  the  glass 

(1)  Sty.  (2)  lU-betide. 

(3)  An  apple  that  will  keep  two  years, 


Wherein  the  noble  youth  did  dress  themselves. 
[  He  had  no  legs,  that  practis'd  not  his  gait : 
I  And  speaking  thick,  which  nature  made  his  blemish, 
j  Became  the  accents  of  the  valiant ; 
For  those  that  could  speak  low,  and  tardily, 
,  Would  turn  their  own  perfection  to  abuse, 
I  To  seem  like  him  :  So  that,  in  speech,  in  gait, 
I  In  diet,  in  aflections  of  delight, 
i  In  military  rules,  humours  of  blood. 
He  was  the  mark  and  glas^,  copy  and  book. 
That  fashion'd  others.  And  him, — 0  wondrous  him! 

0  miracle  of  men  I — him  did  you  leave 
(Second  to  none,  unseconded  by  you,) 
To  look  upon  the  hideous  god  of  war 
In  disadvantage  ;  to  abide  a  field, 

Where  nothing  but  the  sound  of  Hotspur's  name 
Did  seem  defensible  : — so  you  left  him  : 
Never,  O  never,  do  his  ghost  the  wrong, 
To  hold  your  honour  )B6I%  precise  anunice 
With  others,  than  with  him  j  let  them  alone  ; 
The  marshal,  and  the  archbishop,  are  strong : 
Had  mys»Veet  Harry  had  but  half  their  numbers, 
To-d<y  might  I,  hanging  on  Hotspur's  neck, 
Have  talk'd  of  Monmouth's  grave. 

J^orlh.  Beshrew'  your  heart. 

Fair  daughter !  you  do  draw  my  spirits  from  me, 
With  new  lamenting  ancient  oversights. 
But  I  must  go,  and  meet  with  danger  there ; 
Or  it  will  seek  me  in  another  place. 
And  find  me  v/orse  provided.. 

Lady  J\\  O,  fly  to  Scotland, 

Till  that  the  nobles,  and  the  armed  commons, 
Have  of  their  puissance  made  a  little  taste. 

Lady  P.  If  tliey  get  ground  and  vantage  of  the 
king. 
Then  join  you  with  them,  like  a  rib  of  steel, 
To  make  strength  stronger ;  but,  for  all  our  loves. 
First  let  them  try  themselves :  So  did  your  son  ; 
He  was  so  sufi'er'd  ;  so  came  I  a  widow  ; 
And  never  shall  have  length  of  life  enough. 
To  rain  upon  remembrance  with  mine  eyes, 
That  it  may  grow  and  sprout  as  high  as  heaven. 
For  recordation  to  my  noble  husband. 

Xorth.  Come,  come,  go  in  with  me :  'tis  with 
my  mind. 

As  with  the  tide  swell'd  up  into  its  height. 
That  makes  a  still-stand,  running  neither  way. 
Fain  would  I  go  to  meet  the  arclibishop, 
But  many  thousand  reasons  hold  me  back ;  ■■    ■ 

1  will  resolve  for  Scotland  ;  there  am  I, 
Till  time  and  vantage  crave  my  company. 

[Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E    /F.— London.     .4  room  in  the  Boar's 
Head  Tavern,  in  Eastcheap.  Enter  ttco  Drawers. 

1  Draw.  What  the  devil  hast  thou  brought  there  7 
apple-Johns  ?  thou  know'st,  sir  John  cannot  endure 
an  apple- John.  ^ 

2  Draxc.  Mass,  thou  saycst  true  :  The  prince 
once  set  a  dish  of  apple- Johns  before  him,  and  told 
him,  there  were  five  more  sir  Johns  :  and,  putting 
off  his  hat,  said,  /  wiU  now  lake  my  leave  of  these 
six  dry,  round,  old,  rcither'd  knights.  It  angered 
him  to  the  heart ;  but  he  hath  forgot  that. 

1  Dune.  Why  then,  cover,  and  set  them  down : 
And  see  if  thou  canst  find  out  Sneak's  noise;*  mis- 
tress Tear-sheet  would  fain  hear  some  music.  De- 
spatch :— The  room  v  here  they  supped  is  too  hot ; 
they'll  come  in  straight. 

2  Draw.  Sirrah,  here  will  be  the  prince,  and 
master  Poins  anon ;  and  they  will  put  on  two  of  our 

(4)  Sneak  was  a  street  minstrel :  a  nobe  of  mu. 
sicians  anciently  signified  a  concert. 


4(Su 


SECOND  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV. 


Act  It. 


jerkins,  and  aprons  ;  and  sir  John  must  not  know 
of  It :  Bardolph  hath  brought  ^vord. 

1  Ihav}.  By  the  mass,  here  will  be  old  utis  :•  It 
will  be  an  excellent  stratagem. 

2  Draw.  I'll  see,  if  I  can  find  out  Sneak.   [Exit. 

Enter  Hostess  and  Doll  Tear-sheet. 

Host.  I'faith,  sweetheart,  methinks  now  you  are 
in  an  excellent  good  lemperality :  your  pulsidge 
Ijeats  as  extraordinarily  as  heart  would  desire :  and 
your  colour,  I  warrant  you,  v:  as  red  as  any  rose : 
But,  i'faith,  you  have  drunk  too  much  canaries ; 
and  that's  a  marvellous  searching  wme,  and  it  per- 
fumes the  blood  ere  one  can  say,— What's  this? 
How  do  you  now  ? 

DM.  Better  than  I  was.     Ilcm. 

Host.  Why,  that's  well  said  ;  a  good  heart's 
Look,  here  comes  sir  John. 

Enter  Foisfafl^  singing. 

Fal.    When  Arthur  first  in  ccmrt.— Empty  the 


Fttl.  Dost  thou  hear,  hostess  ? — 

Host.  Pray  you,  pacify  yourself,  sir  John ;  there 
comes  no  swaggerers'  here. 

Fal.  Dost  thou  hear?  it  is  mine  ancient. 

Host.  Tilly-fally,  sir  John,  never  tell  me  5  your 
ancient  swaggerer  comes  not  in  my  doors.  I  was 
before  master  Tisick,  the  deputy,  the  other  day ; 
and,  as  he  said  to  me, — it  was  no  longer  ago  than 
Wednesday  last, — J\''eighbour  Quickly,  says  he ; — 
master  Dumb,  our  minister,  was  by  then ;— lA/tig"/!- 
bour  Q,uickly,  says  he,  receive  those  that  are  civil ; 
for,  saith  he,  you  are  i»i  an  ill  name ; — now  he  said 
so,  I  can  tell  whereupon  ;  fm;  says  he,  you  are  an 
honest  looman,  and  to  ell  thought  on;  therefore  take 
heed  what  guests  you  receive  :   Receive,  says  he, 

no  stoaggering  companions. There  comes  none 

here  ; — you  would  bless  you  to  hear  what  he  said : 
— no,  I'll  no  swaggerers. 

Fal.  He's  no  swaggerer,  hostess ;  a  tame  cheater,' 
he  ;  you  may  stroke  him  as  gently  as  a  puppy  grey- 
hound :  he  will  not  swagger  %vith  a  Barbary  hen, 


jord^u.-Jlndwas  a  worlhy  king :  [Exit  Drawer.]  .^  ,^^^  ^^^^^^^^  ^^^^  ^^^^.^        ^^^^^_  ^^ resistance. 

How  now,  mistress  Doll  :'  —Pill  him  un    drawpr 

/Jost.  Sick  of  a  calm:  yea,  good  sooth.-  — y  ail  nim  up,  drawer. 

1;  ,    c     •      n   K^..  „„„t .  of.  t!,r>v  i.B  nnnp  in  n      Host.  Chcatcr,  call  you   him  ?     I  will  bar  no 
Pal.  So  IS  all  her  sect :  an  iney  oe  once  in  a.  ?  j  ,  n.ri 

xut.^"  '=  •!•.     "'  )  /  honest  man  my  house,  nor  no  cheater:     But  I  do 

calm,  the/  are  sick.  ^        ^    .    „  .,     ^._.  oot  love  swaggering  ;  by  my  troth,  I  am  the  worse, 


Doll.  You  muddy  rascal,  is  that  all  the  comfort 
you  frive  me  ? 

Fd.  You  make  fat  rascals,  mistress  Doll. 

Doll.  I  make  them !  gluttony  and  diseases  make 
them ;  I  make  them  not. 

Fal.  If  the  cook  help  to  make  the  glutton)-  you 
help  to  make  the  diseases,  Doll :  we  catch  of  you, 
Doll,  we  catch  of  you ;  grant  that,  my  poor  virtue, 
grant  that. 

Doll.  Ay,  marry ;  our  chains,  and  our  jewels. 

Fal.  Your  brooches,  pearls^  and  oxoches  ; — for  to 
serve  bravely,  is  to  come  halting  off,  you  know :  To 
come  off  the  breach  with  his  pike  bent  bravely,  and 
to  surgery  bravely ;  to  venture  upon  the  charged 
chambers*  bravely : 

DM.  Hang  yourself,  you  muddy  conger,  hapg 
yourself! 

Host.  By  my  troth,  this  is  the  old  fashion  ;  you 
two  never  meet,  but  you  fall  to  some  discord :  you 
are  both,  in  good  troth,  as  rheumatic  as  two  dry 
toasts ;  you  cannot  one  bear  with  another's  confir- 
mitics.  What  the  good-year  !^  one  must  bear,  and 
that  must  be  you :  [To  DoU.]  you  are  the  weaker 
vessel,  as  they  saj',  the  emptier  vessel. 

Doll.  Can  a  weak  empty  vessel  bear  such  a  huge 
full  hozshead  ?  there's  a  whole  merchant's  venture 
of  Bourdeaux  stuff  in  him  ;  you  have  not  seen  a 
hulk  better  stufled  in  the  hold.— Come,  I'll  be 
friends  with  thee,  Jack :  thou  art  going  to  the  wars ; 
and  whether  I  shall  ever  see  thee  again,  or  no, 
there  is  nobody  cares. 

Re-enter  Drawer, 

Draw.  Sir,  ancient*  Pistol's  below,  and  would 
speak  with  vou, 

/>oU.  Hang  him,  swaggering  rascal !  let  him 
not  come  hither :  it  is  the  foul-mouth'dst  rogue  in 
England. 

Host.  If  he  swagger,  let  him  not  come  here :  no, 
by  my  faith ;  I  must  live  amongst  my  neighbours ; 
I'll  no  swaggerers :  I  am  in  good  name  and  fame 
with  the  very  best :— Shut  the  door ; — there  comes 
no  swaggerers  here :  I  have  not  lived  all  this  while. 


when  one  says — swagger :  feel,  masters,  how  I 
shake  ;  look  you,  I  v.arrant  you. 

DoU.  <ao  you  do,  hostess. 

Host.  Do  I  ?  yea,  in  very  truth,  do  I,  an  'twere 
an  aspen  leaf:  I  cannot  abide  swaggerers. 

Enter  Pistol,  Bardolph,  and  Page. 

Pist.  'Save  you,  sir  John  ! 

Fal.  Welcome,  ancient  Pistol.  Here,  Pistol,  I 
charge  you  with  a  cup  of  sack ;  do  you  discharge 
upon  mine  hostess. 

Pist.  I  will  discharge  upon  her,  sir  John,  with 
two  bullets. 

Fal.  She  is  pistol-proof,  sir;  you  shall  hardly 
ofl'end  her. 

Host.  Come,  I'll  drink  no  proofs,  nor  no  bullets : 
I'll  drink  no  more  than  will  do  mo  good,  for  no 
man's  pleasure,  I. 

Pist.  Then  to  you,  mistress  Dorothy;  I  will 
charge  you. 

Doll.  Charge  me  ?  I  scorn  you,  scurvy  compa- 
nion. What !  you  poor,  base,  rascally,  cheating, 
lack-linen  mate !  Away,  you  mouldy  rogue,  away ! 
I  am  meat  for  your  master. 

Pist.  1  know  you,  mistress  Dorothy.        " 

Doll.  Away,  you  cut-purse  rascal !  you  filthy 
bung,  away !  by  this  wine,  I'll  thrust  my  knife  in 
your  mouldy  chaps,  an  you  play  the  saucy  cuttle 
with  me.  Away,  you  bottle-ale  rascal !  you  basket- 
hilt  stale  juggler,  you  ! — Since  when,  I  pray  you, 
sir  ? — What^  with  two  points'  on  your  shoulder  ? 
much !' 

Pist.  I  will  murder  your  ruff  for  this. 

Fal.  No  more.  Pistol ;  I  would  not  have  you  go 
off  here :  discharge  yourself  of  our  company,  Pistol. 

Host.  No,  good  captain  Pistol ;  not  here,  sweet 
captain. 

Doll.  Captain  !  thou  abominable  damned  cheater, 
art  thou  not  ashamed  to  be  called — captain  ?  If 
captains  were  of  my  mind,  they  would  truncheon 
you  out,  for  taking  their  names  upon  you  before 
you  have  earned  them.    You  a  captain,  you  slave  I 


(1)  Merry  doings.      (2)  Small  pieces  of  ordnance. 
(S)  Mrs.  Quickly's  blunder  for  goujere,  i.  e.  pox. 
(4)  Ensign.       (5)  A  blustering,  fighting  fellow. 


to  have  swaggering  how : — Shut  the  door,  I  pray  for  what?  for  tearing  a  poor  whore's  ruff  in  a 
you.  Ibawdy-house? — He  a  captain !  Hang  him,  rogue  I 


(6)  Gamester. 

(7)  Laces,  marks  of  his  commission. 

(8)  An  expression  of  disdain. 


beetle  IV. 


SECOND  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV. 


421 


He  lires  upon  mouldy  stewed  prunes,  and  dried 
cakes.  A  captain!  these  villains  will  make  the 
■«vord  captain  as  odious  as  the  word  occupy;  which 
was  an  excellent  good  word  before  it  was  ill-sort- 
ed :  therefore,  captains  had  need  look  to  it. 

Bard.  Pray  thee,  ixo  down,  good  ancient. 

Fal.  Hark  thee  hitlier,  mistress  Doll. 

Pist.    Not  I :    tell  thee   what,   corporal  Bar- 
dolph ; — 
1  could  tear  her : — I'll  be  revenged  on  her. 

Page.  Pray  thee,  go  down. 

Pist.  I'll  see  her  damned  first ; — to  Pluto's  damn- 
ed lake,  to  the  infernal  deep,  with  Erebus  and  tor- 
tures vile  also.  Hold  hook  and  line,  say  I.  Down  ! 
down,  dogs!  down,  faitors!'  Have  we  not  Hiren 
here?* 

Host.  Good  captain  Peesel,  be  quiet ;  it  is  rery 
late,  i'faith:  I  beseek  you  now,  aggravate  your 
choler. 

Pist.  These  be  good  humours,  indeed !    Shall 
pack-horses, 
And  hollow  pamper'd  jades  of  Asia, 
Which  cannot  go  but  thirty  miles  a  dav. 
Compare  with  Caesars,  and  with  Cannibals,' 
And  Trojan  Greeks  ?  nay,  rather  damn  them  with 
King  Cerberus  ;  and  let  the  welkin  roar.  ' 

Shall  we  fall  foul  for  toys  ? 

Host.  By  my  troth,  captain,  these  are  very  bitter 
words. 

Bard.  Be  gone,  good  ancient:  this  will  gfow 
to  a  brawl  anon. 

Pist.  Die  men,  like  dogs ;  give  crowns  like  pins ; 
Have  we  not  Hiren  here  / 

Host.  0'  mv 
here.    What  the  _ 
deny  her  ?  for  God's  sake,  be  quiet. 

Pist.  Then  feed,  and  be  fat,  my  fair  Calipolis  :* 
Come,  give's  some  sack. 

Sifortuna  me  tormenla,  sperato  me  con- 
tenta. — 
Fear  we  broadsides  ?  no,  let  the  fiend  give  fire : 
Give  me  some  sack ; — and,  sweetheart,  lie  thou 
there.  [Laying-  doicn  his  sicord. 

Come  we  to  full  points  here;  and  are  ct  celeras 
nothing  ? 

Fal.  Pistol,  I  would  be  quiet. 

Pi*;.  Sweet  knight,  I  kiss  Ihy  ncif:*  Wliat!  we 
have  seen  the  seven  stars. 

DolL  Thrust  him  down  stairs  ;  I  cannot  endure 
such  a  fustian  rascal. 

Pist.  Thrust  him  down  stairs !  know  we  not 
Galloway  nags  1<^ 

Fal.  Qiioit'  him  down,  Bardolph,  like  a  shove- 
groat  shillinL'':  nay,  if  he  do  nothing  but  speak 
nothing,  he  shall  be  nothing  here. 

Bard.  Come,  get  you  down  stairs. 

Pist.  What!  shall  we  have  incision?  shall  we 

imbrue  ? [Snatching  uv  his  svcord. 

Then  death  rock  me  asleep,  abridge!  my  dcleful 

days  !^ 
Why  then,  let  grievous,  ghastly,  gaping  wounds 
Untwine  the  sisters  three !   Come,  Atropos,  I  say ! 

Host.  Here's  goodly  stuff  toward! 

Fal.  Give  me  my  rapier,  boy. 

DoU.  I  pray  thee.  Jack,  I  pray  thee,  do  not  draw. 

Fal.  Get  you  down  stairs. 

[Drawing,  and  drivinsc  Pistol  ojit. 

Host.  Here's  a  goodly  tumult!    I'll  forswear 

(1)  Traitors,  rascals. 

(2)  A  quotation  from  a  play  of  G.  Peele's. 

(3)  Blunder  for  Hannibal. 

(4)  Parody  of  a  line  in  the  Battle  of  Alcasar,  an 
old  play. 


keepmg  house,  afore  I'll  be  m  these  tirrits  and 

Irights.    So;   murder,   I  warrant  now, Alas, 

alas !   put  up  your  naked  weapons,  put  up  your 
naked  weapons,         [Exeunt  Pistol  and  Bardolph. 

DoU.  I  pray  thee.  Jack,  be  quiet ;  the  rascal  is 
gone.    Ah,  you  whoreson  little  valiant  villain,  you. 

HosL  Are  you  not  hurt  i'the  groin  ?  methoiKht, 
he  made  a  shrewd  thrust  at  your  belly. 
Re-enter  BardolpTi, 

Fal.  Have  you  turned  him  out  of  doors  ? 

Bard.  Yes,  sir.  The  rascal's  drunk :  you  have 
hurt  him,  sir,  in  the  shoulder. 

Fal.  A  rascal !  to  brave  me ! 

BoU.  Ah,  you  sweet  little  rogue,  you !  Alas, 
poor  ape,  how  thou  sweat'st !  Come,  let  me  wipe 
thy  face; — come  on,  you  whoreson  chops:— Ah, 
rcgue !  i'laith,  I  love  thee.  Thou  art  r.s  VflforOOrts 
Hector  of  Troy,  w(Jtth*|»of  Agamemnon,  and  tea 
times  better  than  thQflni|||Oes.    Ah,  viilui 

Fal.  A  rascally  mteTl  mUTfos     ' 
blanket. 


MEoss  the  rogue  in  a 


DqitnSfo,  if  thou  darest  for  thy  heart :  if  thou 
dost,  I'll  canvass  thee  between  a  pair  of  sheets. 


pau'( 
Enter  music. 
Pa<re.  The  music  is  come,  sir. 
Fal.   Let  them  play; — Play,  sirs, — Sit  on  my 
knee,  Doll,    A  rascal  bragging  slave !  the  rogue 
fled  from  me  like  quicksilver. 

Doll.  I'faith,  and  thou  foUowedst  him  like  a 
church.  Thou  whoreson  little  tidy  Bartholomew 
boar-pi?,  when  wilt  thou  leave  fighting  o'days,  and 

word-rcaptali  there's  none  such  ^ttfi  helSn  /  ''"'  '^^"  ''  ^'^'='"  "^  """^  "'^^ 
;  good-year !  do  you  thmk  I  would  _  /     ...    ,  '     . 

tnter  belund,  Pnnce  Henry  tmd  Poins,  disguised 

like  drawers. 

Fal.  Peace,  good  Doll !  Do  not  speak  like  a 
death's  head  :  do  not  bid  me  remember  mine  end. 

DoU.  Sirrah,  what  humour  is  the  prince  of? 

Fal.  A  good  shallow  young  fellow:  he  would 
have  made  a  good  pantler,  he  ivould  have  chipped 
bread  well. 

Doll.  They  say,  Poins  has  a  good  wit. 

Fal.  He  a  good  wit?  hang  him,  baboon!  his 
wit  is  as  thick  as  Tewksbury  mustard :  there  is  no 
more  conceit  in  him,  than  is  in  a  mallet. 

DoU.  Why  does  the  prince  love  him  so  then  ? 

Fal.  Because  their  legs  areboth  of  a  bigness: 
and  he  plays  at  quoits  well ;  and  eats  conger  and 
fennel ;  antl  drinks  off  candles'  ends  for  flap-dra- 
gons ;  and  rides  the  wild  mare  with  the  boys ;  and 
jumps  upon  joint-stools  ;  and  swears  with  a  good 
grace ;  and  wears  his  boot  very  smooth,  like  unto 
the  sign  of  the  leg;  and  breeds  no  bate  with  telling 
of  discreet  stories,  and  such  other  gambol  faculties 
he  hath,  that  show  a  weak  mind  and  an  able  body, 
for  the  which  the  prince  admits  him :  for  the  prince 
himself  is  such  another ;  the  weipht  of  a  hair  will 
turn  the  scales  between  their  avoirdupois. 

P.  Hen.  Would  not  this  nava  of  a  wheel  have 
his  ears  cut  off? 

Poins.  Let's  beat  him  before  his  whore. 

P.  Hen.  Look,  if  the  withered  elder  hath  not 
his  poll  clawed  like  a  parrot. 

Poins.  Is  it  not  strange,  that  desire  should  so 
many  years  outlive  performance? 

Fal.  Kiss  me,  Doll. 

P.  Hen.  Saturn  and  Venus  this  year  in  conjunc- 
tion !  what  says  the  almanac  to  that  ? 


(5)  Fist. 
(7)  Throw. 
(9)  Thrusting. 


(6)  Common  hacknies. 

{S)  Part  of  an  ancibat  song. 


422 


SECOND  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV. 


Jlct  III. 


Poins.  And,  look,  whether  the  fiery  Trigon,"  his 
man,  be  not  hsping  to  his  master's  old  tables ;  his 
note-book,  his  counsel-keeper. 

Fal.  Thou  dost  give  me  flattering  busses. 

Doll.  Nay,  truly ;  I  kiss  thee  with  a  most  con 
stant  heart. 

Fal.  I  am  old,  I  am  old. 

Doll.  I  love  thee  better  than  I  love  e'er  a  scurry 
young  boy  of  them  all. 

jFa?.  What  stuff  wilt  have  a  kirtle*  of?  I  shall 
receive  money  on  Thursday :  thou  shalt  have  a  cap 
to-morrow.  A  merry  song,  come :  it  frrous  late, 
we'll  to  bed.     Thou'lt  forget  me,  when  I  am  gone. 

Doll.  By  my  troth,  thou'lt  set  me  a  weeping,  an 
thousayestso:  prove  that  ever  I  dress  myself  hand- 
some till  thy  return. Well,  hearken  the  end. 

Fal.  Some  sack,  Francis. 
^^         P.  Hen.  Poins.  Anon,  anon,  sir.      [Mvancing. 

Fal.  Ha !  a  bastard  son  of  the  king's — And  art 
not  thou  Poins  his  brother? 

P.  Hen.  Why,  thou  globe  of  sinful  continents 
what  a  life  dost  thou  lead  ? 

Fed.  A  belter  than  thou ;  I  am  a  gentleman, 
thou  art  a  drawer, 

P.  Hen.  Very  true,  sir ;  and  I  come  to  draw 
you  out  bv  the  ears. 

Host.  0,  the  Lord  preserve  thy  pood  grace  !  by 
my  troth,  welcome  to  London. — Now  the  Lord 
bless  that  sweet  face  of  thine  I  O  Jcsu,  are  you 
come  from  Wales  ? 

Fal.  Thou  whoreson  mad  compound  of  majes- 
ty,— by  this  light  flesh  and  corrupt  blood,  thou  art 
ivelcomc.  [Leaning  his  hand  upon  Doll 

Doll.  How!  you  fat  fool,  I  scorn  you. 

Poins.  My  lord,  he  will  drive  you  out  of  your 
revenge,  and  turn  all  to  a  merriment,  if  you  take 
not  the  heat. 

P.  Hen.  You  whoreson  candlc-mine,  you  ;  how 
vilely  did  you  speak  of  me  even  nou',  before  this 
honest,  virtuous,  civil  gentlewoman  ? 

Host.  'Blessing  o'your  good  heart!  and  so  she 
is,  by  mv  troth. 

Fal.  Didst  thou  hear  me? 

P.  Hen.  Yes ;  and  you  knew  me,  as  you  did 
when  you  ran  away  by  Gads-hill :  you  knew,  I 
was  at  your  back ;  and  spoke  it  on  purpose  to  try 
my  patience. 

Fal.  No,  no,  no;  not  so;  I  did  not  think  thou 
wast  within  hearing. 

P.  Hen.  I  shall  drive  you  then  to  confess  the 
wilful  abuse ;  and  then  I  know  how  to  handle  you, 

Fal.  No  abuse,  Hal,  on  mine  honour;  no  abuse 

P.  Hen.  Not !  to  dispraise  me ;  and  call  me — 
pantler,  and  bread-chipper,  and  I  know  not  what? 

Fal.  No  abuse,  Hal. 

Poins.  No  abuse ! 

Fal.  No  abuse,  Ned,  in  the  world ;  honest  Ned, 
none.  I  dispraised  him  before  the  wicked,  that  the 
wicked  might  not  fall  in  love  with  him  : — in  which 
doing,  I  have  done  the  part  of  a  careful  friend,  and 
a  true  subject,  and  thy  father  is  to  give  me  thanks 
for  it.  No  abuse,  Hal ; — none,  Ned,  none ; — no, 
boys,  none. 

P.  Hen.  See,  now,  whether  pure  fear,  and  en- 
tire cowardice,  doth  not  make  thee  wrong  this  vir- 
tuous gentlewoman  to  close  with  us  ?  Is  she  of  the 
wicked  ?  Is  thine  hostess^here  of  the  wicked  ?  Or 
is  the  boy  of  the  wicked?  Or  honest  Bardolph, 
whose  7,eal  burns  in  his  nose,  of  the  wicked  ? 

Poins.  Answer,  thou  dead  elm,  answer. 

FaL  The  fiend  hath  pricked  down  Bardolph  ir- 
'lecoTerable :  and  his  face  is  Lucifer's  privy  kitchen, 

(1)  An  astronomical  term.      (2)  A  short  cloak, 


whtere  he  doth  nothing  but  roast  malt-worms.  For 
the  boy — there  is  a  good  angel  about  him;  but 
the  devil  outbids  him  too. 

P.  Hen.  For  the  women, 

Fal.  For  one  of  them, — she  is  in  hell  already, 
and  burns,  poor  soul !  For  the  other, — I  owe  her 
money;  and  whether  she  be  damned  for  that,  I 
know  not. 

Host.  No,  I  warrant  you. 

Fal.  No,  I  think  thou  art  not ;  I  think,  thou  art 
quit  for  that :  Marry,  there  is  another  indictment 
upon  thee,  for  suffering  flesh  to  be  eaten  in  thy 
house,  contrary  to  the  law ;  for  the  which,  I  think, 
thou  wilt  howl. 

Host.  All  victuallers  do  so :  What's  a  joii^t  of 
mutton  or  two  in  a  whole  Lent  ? 

P.  Hen.  You,  gentlewoman, 

Doll.  What  says  your  grace? 

Fal.  His  grace  says  tliat  which  his  flesh  rebels 
against. 

Host.  Who  knocks  so  loud  at  door  ?  look  to  the 
door  there,  Francis. 

Enter  Peto. 

P.  Hen.  Peto,  how  now?  what  news? 

Peto.  The  kinc;,  your  father,  is  at  Westminster ; 
And  there  are  twenty  weak  and  wearied  posts, 
Come  from  the  north  :  and,  as  I  came  along, 
I  met,  and  overtook,  a  dozen  captains. 
Bare-headed,  sweating,  knocking  at  the  taverns, 
And  asking  every  one  for  sir  John  Falstaff. 

P.  Hen.  By  heaven,  Poins,  I  feel  me  much  to 
blame. 
So  idly  to  profane  the  precious  time ; 
When  tempest  of  commotion,  like  the  southj 
Borne  with  black  vapour,  doth  begin  to  melt, 
And  drop  upon  our  bare  unarmed  heads. 
Give  me  my  sword,  and  cloak: — ^Falstaff,  good 
night. 
[Ere.  P.  Henrj-,  Poins,  Peto,  «»)fZ  Bardolph. 

Fal.  Now  conies  in  the  sweetest  morsel  of  the 
ni'jhf,  and  we  must  hence,  and  leave  it  unpicked. 
[Knoclnng  heard.]  More  knocking  at  (he  door  ? 

Re-enter  Bardolph. 
How  now  ?  what's  the  matter  ? 

Bard.  You  must  away  to  court,  sir,  presently  • 
A  dozen  captains  stay  at  door  for  vou. 

Fal.  Pay  the  musicians,  sirrah.  ITo  t/jePage.] 

Farewell,  hostess ; — Farewell,  Doll. — You  see,  my 
sood  wenches,  how  men  of  merit  are  sought  aOer : 
the  undeserver  may  sleep,  when  the  man  of  action 
is  called  on.  Farewell,  good  wenches  :  Iflbenot 
sent  away  post,  I  will  see  you  again  ere  I  go. 

Doll.  I  cannot  speak  ; — If  my  heart  be  not  ready 
to  burst: — Well,  sweet  Jack,  have  a  care  of  thyself, 

Fal.  Farewell,  farewell.      [Exe.  Fal.  and  Bard. 

Host.  Well,  fare  thee  well :  I  have  known  thee 
these  twent)'-nine  j'cars,  come  peascod-time  ;  but 
an  honester,  and  truer-hearted  man, — Well,  fare 
thee  well. 

Bard.  [Withi7i.]  Mistress  Tear-sheet, 

Host.  What's  the  matter  ? 

Bard.  [IVithin.]  Bid  mistress  Tear-sheet  come 
to  my  master. 

Host.  O  run,  Doll,  run  ;  run,  good  Doll.    [Exe. 


ACT  III, 

SCE.S'E  I.— A  room  in  the  palace.     Enter  King 
Henry,  in  his  night-goivn,  with  a  Page. 
K.  Hen.   Go,  call  the  earls  of  Surrey,  and  of 
^Varn■ick ; 


Seme  II. 


SECOND  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV/ 


423 


But  ere  they  come,  bid  them  o'er-read  these  letters, 

And  well  consider  of  them :  Make  good  speed. 

[Exit  Page. 
How  many  thousands  of  my  poorest  subjects 
Are  at  this  hour  asleep ! — Sleep,  gentle  sleep. 
Nature's  soft  nurse,  how  have  I  (rightad  thee. 
That  thou  no  more  wilt  weigh  my  eyelids  down. 
And  steep  my  senses  in  forgetfulness  ? 
Wh}'  rather,  sleep,  liest  tliou  in  smoky  crib?, 
Upon  uneasy  pallets  stretching  thee. 
And  hush'd  ivith  buzzing  ni^ht-flies  to  thy  slumber ; 
Than  in  the  perfiim'd  chambers  of  the  great, 
Under  Ihe  canopies  of  costly  state, 
And  luU'd  with  sounds  of  sweetest  melody  ? 
O  thou  dull  god,  why  liest  thou  with  the  vile, 
In  loathsome  beds :  and  leav'st  tiie  kindly  couch, 
A  watch-case,  or  a  common  'iarum  bell? 
Wilt  thou  upon  the  high  and  giddy  mast 
Seal  up  the  ship-boy's  eyes,  and  rock  his  brains 
In  cradle  of  the  rude  imperious  surge  ; 
And  in  the  visitation  of  the  winds, 
AVho  take  tiie  ruffian  billows  by  the  top. 
Curling  their  monstrous  heads,  and  hanging  them 
With  deaf'ning  clamours  in  the  slippery  clouds, 
That,  with  the  burly,'  death  itself  awakes? 
Canst  thou,  O  partial  sleep  !  give  thy  repose 
To  the  wet  sea-boy  in  an  hour  so  rude  ; 
Apd,  in  the  calmest  and  most  stillest  night, 
With  all  appliances  and  meahs  to  boot, 
Deny  it  to  a  king  ?  Then,  happj'  low,*  lie  down  ! 
Uneasy  lies  the  head  that  wears  a  crown. 

E)Uer  Warwick  and  Surrey. 

War.  Many  good  morrowifib  your  majesty ! 

K.  Hen.  Is  it  good  morrow,  lords  ? 

War.  'Tis  one  o'clock,  and  past. 

K.  Hen.  Why  then,  good  morrow  to  you  all,  my 
lords. 
Have  you  read  o'er  the  letters  that  I  sent  you  ? 

War.  We  have,  my  liege,. 

K.  Hen.  Then  you  perceive,  the  body  of  our 
kingdom 
How  foul  itls ;  what  rank  diseases  grow, 
And  with  what  danger,  near  the  heart  of  it. 

War.  It  is  but  as  a  body,  yet,  distemper'd  ; 
Which  to  his  former  strength  may  be  restor'd, 

With  good  advice,  and  little  medicine  : 

Mv  lord  Northumberland  will  soon  be  cool'd. 

jK.  Hen.  O  heaven !  that  one  might  read  the  book 
of  fate  ; 
And  see  the  revolution  of  the  times 
Make  mountains  level,  and  the  continent 
(Weary  of  solid  fuTnness)  melt  itself 
into  the  sea  !  and,  other  times,  to  see 
The  beach  v  girdle  of  the  ocean 
Too  wide  for  Neptune's  hips ;  how  chances  mock, 
And  changes  fill  the  cup  of  alteration 
With  divers  liquors  !  O,  if  this  were  seen, 
The  happiest  youth, — viewing  his  progress  through, 
^V'hat  perils  past,  what  crosses  to  ensue, — 
Would  shut  the  book,  and  sit  him  down  and  die. 
'Tis  not  ten  years  gone. 

Since  Richard,  and  Northumberland,  great  friends. 
Did  feast  together,  and,  in  two  years  after. 
Were  they  at  wars  :  It  is  but  eight  years,  since 
This  Percy  was  the  man  nearest  my  soul ; 
Who  like  a  brother  toil'd  in  my  affairs, 
And  laid  his  love  and  life  under  my  foot ; 
Yea,  for  my  sake,  even  to  the  eyes  of  Richard, 
Gave  him  detiance.    But  which  of  you  was  by, 
(You,  cousin  Nevil,  as  I  may  remember,) 

[To  Warwick. 

(1)  No:se.       (2^  Those  in  lowly  situations. 


When  Richard,— with  his  eye  onmfull  of  tears. 
Then  check'd  and  rated  by  Northumberland,— 
Did  speak  these  words,  now  prov'd  a  prophecy  ? 
.Yorthmnberland,  thou  ladder,  by  the  which 
My  cousin  Bolingbroke  ascends  my  throne  ;— 
Though  then,  heaven  knows,  I  had  no  such  intent ; 
But  that  necessity  so  bow'd  the  state, 

That  I  and  greatness  were  compell'd  to  kiss : 

The  time  shall  come,  thus  did  he  follow  it. 
The  time  xcill  come,  that  fold  sin,  gathering  bead, 
Sliall  break  into  corn(ption  ; — so  went  on. 
Foretelling  this  same  time's  condition, 
And  the  division  of  our  amity. 

War.  There  is  a  history  in  all  men's  lives. 
Figuring  the  nature  of  tlie  times  deceas'd: 
The  which  observ'd,  a  man  may  prophesy. 
With  a  near  aim,  of  the  main  chance  of  things 
As  yet  not  come  to  life  ;  which  in  their  seeds. 
And  weak  beginnings,  lie  iiitrcasnrcd. 
Such  tilings  beconurtlie  hatch  and  brood  of  time ; 
And,  by  the  necessary  form  of  this. 
King Ricliardm^ht  create  a  perfect  guess, 
Tha^MglSforthumberland,  then  false  to  him, 
Wo^^Pm  that  seed,  grow  to  a  greater  falseness ; 
should  not  find  a  ground  to  root  upon, 
less  on  you. 

K.  Hen.  Are  these  things  then  necessities  ? 

Then  let  us  meet  them  like  necessities  : — 
And  that  same  word  even  now  cries  out  on  us  ; 
They  say,  the  bishop  and  Northumberland 
Are  fifty  thousand  strong. 

War.  It  cannot  be,  my  lord ; 

Rumour  doth  double,  like  the  voice  and  echo, 
The  numbers  of  the  fear'd : — Please  it  your  grace, 
To  go  to  bed :  upon  mv  life,  my  lord, 
The  powers  that  you  already  have  sent  forth. 
Shall  bring  this  prize  in  very  easily. 
To  comfort  you  the  more,  I  have  receiv'd 
A  certain  instance,  that  Glendower  is  dead. 
Your  majesty  hath  been  this  fortnight  ill ; 
And  these  unseason'd  hours,  perforce,  must  add 
Unto  vour  sickness. 

K.  Hen.  I  will  take  your  counsel : 

And,  were  these  in%yard  wars  once  out  of  hand, 
We  would,  dear  lords,  unto  the  Holy  Land.  [Exe, 

SCEJ^E  II.— Court  before  Justice  Shallow's  Aotwe, 
in  Gloucestershire.  Enter  Shallow  onrf  Silence, 
meeting;  Mouldy,  Shadow,  Wart,  Feeble,  Bull* 
calf,  and  servants,  behind. 

Shiil.  Come  on,  come  on,  come  on ;  give  me  your 
hand,  sir,  give  me  your  hand,  sir :  an  early  stirrer, 
by  the  rood.'  And  how  doth  my  good  cousin.  Si- 
lence ? 

Sil.  Good  morrow,  good  cousin  Shallow. 

Shal.  And  how  doth  my  cousin,  your  bed-fellow  ? 
and  r  our  fairest  daughter,  and  mine,  my  god-daugfa- 
ter  Ellen? 

Sil.  Alas,  a  black  ouzel,  cousin  Shallow. 

Shal.  By  yea  and  nay,  sir,  I  dare  say,  my  cousin 
William  is  become  a  good  scholar :  He  is  at  Ox- 
ford still,  is  he  not  ? 

Sil.  Indeed,  sir,  to  my  cost. 

Shal.  He  must  then  to  the  inns  of  courts  shortly: 
I  was  once  of  Clement's-Uin  ;  where,  I  think,  they 
will  talk  of  mad  Shallow  vet. 

Sil.  You  were  called— lusty  Shallow,  then, 
cousin. 

Shal.  By  the  mass,  I  was  called  any  thing;  and 
I  would  have  done  any  thing,  indeed,  and  roundly 
too.  There  was  I,  and  little  John  Doit  of  Stafford- 
shire, and  black  George  Bare,  andFrancis  PickbonC] 

(3)  Cross. 


424 


SECOND  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV. 


Jlct  m. 


and  Will  Squele,  a  Cotswold  man, — you  had  not 
four  such  swing-bucklers'  in  all  the  inns  of  court 
again  :  and  I  may  say  to  you,  we  knew  where  the 
bona-robas*  were  ;  and  had  the  best  ol  them  all  at 
commandment.  Then  was  Jack  FalslafT,  now  sir 
John,  a  boy ;  and  page  to  Thomas  Mowbray,  duke 
of  Norfolk. 

SU.  This  sir  John,  cousin,  that  comes  hither  anon 
about  soldiers  ? 

Slud.  The  same  sir  John,  the  very  same.  I  saw 
him  break  Skogan's  head  at  the  court-gate,  when 
he  was  a  crack,^  not  thus  high :  and  the  very  same 
day  did  I  fight  with  one  Sampson  Stockfish,  a  fruit- 
erer, behind  Gray's-Inn.  O,  the  mad-days  that  I 
have  spent !  and  to  see  how  many  of  mine  old  ac- 
quaintances are  dead ! 

SU.  We  shall  all  follow,  cousin. 

■Shal,  Certain,  'tis  certain-;  very  sure,  very  sure 
death,  as  the  Psalmist  siuth,  is  certain  to  all ;  all 
shall  die.    How  a  good  yoke  of  bullocks  at  Stam- 
ford fair  ? 

SU.  Truly,  cousin,  I  was  not  there. 

Shal.  Death  is  certain. — Is  old  Double  of  your 
town  living  yet  ? 

SU.  Dead,  sir. 

Shal.  Dead ! — See,  see ! — he  drew  a  good  bow ; — 
And  dead ! — he  shot  a  fine  shoot : — John  of  Gaunt 
loved  him  well,  and  betted  much  money  on  his 
head.  Dead  I — he  would  have  clapped  i'the  clout 
at  twelve  score  ;*  and  carried  you  a  forehand  shaft 
a  fourteen  and  fourteen  and  a  half,  that  it  would 
have  done  a  man's  heart  good  to  see. — How  a  score 
of  ewes  now? 

SU.  Thereafter  as  they  be :  a  score  of  good  ewes 
may  be  worth  ten  pounds. 

Shal,  And  is  old  Double  dead  ? 

Enter  Bardolph,  and  one  with  him. 

SU.  Here  come  two  of  sir  John  FalstafPs  men, 
as  I  think. 

Bard.  Good  morrow,  honest  gentlemen :  I  be- 
seech you,  which  is  justice  Shallow  ? 

Shal.  I  am  Robert  Shallow,  sir ;  a  poor  esquire 
of  this  county,  and  one  of  the  king's  justices  of  the 
peace :  What  is  your  good  pleasure  with  me  ? 

Bard.  My  captain,  sir,  commends  him  to  you  : 
my  captain,  sir  John  Falstaff':  a  tall'  gentleman, 
by  heaven,  and  a  most  gallant  leader. 

Shal.  He  greets  rile  well,  sir;  I  knew  him  a 
good  backsword  man :  How  doth  the  good  knight? 
may  I  ask,  how  my  lady  his  ivife  doth  ? 

Bard.  Sir,  pardon ;  a  soldier  is  better  accommo- 
dated, than  with  a  wife. 

Shal.  It  is  well  said,  in  faith,  sir  ;  and  it  Ls  well 
said,  indeed^  too.  Better  accommodated  ! — it  is 
good  ;  yea,  mdeed,  it  is :  good  phrases  are  surely, 
and  ever  were,  very  commendable.  Accommo- 
dated!— il  comes  from  accommodo,:  very  good  ;  a 
good  phrase. 

Bard.  Pardon  me,  sir ;  I  have  heard  the  word. 
Phrase,  call  you  it?  By  this  good  day,  I  know  not 
the  phrase :  but  I  ivill  maintam  the  word  with  my 
sword,  to  be  a  soldier-like  word,  and  a  word  of  ex- 
ceeding good  command.  Accommodated ;  that  is, 
when  a  man  is,  as  they  say,  accommodated :  or, 
when  a  man  is, — being, — whereby, — he  may  be 
thought  to  be  accommodated ;  which  is  an  excellent 
thing. 

Enter  Falstaff. 

Shal.  It  is  very  just  .-—Look,  here  comes  good 


1 )  Rakes,  or  rioters. 
,2)  Ladies  of  pleasure. 


(3)  Boy. 


I  sir  John. — Give  me  your  good  hand,  give  me  your 
worship's  good  hand :  By  my  troth,  you  look  well, 
and  bear  your  years  very  well :  welcome,  good  sir 
John. 

Fal.  I  am  glad  to  see  you  well,  good  master 
Robert  Shallow: — Master  Sure-card,  as  I  think. 

Shal.  No,  sir  John  ;  it  is  my  cousin  Silence,  in 
commission  with  me. 

Fal.  Good  master  Silence,  it  well  befits  you 
should  be  of  the  peace. 

SU.  Your  good  worship  is  welcome. 

Fal.   Fie  !   this  is  hot  weather. Gentlemen, 

have  you  provided  me  here  half  a  dozen  sufficient 
men? 

Shal.  Marry,  have  we,  sir.    Will  you  sit  ? 

Fal.  Let  me  see  them,  I  beseech  you. 

Shal.  Where's  the  roll  ?  where's  the  roll  ?  where's 
the  roll  ? — Let  me  see,  let  me  see.  So,  so,  so,  so : 
Yea,  marry,  sir:— Ralph  Mouldy:— let  them  ap- 
pear as  I  call ;  let  them  do  so,  let  them  do  so.— « 
Let  me  see  ;  Where  is  Mouldy  1 

Mend.  Here,  an't  please  you. 

Shal.  What  think  you,  sir  John  ?  a  good-limbed 
fellow :  young,  strong,  and  of  good  friends. 
.  J'oZ.  Is  thy  name  Mouldy? 

Wow/.  Yea,  an't  please  you. 

Fkl.  'Tis  the  more  time  thou  wert  used. 

Shal.  Ha,  ha,  ha !  most  excellent,  i'faith !  things 

that  are  mouldj%  lack  use :  Very  singular  good ! 

In  faith,  well  said,  sir  John ;  very  well  said. 

Ta/.  Prick  him.  [To  Shallow. 

Moid.  I  was  pricked  well  enough  before,  an  you 
could  have  let  me  alone ;  my  old  dame  will  be  un- 
done now,  for  one  to  do  her  husbandry,  and  her 
drudgery :  you  need  not  to  have  pricked  me ;  there 
are  other  men  fitter  to  go  out  than  I. 

Fal.  Go  to ;  peace.  Mouldy,  you  shall  go.  Moul- 
dy, it  is  time  you  were  spent. 

Moid.  Spent! 

Shal.  Peace,  fellow,  peace  ;  stand  aside ;  Know 
you  where  you  are  ? — For  the  other,  sir  John : — let 
me  see  ; — Simon  Shadow ! 

Fat.  Ay  marry,  let  me  have  him  to  sit  under : 
he's  like  to  be  a  cold  soldier. 

Shal.  Where's  Shadow  ? 

Shad.  Here,  sir. 

Fal.  Shadow,  whose  son  art  thou  ? 

Shad.  My  mother's  son,  sir. 

Fal.  Thy  mother's  son !  like  enough ;  and  thy 
father's  shadow :  so  the  son  of  the  female  is  the 
shadow  of  the  male :  It  is  often  so,  indeed ;  but 
not  much  of  the  father's  substance. 

Shal.  Do  you  like  him,  sir  John  ? 

FaL  Shadow  will  serve  for  summer, — prick  him  ; 
— for  we  have  a  number  of  shadows  to  fill  up  the 
muster-book. 

Shal.  Thomas  Wart! 

Fal.  Where's  he  ? 

Wart.  Here,  sir. 

Pdi.  Is  thy  name  Wart? 

Wart.  Yea,  sir. 

Fal.  Thou  art  a  very  ragged  wart. 

Shal.  Shall  I  prick  him,  sir  John  ? 

Fal.  It  were  superfluous ;  for  his  apparel  is  built 
upon  his  hack,  and  the  whole  frame  stands  upon 
pins  :  prick  him  no  more. 

Shal.  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! — you  can  do  itj  sir  ;  you  can 
do  it :  I  commend  you  well. — Francis  Feeble ! 

Fee.  Here,  sir. 

Fal.  What  trade  art  thou.  Feeble  ? 

Fee.  A  woman's  tailor,  sir. 

(4)  Hit  the  white  mark  at  twelve  score  yaida. 

(5)  Brave. 


Scttu  II. 


SECOND  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV. 


425 


Shal.  Shall  I  prick  him,  sir  ? 

Fal.  You  may  :  but  if  he  had  been  a  man's  tailor, 
he  would  have  pricked  you. — Wilt  thou  make  as 
(uany  holes  in  an  enemy's  battle,  as  thou  hast  done 
in  a  woman's  petticoat  ? 

Fee.  I  will  do  iny  good  yi'AX,  sir ;  you  can  have 
no  more. 

Fal.  Well  said,  good  woman's  tailor !  well  said, 
couraireous  Feeble !  Thou  wilt  be  as  valiant  as  the 
wrathful  dove,  or  most  magnanimous  mouse. — 
Prick  the  woman's  tailor  well,  master  Shallow ; 
deep,  master  Shallow. 

Fee.  I  would,  Wart  might  have  gone,  sir. 

Fid.  I  would,  thou  wert  a  man's  tailor ;  that  thou 
might'st  mend  him,  and  make  him  fit  to  go.  I  can- 
not put  him  to  a  private  soldier,  that  is  the  leader 
of  so  many  thousands;  Let  that  suffice,  most  for- 
cible Feeble. 

Fee.  It  shall  suffice,  sir. 

Fal.  I  am  bound  to  thee,  rcTerend  Feeble. — 
Who  is  next  ? 

Shal.  Peter  Bull-calf  of  Uie  green! 

Fal.  Yea,  marry,  let  us  see  SuU-calf. 

Bull.  Here,  sir. 

Fal.  'Fore  God,  a  likely  fellow ! — Come,  pruL 
the  Bull-calf,  till  he  roar  a«ain.  ^^ 

BiiU.  O  lord !  good  my  ford  captain. —         *» 

FaL  ^Vhat,  dost  thou  roar  before  thou  art  pricked? 

Bull.  O  lord,  sir  !  I  am  a  diseased  man. 

Fal.  What  disease  hast  thou  ? 

BuU.  A  whoreson  cold,  sir;  a  coinih,  sir;  which 
1  caught  with  ringing  in  the  king's  anairs,  upon  his 
coronation  day,  sir. 

FcJ,.  Come,  thou  shall  go  t^the  wars  in  a  gown ; 
we  will  have  away  thy  cold  j^  and  I  will  take  such 
order,  that  thy  friends  shall  nog  for  thee. — Is  here 
all? 

Shal.  Here  is  two  more  called  than  your  num- 
ber ;  you  must  have  but  four  here,  sir  ; — and  sj,  I 
pray  you,  go  in  with  me  to  dinner. 

Fal.  Come,  I  will  go  drink  with  you,  but  I  can- 
not tarry  dinner.  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  in  good 
troth,  master  Shallow. 

Shal.  O,  sir  John,  do  you  remember  since  we 
lay  all  ni^ht  in  the  windmill  in  St.  George's-fields  ? 

Fal.  No  more  of  that,  good  master  Shallow,  no 
more  of  that. 

Shal.  Ha,  it  was  a  merry  night.  And  is  Jane 
Nig^ht-work  alive  ? 

Fal,  She  lives,  master  Shallow. 

Shal.  She  never  could  away  with  me. 

Pot.  Never,  never :  s'ne  would  always  say,  she 
could  not  abide  master  Shallow. 

Shal.  By  the  mass,  I  could  anger  her  to  the 
heart.  She  was  then  a  bona-roba.  Doth  she  hold 
her  own  well  ? 

F(d.  Old,  old,  master  Shallow. 

Shal.  Nay,  she  must  be  old  ;  she  cannot  choose 
but  be  old ;  certain,  she's  old ;  and  had  Robin 
Night-work  by  old  Night-work,  before  I  came  to 
Clement's-Inn. 

Sil.  Thai's  fifty-five  year  ago. 

Shal.  Ha,  cousin  Silence,  that  thoB  hadat  seen 
that  that  this  knight  and  I  have  seen!— Ha,  sir 
John,  said  I  well  ? 

Fal.  We  have  heard  the  chimes  at  midnight, 
master  Shallow. 

Shal.  That  we  have,  that  we  have,  that  we  have ; 
in  faith,  sir  John,  we  have  ;  our  watch-word  was, 
Hem,  boys  /—Come,  let's  to  dinner  ;  come,  let's 
to  dinner:— O,  the  days  that  we  have  seen!— 
Come,  come.  [Exe.  Falstafl;  Shallow,  and  Silence. 

(1)  Enemy.        (2)  Gun.         (3)  March. 


Bidl.  Good  master  corporate  Bardolph,  stand 
my  friend  ;  and  here  is  four  Harry  ten  shilhngs  in 
French  crowns  for  you.  In  very  truth,  sir,  I  had 
as  lief  be  hanged,  sir,  as  go :  and  yet,  for  mine 
own  part,  sir,  I  do  not  care  ;  but,  rather,  because 
I  am  unwilling,  and,  for  mine  own  part,  haVe  a  de- 
sire to  stay  with  my  friends ;  else,  sir,  I  did  not  care, 
for  mine  own  part,  so  much. 

Bard.  Go  to ;  stand  aside. 

jMo'.U.  And,  good  master  corporal  captain,  for 
my  old  dame's  sake,  stand  my  fnend :  she  has  no- 
body to  do  any  thing  about  her,  when  I  am  gone : 
and  she  is  old,  and  cannot  help  herself :  you  shaU% 
have  forty,  sir. 

Bard.  Go  to ;  stand  aside. 

Fee.  By  my  troth,  I  care  not ; — a  man  can  die 
but  once  ; — we  owe  God  a  death  ; — I'll  ne'er  bear 
a  base  mind: — an't  be  my  destiny,  so^ — an't  be 
not,  so:  No  man's  to^gtpod  to  serve  his  prince; 
and,  let  it  go  whichJl^ii  will,  he  that  dies  this 
year,  is  quit  for  tbCTflOt. 

Bard.  Well  said ;  thou'rt  a  good  fellow. 

Fi_e.  'Faith,  I'll  bear  no  base  mind. 

Re-enter  Falstaff,  and  Juslicet. 

F<d.  Come,  sir,  which  men  shall  I  have  ? 

Shal.  Four,  of  which  you  please. 

Bard.  Sir.  a  word  with  you : — I  have  three  pound 
to  free  Mouldy  and  Bull-calf. 

Fal.  Go  to ;  well. 

Shal.  Come,  sir  John,  which  four  will  you  hare  ? 

F<d.  Do  you  choose  for  me. 

Shal.  Marry  then,— Mouldy,  BuU-calf,  Feeble, 
and  Shadow. 

Fal.  Mouldy,  and  Bull-calf: — For  jrou.  Mouldy, 
stay  at  home  still ;  you  arfe  past  service  :  and,  for 
your  part.  Bull-calf— grow  till  you  come  unto  it; 
I  will  none  of  you. 

Shid.  Sir  John,  sir  John,  do  not  yourself  wrong: 
they  are  your  likeliest  men,  and  I  would  have  you 
served  with  the  best. 

Fal.  Will  you  tell  me,  master  Shallow,  how  to 
choose  a  man  ?  Care  I  for  the  limb,  the  thewes,  the 
stature,  bulk,  and  big  assemblance  of  a  man !  Give 
me  the  spirit,  master  ShalloAv. — Here's  Wart; — 
you  see  what  a  ragged  appearance  it  is :  he  shall 
charge  you,  and  discharge  you,  with  the  motion  of 
a  pewterer's  hammer ;  come  off,  and  on,  swifter 
than  he  that  gibbets-on  the  brewer's  bucket.  And 
this  same  half-fac'd  fellow.  Shadow, — give  me  this 
man :  he  presents  no  mark  to  the  enemy  :  the  foe- 
man'  may  with  as  ^reat  aim  level  at  the  edge  of  a 
pen-knife :  And,  for  a  retreat, — how  swiftly  will 
this  Feeble,  the  woman's  tailor,  run  off!  O,  give 
me  the  spare  men,  and  spare  me  the  great  ones. — 
Put  me  a  caliver*  into  Wart's  hand,  Bardolph. 

Bard.  Hold,  Wart,  traverse  ;'  thus,  thus,  thus. 

Fal.  Come,  manage  mc your caliver.  So: — very 
well: — go  to: — very  good: — exceeding  good. — O, 
live  me  always  a  little,  lean,  old,  chapped,  bald 
shot.* — Well  said,  i'faith.  Wart ;  thou  art  a  good 
scab  :  hold,  there's  a  tester  for  thee. 

Shal.  He  is  not  his  craft's-master,  he  doth  not  do 
it  right.  I  remember  at  Mile-end  green  (when  I 
lay  "at  Clement's- Inn,— I  was  then  sir  Dagonet,  in 
Arthur's  show,')  there  was  a  little  quiver  fellow, 
and  'a  would  manage  you  his  piece  thus:  and  'a 
would  about,  and  about,  and  come  you  in,  and 
come  you  in :  rah,  tah,  tali,  would  'a  say  ;  bmmee. 
•.vould 'a  say;  and  away  s^ain  would  'a  go,  and 
,a</ain  would  'a  come: — I  shall  never  see  such  & 
fellow. 


(4)  Shooter. 


(5)  An  exhibition  of  archerf , 
3U 


^6 


SECOND  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IT- 


*ict  lY. 


Fd.  These  fellows  will  do  well,  master  Shal- 1  As  might  hold  sortance' with  his  quality, 
low.— God  keep  you,  master  Silence;  I  will  not  The  which  he  could  not  levy ;  whereupon 


use  many  words  with  you :— Fare  you  well,  gentle- 
men hoth  :  I  thank  you  :  I  must  a  dozen  mile  to- 
night.— Bardolph,  give  the  soldiers  coats. 

Slid.  Sir  John,  heaven  bless  you,  and  prosper 
your  affairs,  and  send  us  peace !  As  you  return, 
visit  my  house ;  let  our  old  acquaintance  be  re- 
newed :  peradventurc,  I  will  with  you  to  the  court. 

Fed.  I  would  you  would,  master  Shallow. 

Shd.  Go  to ;  "I  have  spoke,  at  a  word.  Fare  you 
well.  [Exeunt  Shallow  and  Silence. 

Fd.  Fare  you  well,  gentle  gentlemen.  On,  Bar- 
dolph ;  lead  the  men  uwav.  [Exennt  Bardolph, 
Jiecruils,  <S,-c.]  As  I  return,  I  will  fetch  oft'  these 
justices  :  I  do  see  tiie  bottom  of  Justice  Shallo«v. 
Lord,  lord,  how  subject  we  old  men  ore  to  this 
vice  of  lying  1  This  same  stc.rved  justice  hath  done 
nothing  biit  pivitc,  to  me  of  the  wildness  of  his 
youth,  and  the  iciits  lie  hath  done  about  Turnbull- 
street;'  and  every  third  word  a  lie,  duer  paid  to 
the  hearer  than  the  Turk's  tribute.  I  do  remem- 
ber him  at  Clcmcnt's-Inn,  like  a  man  H<llfci^fter 
supper  of  a  cheese-paring :  wlien  he  was  nakeduribe 
was.  for  all  the  world,  like  a  forked  radish,  with^ 
heaa  fantastically  carved  upon  it  with  a""knife :  he 
was  so  forlorn,  ihat  his  dimensions  to  any  thick 
sight  M'ere  invisible:  he  was  the  very  genius  of 
famine  ;  yet  lecherous  as  a  monkey,  and  the  whores 


He  is  retir'd,  to  ripe  his  growing  fortunes, 
To  Scotland :  and  concludes  in  hearty  prayers, 
That  your  attempts  may  overlive  tlie  hazard, 
And  fearful  meeting  of  their  opposite. 
Mowb.  Tiius  do  the  hopes  we  have  in  him  touch 
ground, 
And  dash  themselves  to  pieces. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Host.  Now,  what  neWs  ? 

Mess.  West  of  this  forest,  scarcely  ofia  mile, 
In  goodly  lorm  comes  on  the  enemy : 
Ana,  by  the  ground  they  hide,  I  judge  their  number, 
Upon,  or  near,  the  rate  of  thirty  thousand. 
Mowb.  The  just  proportion  that  we  gave  them 
out. 
Let  us  sway  on,  and  face  them  in  the  field. 
E7tter  Westmoreland. 
Arch.  Wliat  well-appointed'  leader  fronts  us 

here  ? 
Mowb.  I  think,  itjis  my  lord  of  Westmoreland. 
West.  Health  and  fair  greeting  from  our  general, 
prince,  lord  John  and  duke  of  Lancaster. 

Say  on,  my  lord   of  Westmoreland,  in 
peace ; 
Whatdoih  concern  your  cording? 

West.  '  Then,  my  lord. 


called  liim — mandrake:  he  came  ever  in  the  rear- 1  Unto  your  grace  uo  I  in  chief  address 


ward  of  the  fashion ;  and  sung  those  tunes  to  the 
over-scutched  huswives  that  he  l>eard  the  carmen 
whistle^  and  sware — they  were  his  fancies,  or  his 
good-nights. 2  And  now  is  this  Vice's  dagger^  be- 
come a  squire  ;  and  lalks  as  familiarly  of  John  of 
Gaunt,  as  if  he  had  been  sworn  brother  to  him : 
and  I'll  be  sworn  lie  never  saw  him  but  once  in  the 
Tilt-yard  ;  and  then  he  burst*  his  head,  for  crowd- 


The  substance  of  my  speech.     If  that  rebellion 
Came  like  itself,  iu  base  and  abject  routs. 
Led  on  by  bloody  youth,  guarded  with  rage, 
And  countenanc'd  by  toys,  and  beggarv; 
I  sa}-,  if  damn'd  commotion  so  appear'd. 
In  his  true,  native,  and  most  proper  shape, 
You,  reverend  father,  and  these  noble  lords, 
Had  not  been  here,  to  dres^  the  ugly  form 


ingamonithe  marshal's  men.     I  saw  it;  and  told  Of  base  and  bloody  insurrection 


With  your  fair  honours.    You,  Iprd  archbishop, — 
Whose  sec  is  by  a  civil  peace  maUfcain'd ; 
Whose  beard  the  silver  hand  of  peace  hath  touch'd ; 
Whose  learning  and  good  letters  peace  hath  tutor'd ; 


John  of  Gaunt,  lie  beat  his  own  name:^  tor  you 
might  have  truss'd  him,  and  all  his  apparel,  intoi  an 
eel-skin ;  tlie  case  of  a  treble  hautboy  was  a  man- 
sion for  him,  a  court;  and  now  has  he  land  and 

beeves.  Well ;  I  will  be  ac(;nainted  with  him,  if  Whose  white  investments  figure'innocence, 
I  return  :  and  it  shall  go  hard,  but  I  will  make  him 
a  philosopher's  two  stones  to  me :  If  the  young  dace 
be  a  bait  for  Uie  old  pike,  I  sec  no  reason,  ni  the 
law  ofvuature,  but  I  )nay  snap  at  him.  Let  time 
shape,  and  tliere  an  end.  [Exit. 


ACT  IV. 

SCEJSTE  I.—^l  forest  in  Yorkshire.  Enter  the 
archbishop  of  Vork,  Mowbray,  Hastings,  and 
others. 

Jlrch.  What  is  this  forest  call'd  I 

Hast.   'Tis  Gualtree   forest,  an't  shall  please 
your  grace. 

.^irch.  "Here  stand,  my  lords ;   and  send  disco- 
verers forth. 
To  know  the  numbers  of  our  enemies. 

Hast,  We  have  sent  forth  already,  ' 

Arch.  'Tis  well  done. 

My  friends,  and  brethren  in  these  great  afliiirs, 
I  must  acquaint  you  that  1  have  rcceiv'd 
New-dated  letters  from  Northumberland  ; 
Their  cold  intent,  tenour  and  substance,  thus: — 
Here  doth  he  wish  his  person,  with  such  pouers 

(1)  In  Clcrkenwell,      (2)  Titles  of  little  poems. 
(3)  A  wooden  dagger  like  tliut  used  by  the 
modem  harlequin. 


The  dove  and  very  blessed  spirit  of  peace,. — 
Wherefore  do  yoii  so  ill  translate  yourself. 
Out  of  the  speech  of  peace,  that  bears  such  grace. 
Into  the  harsh  and  boist'rous  tongue  of  war? 
Turning  your  books  to  graves,  your  ink  to  blood. 
Your  pens  to  lances ;  and  your  tongue  divine 
To  a  loud  trumpet,  and  a  point  of  war  ? 
Arch.   Wherefore  do  I  this? — so  the  question 

stands. 
Briefly  to  this  end : — ^We  are  all  diseas'd ; 
And,  with  our  surfeiting,  and  wanton  hours. 
Have  brought  ourselves  into  a  burning  fever, 
And  we  must  bleed  for  it :  of  which  disease 
Our  late  king,  Richard,  being  infected,  died. 
But,  my  most  noble  lord  of  Westmoreland, 
I  take  not  on  me  here  as  a  physician  ; 
Nor  do  I  as  an  enemy  to  peace. 
Troop  in  the  throngs  of  military  men  : 
But,  rather,  show  a  while  like  fearful  war, 
To  diet  rank  minds,  sick  of  happiness : 
And  purge  the  obstructions,  which  begin  to  stop 
Our  very  veins  of  life.     Hear  me  more  plainly. 
I  have  in  equal  balance  justly  weigh'd 
What  wronrrs  our  arms  may  do,  what  wrongs  we 

sull'er, 
And  find  our  griefs'  heavier  than  our  offences. 

(4)  Broke.  (5)  Gaunt  is  thin,  slender. 

(6)  Be  suitable.       (7)  Completely  accoutred. 
(8)  Grievances. 


Stenel. 


SECOND  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV. 


427 


We  see  which  way  the  stream  of  time  doth  run, 

And  are  enforc'd  irom  our  most  quiet  sphere 

By  the  rougrh  torrent  of  occasion  : 

And  have  the  summary  of  all  our  g'riels, 

When  time  shall  serve,  to  show  in  articles ; 

Which^  long  ere  this,  we  offbr'd  to  the  king, 

And  might  by  no  suit  g'ain  our  audience  : 

When  we  are  wroni;'d,  and  would  unfold  our  griefs. 

We  arc  denied  access  unto  his  psrsori, 

Even  by  those  men  that  most  have  done  us  wrong. 

The  dangers  of  the  days  but  newly  gone, 

(Whose  memory  is  written  on  the  earth 

With  yet  appearina;  blood,)  and  the  examples 

Of  every  minute's  instance,  (present  now,) 

Have  put  us  in  these  ill-beseemin5j  arms  : 

Not  to  break  peace,  or  any  branch  of  it ; 

But  to  establish  here  a  peace  indeed, 

Concurring  both  in  name  and  qualily. 

West.  AVhen  ever  yet  was  your  appeal  denied  ? 
Wherein  have  vou  been  galled  by  (he  king  ? 
What  peer  hath  been  siiborn'd  to  grate  on  you? 
That  you  sliould  seal  this  lawless  bloody  book 
Of  forg'd  rebellion  with  a  seal  divine, 
And  consecrate  commotion's  bitter  edge  ? 

Jlrch.  My  brother  general,  the  commonweall 
To  brother  born  a  household  cruelty, 
I  make  my  quarrel  in  particular. 

West.  There  is  no  need  of  any  such  redress ; 
Or.  if  thero  were,  it  not  belongs  to  j'ou. 

Slowb.  ^Vhy  not  to  him,  in  part ;  and  to  us  all, 
TJiat  feel  the  bruises  of  the  days  belbre ; 
And  suffer  the  condition  of  these  times 
To  lay  a  heavy  and  unequal  hand 
Upon'our  honours  ? 

West.  O  my  good  lord  Mowbray, 

Construe  the  times  to  their  necessities, 
And  you  shall  say  indeed, — it  is  the  time. 
And  not  the  king,  that  doth  you  injuries. 
Yet,  for  your  part,  it  not  ap()ears  to  me. 
Either  from  the  king,  or  in  the  present  time. 
That  jou  should  have  an  inch  of  any  ground 
To  build  a  grief  on  :  Were  you  not  restor'd 
To  all  the  duke  of  Norfolk's  signiories, 
Vour  noble  and  right-well-remember'd  father's  ? 

.Voicft.  What  thing,  in  honour, had mv father  lost. 
That  need  to  be  reviv'd,  and  breath'd  in  mc? 
The  king,  that  lov'd  him,  as  the  state  stood  then, 
AVas,  force  perforce,  compell'd  to  banish  him : 
And  then,  when  Harry  Bolinirbroke,  and  he, — 
Being  mounted,  and  both  rous'd  in  their  seats. 
Their  ncitrhing  coursers  daring  of  the  spur, 
Tlieir  armed  staves'  in  charge,  their  beavers^ do^vn. 
Their  eyes  of  fire  sparkling  1-hrough  siirhts'  of  steel, 
And  the  loud  trumpet  blowinir  them  together ; 
Then,  then,when  there  was  nothing  could  have  staid 
My  father  from  the  breast  of  Bolingbroke, 
O,  when  the  king  did  throw  his  warder*  down 
His  own  life  hung  upon  the  staff'  he  threw  : 
Then  threw  he  down  himself;  and  all  their  lives. 
That,  by  bidictment,  and  by  dint  of  sword. 
Have  since  miscarried  under  Bolingbroke. 

West.  You  speak,  lord  Mowbray,  now  you  know 
not  what : 
The  earl  of  Hereford  was  reputed  then 
In  England  the  most  valiant  gentleman  ; 
Who  knows,  on  whom  fortune  would  then  have 

smil'd  ? 
5ut,  if  your  father  had  been  victor  tliere, 
He  ne'er  had  borne  it  out  of  Coventry : 
For  all  the  country,  in  a  general  voice, 

(1)  Lances.  (2)  Helmets. 

(3)  The  eye-holes  of  helmets.      (4)  Truncheon. 

(5)  Think  too  highly.  (6)  Sight 


SajMToi 


Cried  hate  upon  him ;  and  all  their  prayers,  and 

love. 
Were  set  on  Hereford,  whom  they  doted  on. 
And  bless'd,  and  mrac'd  indeed,  more  than  the  king. 
But  this  is  mere  digression  from  my  purpose. — 
Here  come  I  from  our  princely  general. 
To  know  your  griefs ;  to  tell  vou  from  his  grace, 
That  he  will  give  you  audience :  and  wherein 
It  shall  appear  that  your  demands  are  just. 
You  shall  enjoy  them  ;  every  thing  set  otf. 
That  might  so  much  as  think  you  enemies. 

Moxcb.   But  he  hath  forc'd  us  to  compel  this 
offer : 
And  it  proceeds  from  policy,  not  love. 

West.  Moivbrav,  you  overween,'  to  take  it  so ; 
This  offer  comes  from  mercy,  not  from  feaur : 
For,  lo  !  within  a  ken.*  our  army  lies  ; 
Upon  mine  honour,  all  too  confident     -^        ■— - 
To  give  admittance  t^^^onght  of  fear. 
Our  batile  is  moreJuPiraBiues  than  yours. 
Our  men  more  poflRtin  the  use  of  arms, 
Our  armou^^  as  strong,  our  cause  the  best ; 
'Yhe\ijg0MNlj!L\s,  our  liearts  should  be  as  good  :— 
Saysfou  not  then,  our  offer  is  compell'd. 

b.  Well,  by  my  will,   v.e  shall  admit  no 
parley. 

West.  That  argues  but  the  shame  of  your  ofience: 
A  rotten  case  abides  no  handling. 

Hast.  Hath  the  prince  John  a  full  commission, 
In  very  ample  virtue  of  his  father, 
To  hear,  and  absolutely  to  determine 
Of  what  conditions  we  shall  stand  upon  ? 

West.  That  is  intended'  in  the  general's  name : 
I  muse,*  you  make  so  slight  a  question. 

Arch.  Then  take,  my  lord  of  Westmoreland,  this 
schedule;' 
For  this  contains  our  general  grievances : — 
Each  several  article  herein  rcdress'd  ; 
All  members  of  our  cause,  both  here  and  hence, 
That  are  insinew'd  to  this  action. 
Acquitted  by  a  true  substantial  form : 
And  present  execution  of  our  wills 
To  us,  and  to  oiir  purposes,  consign'd ; 
We  come  within  our  awful  banks'"  again. 
And  kn'«"  our  powers  to  the  arm  of  peace. 

West.  This  will  I  show  the  general.    Please  you, 
lords, 
In  sight  of  both  our  battles  we  may  meet : 
And  either  end  in  peace,  which  heaven  so  frame  ! 
Or  to  the  place  of  difference  call  the  swords 
Which  must  decide  it. 

Arch.  My  lord,  we  will  do  so. 

[Exit  West. 

Jdotob.  There  is  a  thing  within  my  bosom,  tells  me. 
That  no  conditions  of  our  peace  can  stand. 

Hast.  Fear  you  not  that :  if  we  can  make  our 
peace 
Upon  such  lar^e  terms,  and  so  absolute. 
As  our  conditions  shall  consist  upon. 
Our  peace  shall  stand  as  iirm  as  rocky  mountains. 

Jlfourft.  Ay.  but  our  valuation  shall  oe  such. 
That  every  slight  and  false-derived  cause. 
Yea,  everj'  idle,  nice,"  and  wanton  reason, 
Shall,  to  the  king,  taste  of  this  action  : 
That,  were  our  royal  faiths'^  martyrs  in  Jove, 
We  shall  be  winnow'd  with  so  rough  a  wind. 
That  even  our  corn  shall  seem  as  light  as  chaff. 
And  good  from  bad  find  no  partition. 

drch.  No,  no,  my  lord ;  Note  this, — the  king  ii 
weary 

(7)  Understood.     (8)  Wonder.    (9)  Inventory. 

(10)  Proper  limits  of  reverence. 

( U )  Trival.       ( 12)  The  faith  due  to  a  king. 


428 


SECOND  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV. 


Act  IV, 


Of  dainty  and  such  picking'  grievances  : 

For  lie  hath  found, — to  end  one  doubt  by  death, 

Revives  two  greater  in  the  heirs  of  life. 

And  therefore  vvill  he  wipe  his  tables^  clean  ; 

And  keep  no  tell-tale  to  his  memory, 

That  may  lepeat  and  history  his  loss 

To  new  remembrance  :  For  full  well  he  knows, 

He  cannot  so  precisely  weed  this  land. 

As  his  misdoubts  present  occasion  : 

His  foes  are  so  enrooted  with  his  friends. 

That,  plucking  to  unfix  an  enemy. 

He  doth  unfasten  so,  and  shake  a  friend. 

So  that  this  land,  like  an  ofiensive  wife. 

That  hath  enras^'d  him  on  to  offer  strokes  ; 

As  he  is  striking,  holds  his  infant  up. 

And  hangs  resolv'd  correction  in  the  arm 

That  was  uprear'd  to  execution. 

Hast.  Besides,  the  kin^r  hnth  wasted  all  his  rods 
On  late  offenders,  th :;t  l;c  nuiv  doth  lack 
The  very  instrumenis  of  chastisement: 
So  thatiiis  power,  like  to  a  fangless  lion. 
May  offer,  but  not  hold. 

Arch.  'Tis  very  true  ;— 

And  therefore  be  assur'd,  my  good  lord  marshal, 
If  we  do  now  make  our  atonement  well. 
Our  peace  will,  like  a  broken  limb  united, 
Grow  stronger  for  the  breaking. 

Mowh,  Be  it  so. 

Here  is  ret urn'd  my  lord  of  Westmoreland. 

Re-enter  Westmoreland. 

West.  The  prince  is  here  at  hand :  Pleaseth  your 

lordship. 
To  meet  his  grace  just  distance  'tween  our  armies  ? 
Mowh.  Your  grace  of  York,  in  god's  name  then 

set  forward. 
Jlrch.   Before,  and   greet  his  grace : — mv  lord, 

we  come.  [E,xeunt. 

SCEXE  II.—Amther  part  of  the  forest.  Enter 
jfrom  one  side.  Mowbray,  the  Archbishop,  Hast- 
ings, and  oliiens ;  from  the  other  side,  Prince 
Jonn  of  Lancaster,  Westmoreland,  officers,  and 
attendants. 

P.  John.  You   are  well  encounter'd  here,  my 
cousin  Mowbray: — 
Good  day  to  you,  gentle  lord  archbishop ; — 
And  so  to  vou,  lord  Hastinnrs, — and  to  all. — 
Mr  lord  of  York,  it  belter  show'd  with  you. 
When  that  your  flock,  assembled  by  the  bell, 
Encircled  you,  to  hear  with  reverence 
Your  exposition  on  the  holy  text ; 
Than  now  to  sec  you  here  an  iron  man,' 
Cheering  a  rout  of  rebels  with  your  drum. 
Turning  the  word  to  sword,  and  life  to  death. 
That  man,  that  sits  within  a  monarch's  heart, 
And  ripens  in  the  sunshine  of  his  favour, 
Would  he  abuse  the  countenancf  of  the  king. 
Alack,  what  mischiefs  might  he  set  abroach. 
In  shadow  of  such  irreatness !  With  you,  lord  bishop. 
It  is  even  so : — Who  hath  not  heard  it  spoken, 
How  deep  you  were  within  the  books  of  God  ? 
To  us,  the  speaker  in  his  parliament ; 
To  us,  the  imagin'd  voice  of  God  himself; 
The  very  opener,  and  intelligencer, 
Between  the  grace,  the  sanctities  of  heaven. 
And  our  dull  workings:*  O,  who  shall  believe, 
But  you  misuse  the  reverence  of  your  place  ; 
Employ  the  countenance  and  grace  of  heaven. 
As  a  false  favourite  doth  his  prince's  name, 

(1)  Piddling,  inyignificant. 

(2)  Book  for  memorandums. 

(3)  Clad  iu  armour.        (4)  Labours  of  thought. 


In  deeds  dishonourable  ?  You  have  taken  up,* 
Under  the  counterfeited  zeal  of  God, 
The  subjects  of  his  substitute,  my  fatlicr ; 
And,  both  against  the  peace  of  heaven  and  him, 
Have  here  up-sivarm'd  them. 

Jlrch.  Good  my  lord  of  Lancaster, 

I  am  not  here  against  your  father's  peace :    • 
But,  as  I  told  my  lord  of  Westmoreland, 
The  time  misorder'd  doth,  in  common  sense. 
Crowd  us,  and  crush  us,  to  this  monstrous  form, 
To  hold  our  safety  up.     I  sent  your  grace 
The  parcels  and  particulars  of  our  grief ; 
The  which  hath  been  with  scorn  shov'd  from  the 

court. 
Whereon  this  Hydra  son  of  war  is  horn : 
Whose  dangerous  eyes  may  well  be  charm'd  asleep, 
With  grant  of  our  most  just  and  right  desires  ; 
And  true  obedience  of  this  madness  cur'd,  ' 
Stoop  tamely  to  the  foot  of  majesty. 

JSIoicb.  If  not,  we  ready  are  to  try  our  fortunes 
To  the  last  man. 

Hast.  And  though  we  here  fall  down  : 

We  have  supplies  to  second  our  attempt ; 
If  they  miscarry,  theirs  shall  second  them : 
iJMjd  so,  success*  of  mischief  shall  be  born  ; 
AnoWieir  from  heir  shall  hold  this  quarrel  up, 
Whiles  England  shall  have  generation. 

P.  Jo/in.  You  are  too  shallow,  Hastings,  much 
too  shallow. 
To  sound  th^  bottom  of  the  after-times. 

West.   Pleaseth    your  grace,  to  answer  them 
directly. 
How  far  forth  you  do  like  their  articles  ? 

P.  John.   I   like  them  all,  and  do  allow'  them 
well : 
And  swear  here  by  the  honour  of  my  blood. 
My  father's  purposes  have  been  mistook ; 
And  some  about  him  have  too  lavishly 
Wrested  his  meaning,  and  authoHty. — 
My  lord,  these  griefs  shall  be  with  speed  redress'd  , 
Upon  my  soul, 'they  shall.     If  this  may  please  you, 
Discharge  your  powers*  unto  their  several  coun- 
ties. 
As  we  will  ours :  and  here,  between  the  armies, 
Let's  drink  together  friendly,  and  embrace  ; 
That  all  their  eyes  may  bear  those  tokens  home. 
Of  our  restored  love,  and  amity. 

^rch.  I  take  your  princely  word  for  these  re- 
dresses. 

P.  John.  I  give  it  yoii,  and  will  maintain  my 
word  : 
And  thereupon  I  drink  unto  your  grace. 

Hast.  Go,  captain,  [To  an  officer.]  and  deliver 
to  the  army 
This  news  of  peace ;  let  them  have  pav,  and  part ; 
I  know,  it  will  well  please  them  :    Hie  thee,  cap- 
tain. [Exit  Officer. 

Jlrch.  To  you,  my  noble  lord  of  Westmoreland. 

West.  I  pledge  your  grace :  And,  if  you  knew 
what  pains  ^ 

I  have  bestow'd,  to  breed  this  present  peace. 
You  would  drink  freely  :  but  my  love  to  you 
Shall  show  itself  more  openly  hereafter. 

Jlrch.  I  do  not  doubt  you. 

West.  I  am  glad  of  it.— 

Health  to  my  lord,  and  gentle  cousin,  Mowbray. 

J\Io^ch.  You  wish  me  health  in  very  happy  sc». 
son; 
For  I  am,  on  the  sudden,  something  ill. 

.^rch.  Against  ill  chances,  men  are  ever  merry ; 
But  heaviness  foreruns  the  good  event. 


(5^  Raised  in  arras. 
(7)  Approve. 


(6)  Succession. 
(8)  Forces. 


Scene  lit. 


SECOND  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV. 


West.  Therefore  be  merry,  coz ;  since  sudden 
sorrow 
Serves  to  say  thus, — Some  good  thing  comes  to- 
morrow. 
Jirch.  Believe  me,  1  am  passing  light  in  spirit. 
JV/(rtc6.  So  much  the  worse,  if  your  own  rule  be 
true.  [Shoids  tcilhin. 

P.  John.  Tlie  word  of  peace  is  render'd  ;  Hark, 

how  they  shout ! 
JSIotnb.  This  had  been  cheerful,  after  victory. 
Jlrch.  A  peace  is  of  the  nature  of  a  conquest ; 
For  then  both  parties  nobly  are  subdued. 
And  neither  party  loser. 

P.  John.  Go,  my  lord. 

And,  let  our  army  be  discharged  too. — 

{Exit  Westmoreland. 
And,  good  my  lord,  so  please  you,  iet  our  trains' 
March  by  us  ;  that  we  may  peruse  the  men 
We  should  have  cop'd  withal. 

Jirch.  Go,  grood  lord  Hastings, 

And,  ere  they  be  dismiss'd,  let  them  march  by. 

[Exit  Hastings. 
P.  John.  I  trust,  my  lords,  we  shall  lie  to-night 
together. — 

Re-enter  Westmoreland.     ■ 
Now,  cousin,  wherefore  stands  our  army  still  7 
West.  The  leaders,  having  charge  from  you  to 
stand,  / 

Will  not  go  olf  until  they  hear  you  ^eak. 
P.  John.  They  know  their  dutie^ 

Re-enter  Hastii^. 

Hast.  My  lord,  our  army  #dispers'd  already : 
Like  youthful   steers-    unyok'd,    they  take   their 

courses 
East,  west,  north,  south ;  or,  like  a  school  broke  up, 
Each  hurries  toward  his  home,  and  sporting-place. 

West.  Good  tidings,  my  lord  Hastings  ;"  for  the 
which 
I  do  arrest  thee,  traitor,  of  high  treason  : — 
And  you,  lord  archbishop, — andyou,  lord  Mowbray, 
Of  capital  treason  I  attach  you  both. 

J^oicb.  Is  this  proceeding  just  and  honourable? 

West.  Is  your  assembly  so  ? 

.irch.  Will  you  thus  break  your  faith  ? 

P.  John.  I  pawn'd  thee  none  : 

I  promis'd  you  redress  of  these  same  grievances. 
Whereof  you  did  complain ;  which,  by  mine  honour, 
I  will  perform  with  a  most  Christian  care. 
But,  for  you,  rebels, — look  to  taste  the  due 
Meet  for  rebellion,  and  such  acts  as  yours. 
Most  shallowly  did  you  these  arms  commence. 
Fondly'  brought  here,  and  foolishly  sent  hence. — 
Strike  up  our  drums,  pursue  the  scatter'd  stray  ; 
Heaven,  and  not  we,  hath  safely  fought  to-day. — 
Some  guard  these  traitors  to  the  block  of  death; 
Treason's  true  bed,  and  yielder  up  of  breath. 

[Exeunt. 

SCE^TE  in. — inolher  part  of  the  Forest.— 
Marums .  Excursions.  EnterFahlaS and  Cole- 
vile,  meeting. 

Fed.  What's  your  name,  sir?  of  what  condition 
are  you  ;  ar,d  of  what  place,  I  pray  ? 

Cole.  I  nm  a  knight,  sir ;  and  my  name  is — 
Colevile  of  the  dale. 

Fed.  Well  then,  Colevile  is  your  name;  a  knight 
is  your  degree;  and  your  place,  the  dale:  Cole- 
vile shall  still  be  your  name ; — a  traitor  your  de- 
gree ;  and  the  dungeon  your  place, — a  place  deep 
enough  ;  so  shall  you  stUl  be  Colevile  of  the  dale. 

(I)  Each  army.  (2)  Young  bullocks. 


Cole.  Are  not  you  sir  John  Falstaff?  ' 

Fal.  As  good  a  man  as  he,  sir,  whoe'er  1  am. 
Do  ye  yield,  sir  ?  or  shall  I  sweat  for  you  ?  If  I  do 
sweat,  they  are  drops  of  thy  lovers,  and  they  weep 
for  thy  death :  therefore  rouse  up  fear  ajid  trem- 
bling, and  do  observance  to  mv  mercy. 

Cole.  I  think,  you  are  su-  John  Falstaff;  and,  in 
tliat  thought,  )'ield  me. 

Fal.  I  have  a  whole  school  of  tongues  in  this 
belly  of  mine ;  and  not  a  tongue  of  them  all  speaks 
any  other  word  but  my  name.  An  1  had  but  a 
belly  of  any  inditferency,  I  were  simply  the  most 
active  fellow  in  Europe:  My  womb,  my  womb, 
my  womb,  undoes  me. — Here  comes  our  general. 

Enter  Prince  John  of  Lancaster,  AVestmoreland, 

and  others. 
P.  John.  The  heat  is  past,  follow  no  further 


now ; 
Call  in  the  powe; 


neat  IS  p; 


eoiisin  Westmoreland. — 
[Exit  West. 

No\  here  have  you  been  all  this  while  ? 

W'hui  -!ig  is  ended,  then  you  come: 

These  tardy  tricks  of  yours  will,  on  my  life. 
One  time  or  other  break  some  gallows'  back. 

Fal.  I  would  be  sorryj  my  lord,  but  it  should  be 
thus  ;  I  never  knew  yet,  but  rebuke  and  check  was 
the  reward  of  valour.  Do  you  think  me  a  swallow, 
an  arrow,  or  a  bullet  ?  have  I,  in  my  poor  and  old 
motion,  the  expedition  of  thought  ?  I  have  speeded 
hither  with  the  very  estremest  inch  of  possibility  ; 
I  have  foundered  nine-score  and  odd  posts:  and 
here,  travel-tainted  as  I  am,  have,  in  my  pure  and 
immaculate  valour,  taken  sir  John  Colevile  of  the 
dale,  a  most  furious  knight,  and  valorous  enemy : 
But  what  of  that  ?  he  saw  me,  and  yielded ;  that 
I  may  justly  say  with  the  hook-nosed  fellow  of 
Rome,'' — I  came,  saw,  and  overcame. 

P.  John.  It  was  more  of  his  courtesy  than  your 
deserving. 

Fal.  I  know  not;  here  he  is,  and  here  I  yield 
him :  and  I  beseech  your  grace,  let  it  be  booked 
with  the  rest  of  this  day's  deeds ;  or,  by  the  Lord, 
I  will  have  it  in  a  particular  ballad  else,  with  mine 
own  picture  on  the  top  of  it,  Colevile  kissing  my 
foot :  To  the  which  course  if  I  be  enforced,  if  you 
do  not  all  show  like  gilt  twp-pences  to  me  ;  and  I, 
in  the  clear  sky  of  fame,  o'ershine  you  as  much  as 
the  full  moon  doth  the  cinders  of  the  element, 
which  show  like  pins'  heads  to  her ;  believe  not  the 
word  of  the  noble :  therefore  let  me  have  right, 
and  let  desert  mount. 

P.  John.  Thine's  too  hearj  to  mount 

Fal.  Let  it  shine  then. 

P.  John.  Thine's  too  thick  to  shine. 

Fal.  Let  it  do  something,  my  good  lord,  that 
may  do  me  good,  and  call  it  what  you  will. 

P.  John.  Is  thy  name  Colevile  ? 

Cole.  It  is,  my  lord. 

P.  John.  A  famous  rebel  art  thou,  Colevile. 

Fal.  And  a  famous  true  subject  took  him. 

Cole.  I  am,  my  lord,  but  as  my  betters  arc, 
That  led  me  hither :  hod  they  been  ruled  by  me. 
You  should  have  won  them  dearer  than  you  have. 

Fal.  1  know  not  how  they  sold  themselves  :  but 
thou,  like  a  kind  fellow,  gavest  thyself  away ;  and 
I  thank  thee  for  thee. 

Re-enter  Westmoreland. 
P.  John.  Now,  have  vou  kfl  pursuit  7 
West.  Retreat  is  made,  and  execution  stay'd. 
P,  John.  Send  Colevile,  with  his  confederates, 


(3)  Foolishly. 


(4)  Cesar. 


490 


SECOND  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  11% 


v3c<  ir. 


*ro  York,  to  present  execution  :— 
Blunt,  lead  him  hence ;  and  see  you  guard  him  sure. 
[Exeunt  some  with  Colevile. 
And  now   despatch   we  toward   the  court,   ray 

lords ; 
I  hear,  the  king  mj-  father  is  sore  sick : 
Our  news  shall  ;^o  before  us  to  his  niajesly,— 
Which,  cousin,  you  shall  btar,  to  comfort  him  ; 
And  we  with  sober  speed  will  follow  you. 

Fd.  My  lord,  I  beseech  you,  dvo  me  leave  to 
po  through  Glostershire :  and,  when  you  come  to 
court,  stand  my  good  lord,'  pray,  in  your  good 
report.  ^    ^  . 

P.  John.  Fare  you  well,  FalstalT:  I  r.i  my  con- 
dition,- 
Shall  better  speak  of  vou  than  you  deserre.  [Enf. 

■Fd.  I  would  vou  had  but.  the  wit ;  'twere  bet- 
ter than  your  diikcdoin.- ' '  ■  '  ''"Mh  this  same 
young  sober-blooded  bu  V>ve  me  ;  nor  a 

man  cannot  make  him  kir      :  ihxt's  no  mar- 

vel, he  drinks  no  wine.   Tiicru';  never  any  of  these 
demure  boys  come  to  any  proof 


fortlng|j||kdot 

;n  akin^mHM^li 


doth 
so  over-cool  their  blood,  and  makinfTMB^&h 
meals,  that  they  fall  into  a  kind  of  male  green-s««  ^ 
ness ;  and  then,  when  they  marry,  Jhey  get  wenches: 
they  are  generally  fools  and  cowards ;— -which 
some  of  us.should  be  too,  but  tor  inflammation.  A 
oood  sherris-sack  liath  a  two-fold  operation  in  it 
i"i  ascends  me  into  the  brain ;  dries  me  there  all 
the  foolish,  and  dull,  and  crudy  vapours  which  en- 
veron  it :  makes  it  apprehensive,  quick,  forg-etive,' 
full  of  niml)le,  fiery,  and  delectable  shapes;  which 
delivered  o'er  to  the  voice,  (the  tonsjue,)  which  is 

the  birth,  becomes  excellent  wit.    Tlie  second  pro-  ^ ^ 

pcrty  of  your  excellent  sherris  is,— the  warming  ofjThan  all  thy  brothers:  cherish  it,  my  boy  ; 

the  blood  ;  which,  before  cold  and  settled,  letl  theJAnd  noble  olTiccs  thou  may'st  eflect 

liver  white  and  pale,  which  is  the  badqe  of  pusilla-iQf  mediation,  aRer  I  am  dead, 

nimity  and  cowardice:  but  the  sherris  warms  it,  Between  his  greatness  and  thy  other  brethren : — 

and  makes  it  course  from  the  inwards  to  the  parts  Therefore,  oinit  him  not ;  blunt,  not  his  love  : 

extreme.    It  illumineth  the  face  ;  which,  as  a  bea-  Nor  lose  the  good  advantaue  of  his  grace, 

con,  gives  warning  to  all  the  rest  of  this  little  king-  By  seeming  cold,  or  careless  of  his  will. 


SCJSJVE   7F.— Westminster.      A  room  in   the 

vdace.    Enter  King  Henry,   Clarence,  Prince 

Humphrey,  W^arwicK,  arid  others, 

K.  Hen.  Now,  lords,  if  heaven  doth  give  suc- 
cessful end 
To  this  debate  that  bleedeth  at  our  doors. 
We  will  our  youth  lead  on  to  higher  ilelds. 
And  draw  no  swords  but  what  are  sanctified. 
Our  navy  is  address'd,*^  our  power  collected. 
Our  substitutes  in  absence  well  invested. 
And  ever}-  thing  lies  level  to  our  wish  : 
Only,  we  want  a  little  personal  strength  ; 
And  pause  us,  till  these  rebels,  now  afoot, 
Come  underneath  the  yoke  of  government. 

War.    Both   which,   we   doubt  not  but  your 
majesty 
Shall  soon  enjoy. 

K.  Hen.        '       Humphrey,  my  son  of  Gloster, 
Where  is  the  prince  your  brother  ? 

F.  Humph.  I  think  he's  gone  to  hunt,  my  lord, 
at  Windsor. 

K.  Hen.  And  how  accortTpanied  ? 


Humph.  I  do  not  know,  my  lord. 

Hen.  Is  not  his  brother,  Thomas  of  Cla- 
rence, with  him  ? 
lumph.  No,  my  go^id  lord  ;  he  is  in  presence 
here. 
Cla.  What  would  my  lord  and  father? 
K.  Hen,  Nothing  but  well  to  thee,  Thomas  of 
Clarence. 
How  chance,  thou  art  not  with  the  prince  thy 

brother  ? 
He  loves  thee,  and  thou  dost  neglect  him,  Thomas; 
Thou  hast  a  better  place  in  his  aHection, 


dom,  man,  to  arm  :  and  then  the  vital  commoners, 
and  inland  petty  spirits,  muster  me  all  to  their  cap- 
tain, the  heart;  who,  great,  and  pufled  up  with 
this  retinue,  doth  any  deed  of  courage ;  and  this 
valour  comes  of  sherris  :  So  that  skill  Ln  the  wea- 
pon is  nothing,  without  sack ;  for  that  sets  it  a- 
•work :  and  learning,  a  mere  hoard  of  gold  kept  by 
a  devil ;  till  sack  commences  it,"  and  sets  it  in  act 
and  use.  Hereof  comes  it,  that  prince  Harry  is 
valiant :  for  the  cold  blood  he  did  naturally  inherit 
of  his  father,  he  hath,  like  lean,  steril,  and  bare 
land,  manured,  husbanded,  and  til!?d,  with  excel- 
lent endeavour  of  drinking  good,  and  good  store  of 
fertile  sherris,  that  he  is  become  very  hot,  and  va- 
liant. If  I  had  a  thousand  sons,  the  first  human 
principle  1  would  teach  them,  should  be,— to  for- 
swear thin  potations,  .and  addict  themselves  to 
sack. 

Enter  Bardolph. 

How  now,  Bardolph  ? 

Bard.  The  army  is  discharged  all,  and  eone. 

Fd.  Let  them  go.  I'll  through  Glostershire;  and 
there  will  I  visit  master  Robert  Shallow,  esquire : 
I  have  him  already  tempering  between  my  finger 
and  my  thumb,  and  shortly  will  I  seal  with  him  ■■ 


Come  away 


[Exeunt. 


(1)  Stand  my  good  friend. 

(2)  In  my  present  temper.        (3)  Inventive. 
14)  Brings  it  into  action. 
(6)  An  allusion  to  the  old  use  of  sealing  with 

f Oft  wax. 


For  he  is  gracious,  if  he  be  observ'd ;' 
He  hath  a  tear  for  pity,  and  a  hand 
Open  as  day  lor  melting  charity: 
Yet  notwithstanding,  being  incens'd,  he's  flint ; 
As  humorous  as  winter,  and  as  sudden 
As  (laws  congealed  in  the  spring  of  day. 
His  temper,  therefore,  must  be  well  observ'd  : 
Chide  him  for  faults,  and  do  it  reverently. 
When  you  perceive  his  blood  inclin'd  to  mirth : 
But,  being  moody,  give  him  line  and  scope  ; 
Till  that  his  passions,  like  a  whale  on  ground. 
Confound  themselves  ivith  working.    Learn  this, 

Thomas, 

And  thou  shall  prove  a  shelter  to  thy  friends  ; 
A  hoop  of  gold,  to  bind  Ihy  brothers  in  ; 
That  the  united  vessels  of  their  blood. 
Mingled  v,'ilh  venom  of  suggestion, 
(As,  force  perforce,  the  asre  will  pour  it  in,) 
Shall  never  leak,  tliough  it  do  work  as  strong 
As  aconitum,*  or  rash  gunpowder. 

67a.  I  slAll  observe  him  with  all  care  and  love. 
A'.  Hen.  Why  art  tliou  not  at  Windsor  with  him, 

Thomas  ? 
Cla.  He  is  not  there  to-day ;  he  dines  in  London. 
K.  Hen.    And  how  accompanied  ?    canst  thou 

tell  that? 
Cla.  AV^ith  Poins,  and  other  his  continual  fol- 
lowers. 
K.  Hen.  Most  subject  is  the  fattest  soil  to  weeds ; 

(6)  Ready,  prepared. 

(7J  Has  an  attention  shown  him. 

(8)  Wolf's-bane,  a  poisonous  herb, 


Setjuif. 


SECOND  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV. 


4^1 


And  he,  the  noble  image  oi  my  youtli, 
fs  overspread  with  them  :  Therefore  my  grief 
fjtretches  itself  beyond  tlie  hour  of  deatn ; 
The  blood  weeps-from  my  heart,  when  I  do  shape, 
In  forms  imaginary,  tlie  uneuided  days. 
And  rotten  times,  that  you  shall  look  upon 
When  I  am  sleeping-  with  my  ancestors. 
For  when  his  headstrong  riot  hath  no  curb, 
When  rage  and  hot  blood  are  his  counsellors, 
When  means  and  lavish  manners  meet  together, 
O,  with  what  wings  shall  his  aiTections  fly 
Towards  fronting  peril  and  oppos'd  decay ! 

War.  My  gracious  lord,  you  look  beyond  him 
quite : 
The  prince  but  studies  his  companions, 
Like  a  strange  tongue ;  wherein,  to  gain  tlie  lan- 
guage, 
'Tis  needful,  that  the  most  immodest  word 
Be  look'd  upon,  and  learn'd :  which  once  attain'd, 
Your  highness  knows,  comes  to  no  further  use, 
But  to  be  known,  and  hated.    So,  like  gross  terms. 
The  prince  will,  in  the  perfecfness  of  time, 
Cast  off  his  followers  :  and  their  memory 
-Shall,  as  a  pattern  or  a  measure,  live. 
By  which  his  grace  must  mete  the  lives  of  other; ; 
Turning  past  evils  to  advantages.  »_ 

K.  Hm.  'Tis  seldom,  when  the  bee  doth  leife 
her  comb 
In  Ihedead  carrion. — Who's  here  ?  Wcstaoreland? 


Enter  Westmorelajid 

West.  Health  to  my  sovereignly  and  ncv.-  happi- 
ness 
Added  to  that  that  I  am  to  delilfer ! 
Prince  John,  your  son,  doth  kis^your  grace's  hand 
Mowbray,  the  bishop  Scrcop,  llastings,  and  all, 
Are  brought  to  the  correction  of  your  law; 
There  is  not  now  a  rebel's  sword  unsheatli'd, 
But  peace  puts  forth  her  olive  every  ivhere. 
The  manner  how  this  action  hath  been  borne. 
Here  at  more  leisure  may  your  highness  read  ; 
With  every  course,  in  his  particular.' 

A'.  Hen'.  0  Westmoreland,  thou  art  a  summer 
bir^ 
Which  ever  in  the  haunch  of  winter  sings 
The  lifting  up  of  day.    Look!  here's  more  news. 

Enter  Harcourt. 

Har.  From  enemies  heaven  keep  your  majesty ; 
And,  when  they  stand  against  you,  may  they  fall 
As  those  that  I  am  come  to  tell  you  of! 
The  earl  Northumberland,  and  th*  lord  Bnrdolph, 
With  a  great  power  of  English,  and  of  Scots, 
Are  by  the  sheriff  of  Yorkshire  overthrown  : 
The  manner  and  true  order  of  the  light. 
This  packet,  please  it  you,  contains  at  large. 

K.  Hen.  And  wherefore  should  these  good  news 
make  me  sick  ? 
Will  Fortune  never  come  with  both  hands  full, 
But  write  her  fair  words  still  in  foulest  letters  ? 
She  either  gives  a  stomach,  and  no  food, —  • 
Such  are  the  poor,  in  health  ;  or  else  a  feast. 
And  takes  away  the  stomach, — such  are  the  rich. 
That  have  abundance,  and  enjoy  it  not. 
I  should  rejoice  now  at  this  happy  news  ; 
And  now  my  sight  fails,  and  my  brain  is  giddy : — 
O  me !  come  near  me,  now  I  am  much  ill. 

[Stcoojis. 

P.  Humph.  Comfort,  your-majesty ! 

Cla.  6  my  royal  father ! 

(1)  The  detail  contained  in  prinfe  John's  letter. 

(2)  Worked  the  wall.        (3)  Make  me  afraid. 
(4)  Monsters.  (5)  As  if  the  year. 


West.  My  sovereign  lord,  cheet  up  yourself, 

look  up ! 
War.  Be  patient,  princes  ;  you  do  know,  these 
fits 
.\re  with  his  highness  very  ordinary. 
Stand  from  him,  give  him  air ;  he'll  straight  be  well. 
Cla.  No,  no ;  he  cannot  long  hold  out  these  pangs ; 
The  incessant  care  and  labour  of  his  mind 
Hath  wrqught  the  mure,2  that  shotdd  confine  it  in. 
So  thin,  that  life  looks  through,  and  will  break  out. 
P.  Humpk.  The  people  fear  me  ;>  for  they  do 
observe 
Unfalher'd  heirs,*  and  loathly  birds  of  nature  : 
The  seasons  change  their  manners,  as  the  year' 
Had  found  some  months  asleep,  and  leap'd  them 
over. 
Cla.  The  river  hath  thrice  flow'd,  n<L^bb 
tween  :*  ^ 

And  the  old  folk,  time's  doting  clironicks, 
Say,  it  did  so,  a  little  time  before 
That  our  great  tn  andsire,  Edward,  sick'd  and  died. 
War^^teak  lower,  princes,  for  the  king  recovers. 
P.Mtaph.   This  apopicx  will,  certain,  be  his 

end. 
K.  Hen.  I  pray  you,  take  me  up,  and  bear  me 
hence. 
Into  some  other  chamber :  softly,  'prar. 

{They  convey  the  king  into  an  inner  part  of 
the  rocm,  and  place  him  on  a  bed. 
Let  there  be  no  noise  made,  mv  gentle  friends ; 
Unless  some  dull"  and  favourable  hand 
Will  whisper  music  to  my  weary  spirit. 
War.  Call  for  the  music  into  the  other  room. 
K.  He7t.  Set  me  the  crown  upon  my  pillow  here. 
Cla.  His  eye  is  hollow,  and  he  changes  much. 
War.  Less  noise,  less  noise. 

Enter  Prince  Henry. 
P.  Hen.  •  AVho  saw  the  duke  of  Clarence  ? 

Cla.  I  am  here,  brother,  full  of  heaviness. 
P.  Hen.    How  now!   rain  within  doors,  and 
none  abroad ! 
How  doth  the  king? 
P.  Humph.  Exceeding  ill. 
P.  Hen.  Heard  he  the  good  news  yet  ? 

Tell  it  him. 
P.  Hwriph.  He  altcr'd  much  upon  the  hearing  it. 
P.  Hen.  Ifhebesick 
With  joy,  he  wiH  recover  without  physic. 

War.    Not  so  much  noise,  my  lords: — sweet 
prince,  speak  low ; 
The  king  your  father  is  dispos'd  to  sleep. 
Cla.  Let  us  withdraw  into  the  other  room. 
War.  Will't  please  your  grace  to  go  along  with 

us? 
P.  Hen.  No ;  I  will  sit  and  watch  here  by  the 
■  king.  \Exet(nt  all  but  F.  Henry. 

Why  dotli  the  crown  lie  there  upon  bis  pillow, 
Beinir  so  troublesome  a  bedfellow  ? 

0  polLsh'd  perturbation !  golden  care ! 
That  kcep'st  the  ports*  of  slumber  open  wide 
To  many  a  v.  atchful  night— sleep  with  it  now ! 
Yet  not  so  sound,  and  half  so  deeply  sweet. 

As  he,  whose  brow,  vVith  homely  biggin*  bound. 
Snores  out  the  watch  of  nighU    O  majesty ! 
When  thou  dost  pinch  thy  bearer,  thou  dost  sit 
Like  a  rich  armour  worn  in  heat  of  day, 
That  scalds  with  safety.    By  his  gates  of  breath 
There  lies  a  downy  feather,  which  stirs  not : 
Did  he  suspire,  that  light  and  weightless  down 

(6)  An  historical  fact,  on  October  12, 1411. 

(7)  Melancholy,  soothing. 

1  (S)  Gates.       '       (9)  Cap, 


43Ji 


SECOND  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV. 


^ctir. 


Perforce  must  more. — My  gracious  lord !  my  fa- 
ther !— 
This  sleep  is  sound  indeed :  this  is  a  sleep, 
That  from  this  golden  rigol'  hath  divorc'd 
So  many  English  kings.    Thy  due,  from  roe, 
Is  tears,  and  heavy  sorrows  of  the  blood  ; 
Which  nature,  love,  and  filial  tenderness. 
Shall,  O  dear  father,  pay  thee  plenteously : 
My  due,  from  thee,  is  this  imperial  crown  ; 
\Vhicli,  as  immediate  Irom  thy  place  and  blood, 
Derives  itself  to  me.    Lo,  here  it  sits, — 

[Pvtling  it  on  his  head. 
Which  heaven  shall  guard :  And  put  the  world's 

whole  streno;th 
Into  one  giant  arm,  it  shall  not  force 
This  lineal  honour  from  me :  This  from  thee 
Will  I  to  mine  leave,  as  'tis  left  to  me.  [Exit. 

K.  Hen,  Warwick  !  Glosler  !  Clarence  ! 

Re-enter  Warwick,  and  Ihe  rest. 

Cla.  Doth  the  king  call? 

IVar,  What  would  your  majesty  ?    How  fares 

your  grace  ? 
K.  Hen.  Why  did  you  leave  me  here  alone,  my 

lords  ? 

Cla.  We  left  the  prince  my  brother  here,  my  liege, 
Who  undertook  to  sit  and  watch  by  you. 
K.  Hen.  The  prince  of  Wales?  Where  is  he? 
let  me  see  him : 
He  is  not  here. 

War.  This  door  is  open ;  he  is  gone  tliis  way. 
P.  Humph.  He  came  not  through  the  chamber 

where  we  stay'd. 
K.  Hen.  Where  is  the  crown  ?  who  took  it  from 

my  pillow  ? 
War.  When  we  withdrew,  my  liege,  we  left  it 

here. 
K.  Hen.  The  prince  hath  ta'en  it  hence : — go, 
seek  him  out. 
Is  he  so  hasty,  that  he~3oth  suppose 

My  sleep  my  death  ? 

Find  him,  my  lord  of  Warwick;  chide  him  hither. 
[Exit  Warwick. 
This  part  of  his  conjoins  with  my  disease. 
And  helps  to  end  me. — See,  sons,  what  things  you 

are! 
How  quicklv  nature  falls  into  revolt,' 
When  gold  Leconies  her  object! 
For  this  the  foolish  over-careful  fathers 
Have  broke  their  sleep  with  thoughts  their  brains 

with  care, 
Their  bones  ^ith  industry ; 
For  this  they  Viave  engrossed  and  pil'd  up. 
The  canker'd  heaps  of  strange-achieved  gold  ; 
For  this  they  have  been  thoughtful  to  invest 
Their  sons  with  arts,  and  martial  exercises  : 
When,  like  the  bee,  lolling-  from  every  flower 
The  virtuous  sweets ; 

Our  thighs  pack'd  with  wax,  our  mouths  with  honey. 
We  brin^  it  to  the  hiv?  ;  and,  like  the  bees. 
Are  murner'd  for  our  pains.    This  bitter  taste 
Yield  his  engrossments'  to  the  ending  father. — 

Re-entw  Warwick. 
Now,  where  is  he  that  will  not  stay  so  long 
Till  his  friend  sickness  havh  deterrnin'd*  me  ? 
War.  My  lord,  I  found  the  prince  in  the  next 
rdom. 
Washing  with  kindly  tears  his  gentle  cheeks  ; 
With  such  a  deep  demeanour  in  trreat  sorrow, 
That  tyranny,  which  never  quafl''d  but  blood. 
Would,  by  beholding  him,  have  wash'd  his  knife 

(1}  Circle.    (2)  Taking  toll.    (3)  Accumulations. 


With  gentle  eye-drops.    He  is  coming  hither. 
K.  Hen.  But  wherefore  did  he  taKe  away  the 
crown  ? 

Re-enter  Prince  Henry. 

Lo,  where  he  comes. — Come  hither  to  me,  Hau-ry : — 
Depart  the  chamber,  leave  us  here  alone. 

[Exf.  Clarence,  Prince  Humphrey,  Lords,  fyc. 

P.  Hen.  I  never  thought  to  hear  you'speak  again. 

K.  Hen.  Thy  wish  was  father,  Harry,  to  that 
thought : 
I  stay  too  long  by  thee,  I  weary  thee. 
Dost  thou  so  hunger  for  my  empty  chair, 
That  thou  wilt  needs  invest  thee  with  mine  honours 
Before  thy  hour  be  ripe  ?  O  foolish  youth ! 
Thou  seek'st  the  greatness  that  will  overwhelm  thee. 
Stay  but  a  little  ;  for  my  cloud  of  dignity 
Is  held  from  falling  with  so  weak  a  wind, 
That  it  will  quickly  drop  :  my  day  is  dim. 
Thou  hast  stol'n  that,  which,  after  some  few  hours, 
Were  thine  without  offence  ;  and,  at  my  death, 
Thou  hast  seal'd  up  my  expectation  :* 
Thy  life  did  manifest,  thou  lov'dst  me  not. 
And  thou  wilt  have  me  die  assured  of  it. 
JChou  hid'st  a  thousand  daggers  in  thy  thoughts ; 
TOijich  thou  hast  whetted  on  thy  stony  heart, 
To  "stab  at  half  an  hour  of  my  life. 
What !  canst  thou  not  forbear  me  half  an  hour  ? 
Then  get  thee  gone;  and  dig  my  grave  thyself; 
And  bid  the  merry  bells  ring  to  thine  ear. 
That  thou  art  crowned,  not  that  I  am  dead. 
Let  all  the  tears  tliat  should  bedew  my  hearse, 
Be  drops  of  balm,  to  sanctify  thy  head  : 
Only  compound  me  with  forgotten  dust ; 
Give  that,  which  gave  thee  life,  unto  the  worms. 
Pluck  down  my  ofiicers,  break  my  decrees ; 
For  now  a  time  is  come  to  mock  at  form, 
Harry  the  Fifth  is  crown'd  : — Up,  vanity ! 
Down,  roj'al  state !  all  you  sage  counsellors,  hence ! 
And  to  the  English  court  assemble  now. 
From  every  region,  apes  of  idleness ! 
Now,  neighbour  confines,  purge  you  of  your  scum : 
Have  you  a  ruffian,  that  will  swear,  drink,  dance. 
Revel  the  night ;  rob,  murder,  and  commit 
The  oldest  sms  the  newest  kind  of  ways? 
Be  happy,  he  will  trouble  you  no  more : 
England  shall  double  gild  nis  treble  guilt; 
England  shall  give  him  office,  honour,  might  : 
For  the  fifth  Harry  from  curb'd  license  plucks 
The  muzzle  off  restraint,  and  the  wild  dog 
Shall  flesh  his  tooth  in  every  innocent. 

0  my  poor  kingdom,  sick  with  civil  blows ! 
When  that  my  care  could  not  withhold  thy  riots, 
What  wilt  thou  do,  when  riot  is  thy  care  ? 

O,  thou  wilt  be  a  wilderness  again. 
Peopled  with  wolves,  thy  old'  inhabitants ! 
P.  Hen.  O,  pardon  me,  my  liege !  but  for  my 
.tears,  [Kneeling,^ 

The  moist  impediments  unto  my  speech,  -^^  f^ 

1  had  forestall'd  this  dear  and  deep  rebuke,  ^^ 
Ere  you  with  erief  had  spoke,  and  I  had  heard 

The  course  of  it  so  far.    There  is  your  crown  ; 
And  He  that  wears  the  crown  immortally, 
Long  guard  it  yours !  If  I  affect  it  more. 
Than  as  your  honour,  and  as  your  renown, 
Let  me  no  more  from  this  obedience  rise, 
(Which  my  most  true  and  inward-duteous  spirit 
Teacheth,)  this  prostrate  and  exterior  bending ! 
Heaven  witness  with  me,  when  I  here  came  in, 
And  found  no  course  of  breath  within  your  majesty, 
How  cold  it  struck  my  heart !  if  I  do'feign, 
0,  let  me  in  my  present  wildness  die ; 


(4)  Ended. 


(5)  Confirmed  mv  ooiniont 


OTeene  I. 


SECOND  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IT. 


433 


And  never  live  to  show  the  incredulous  world 
The  noble  change  that  I  have  purposed  ! 
Cominw  to  look  on  you,  thinking  you  dead, 

iAnd  dead  almost,  my  lieg'e,  to  tnink  you  were,) 
spake  unto  the  crown,  as  having  sense. 
And  thus  upbraided  it.  The  care  on  thee  depending, 
Hath  fed  upon  the  body  of  my  father ; 
Therefore,  thou,  best  of  gold,  art  wmst  of  gold. 
Other,  less  fine  in  carat,'  is  more  precious. 
Preserving  life  in  medicine  potable  .-* 
But  thou,  most  fine,  most  hotiour''d,  most  renowned, 
Host  eat  thy  bearer  up.  Thus,  my  most  royal  liege. 
Accusing  it,  I  put  it  on  my  head  ; 
To  try  with  it, — as  with  an  enemy, 
That  had  before  my  face  murder'd  my  father, — 
The  quarrel  of  a  true  inheritor. 
But  if  it  did  infect  mj'  blood  with  joy. 
Or  swell  my  thoughts  to  any  strain  of  pride  ; 
If  any  rebel  or  vain  spirit  of  mine 
Did,  with  the  least  aflbclion  of  a  welcome., 
Give  entertainment  to  the  might  of  it ; 
Let  God  for  ever  keep  it  from  m^  head! 
And  make  me  as  the  poorest  vassal  is. 
That  doth  with  awe  and  terror  kneel  to  it ! 

K.Hen.  O  my  son  ! 
Heaven  put  it  in  thy  mind,  to  take  it  hence, 
That  thou  might'st  win  the  more  thy  father's  love. 
Pleading  so  wisely  in  excuse  of^t. 
Come  hither,  Harry,  sit  thou  by  my  bed : 
And  hear,  I  think,  the  very  latest  counsel 
That  ever  I  shall  breathe.   Heaven  knows,  my  son. 
By  what  by-paths,  and  indirect  crook'd  ways, 
I  met  this  crown  ;  and  I  myself  know  well. 
How  troublesome  it  sat  upon  my  head : 
To  thee  it  shall  descend  with  better  quiet. 
Better  opinion,  better  conilrmation  ; 
For  all  the  soiP  of  the  acliieyement  goes 
With  me  into  the  earth.     It  seem'd  m  me. 
But  as  an  honour  snatch'd  with  boisterous  hand  ; 
And  I  had  many  living,  to  upbraid 
My  gain  of  it  by  their  assistances  ; 
Which  daily  grew  to  quarrel,  and  to  bloodshed, 
Wounding  supposed  peace  :  all  these  bold  fears,* 
Thou  sec'st,  with  peril  I  have  answered  : 
For  all  my  reign  hath  been  but  as  a  sfcene. 
Acting  that  argument ;  and  now  my  death 
Changes  the  mode : '  for  what  in  me  was  purehas'd,' 
Falls  upon  thee  in  a  more  fairer  sort ; 
So  thou  the  garland  wear'st  successivel)'. 
Yet,  though  thou  stand'stmore  sure  than  I  could  do. 
Thou  art  not  firm  enough,  since  griefs  are  green  ; 
And  all  thy  friends,  which  thou  must  make  thy 

friends. 
Have  but  their  stin£;s  and  teeth  newly  ta'en  out ; 
By  whose  fell  working  I  ivas  first  advanc'd. 
And  by  whose  power  I  well  might  lodge  a  fear 
To  be  again  displac'd  :  which  to  avoid, 
I  cut  them  off;  and  had  a  purpose  now 
To  lead  out  many  to  the  Holy  Land ; 
Lest  rest,  and  lying  still,  mi;;nt  make  them  look 
Too  near  unto  my  state.     Therefore,  my  Harry, 
Be  it  thy  course,  to  busy  giddy  minds 
With  foreign  quarrels ;  that  action,  hence  borne  out. 
May  waste  the  memory  of  the  former  days. 
More  would  I,  but  my  lungs  are  wasted  so. 
That  strength  of  speech  is  utterly  denied  me. 
How  came  I  by  the  crown,  O  God,  forgive  ! 
And  grant  it  may  with  thee  in  true  peace  live  ! 

P.  Hen.  My  gracious  liege. 
You  won  it,  wore  it,  kept  it,  gave  it  me  ; 
Then  plain,  and  right,  must  my  possession  be  : 

(1)  Quality.  (2)  To  be  taken. 

(.S)  Spot,  dirt.    (4)  Frights.   (5)  State  of  things. 


Which  I,  with  more  than  wRh  a  common  pain, 
'Gainst  all  the  world  will  rightfully  maintain. 

Enter  Prince  John  of  Lancaster,  Warwick,  Lordt, 
and  othen. 

K.  Hen.  Look,  look,  here  comes  my  John  of 

Lancaster. 
P.  John.  Health,  peace,  and  happiness,  to  my 

royal  father ! 
K.  Hen.  Thou  bring'st  me  happiness,  and  peace, 
son  John ; 
But  health,  alack,  with  youthful  wings  is  flown 
From  this  bare  wither'd  trunk :  upon  thy  sight. 

My  worldly  business  makes  a  period. 

Where  is  my  lord  of  Warwick  ? 
P-  Hen.  My  lord  of  Warwick ! 

_  K.  Hoi.  Doth  any  name  particular  belong 
Unto  the  lodging  where  I  first  did  swoon? 
War.  'Tis  cafled  Jerusalem,  my  noble  lord. 
K.  Hen.  Laud  be  to  God !— even  there  my  life 
must  end. 
It  hath  been  prophesied  to  me  many  years, 
I  sliould  not  die  but  in  Jerusalem  ; 
Which  vainly  I  suppos'd,  the  Holy  Land : — 
But,  bear  me  to  that  chamber ;  there  I'll  lie ; 
In  that  Jerusalem  shall  Harry  die.  [ExetmJt. 


ACT  V. 


SCEJ^E  J.— "Glostershire.  j?  hall  in  Shallow  * 
lu)use.  Enter  Shallow,  Falstaff,  Bardolpb,  mtd 
Page. 

Shal.  By  cock  and  pye,  sir,  you  shall  not  away 
to-night- What,  Davy,  I  say  ! 

Fal.  You  must  excuse  me^  master  Robert  Shal- 
low. 

Shal.  I  will  not  excuse  you ;  you  shall  not  be 
excused  ;  excuses  shall  not  be  admitted  ;  there  is 
no  excuse  shall  serve ;  you  shall  not  be  excused. 
—Why,  Davy ! 

Enter  Davy. 

Davy.  Here,  sir. 

Shal.  DaVy,  Davy,  Davy, — let  me  see,  Davy ; 
let  me  see  :-^yea,  marry,  William  cook,  bid  hmi 
come  hither. — Sir  John,  you  f hall  not  be  excused. 

JDavy,  Marry,  sir,  thus  ; — those  precepts'  cannot 
be  served :  and,  again,  sir, — Shall  we  sow  the  head- 
land with  wheat  ? 

Slial.  With  red  wheat,  Davy.  But  for  William 
cook  ; Are  there  no  young  pigeons  ? 

Davy.  Yes,  sir. Here  is  now  the  smith's  note, 

for  shoeing,  and  plough-irons. 

Shal.  Let  it  be  cast,'  and  paid : — Sir  John,  yott 
shall  not  be  excused. 

Davy.  Now,  sir,  a  new  link  to  the  bucket  must 
needs  be  had  : — And,  sir,  do  you  mean  to  stop  any 
of  William's  wages,  about  the  sack  he  lost  the  other 
dav,  at  Hinckley  fair  ? 

Shut.    He   shall   answer  it: Some  pi^ons, 

Davy;  a  couple  of  short-legged  hens;  a  jomt  of 
mutton  ;  and  any  pretty  little  tiny  kickshaws,  tell 
William  cook. 

Davy.  Doth  the  man  of  war  stay  all  night,  sir  ? 

Shal.  Yes,  Davy.  I  will  use  him  well ;  A  (Hend 
i'the  court  is  better  than  a  penny  in  purse.  Use  his 
men  well.  Davy ;  for  they  are  arrant  knaves,  and 
will  backbite. 

(6)  Purchase,  in  Shakspeare,  frequently  means 
stolen  goods. 

(7)  Warrants.  (8)  Accounted  u^ 

SI 


434 


SECOND  MRt  Of  KlNtJ  HENRY  IV. 


Jlctr. 


Davy.  No  worse  than  they  are  back-bitten,  sir ; 
for  they  have  marvellous  foul  linen. 

Shal.  Well  conceited,  Davy.  About  thy  busi- 
ness, Davy. 

Davj^.  1  beseech  you,  sir,  to  countenance  Wil- 
liam "V  isor  of  Wincot  against  Clement  Perkes  of 
the  hill. 

Shal.  There  are  many  complaints,  Davy,  against 
that  Visor ;  that  Visor  is  an  arrant  knave,  on  my 
knowledge. 

Davy.  I  grant  your  worship,  that  he  is  a  knave, 
sir :  but  yet,  God  forbid,  sir,  but  a  knave  should 
have  some  countenance  at  lus  friend's  request.  An 
honest  man,  sir,  is  able  to  speak  for  himself,  when 
a  knave  is  not.  I  have  served  your  worship  truly, 
sir,  this  eight  years  ;  and  if  I  cannot  once  or  twice 
in  a  quarter  bear  out  a  knave  against  an  honest 
man,  I  have  but  a  very  little  credit  with  your  wor- 
ship. The  knave  is  mine  honest  friend,  sir ;  there- 
fore, I  beseech  your  worship,  let  him  be  counte- 
nanced. 

Shal.  Go  to ;  I  say,  he  shall  have  no  wrong. 
Look  about,  Davy.  [Exit  Davy.]  Where  are  you, 
sir  .lohn  ?  Come,  off"  with  your  boots. — Give  me 
your  hand,  master  Bardolph. 

Bard.  I  am  glad  to  see  your  worship. 

Shal.  I  thanTi  thee  with  all  my  heart,  kind  master 
Bardolph : — and  welcome,  my  tall  fellow.  [To  the 
Pa^e.]  Come,  sir  John.  [Exit  Shallow. 

Pal.  I'll  follow  you,  good  master  Robert  Shal- 
low. Bardolph,  look  to  our  horses.  [Exeunt  Bar- 
dolph and  Page.]  Kl  were  sawed  into  quantities, 
I  should  make  four  dozen  of  such  bearded  hermit's- 
staves  as  master  Shallow.  It  is  a  wonderful  thing, 
to  see  the  semblable  coherence  of  his  men's  spirits 
and  his :  They,  by  observing  him,  do  bear  them- 
selves like  foolish  justices ;  he,  by  conversing  with 
them,  is  turned  into  a  justice-like  serving-man ; 
their  spirits  are  so  married  in  conjunction  with  the 
participation  of  society,  that  they  flock  together  in 
consent,  like  so  many  wild  s^cese.  If  I  had  a  suit 
to  master  Shallow,  I  would  humour  his  men,  ■with 
the  inaputation  of  beings  near  their  master :  if  to  hb 
men,  1  would  curry  with  master  Shallow,  that  no 
man  could  better  command  his  servants.  It  is  cer- 
tain, that  either  wise  bearing,  or  ignorant  carriage, 
is  caught,  as  men  take  diseases,  one  of  another : 
therefore,  let  men  take  heed  of  their  company,  I 
•will  devise  matter  enough  out  of  this  Shallow,  to 
keep  prince  Harry  in  continual  laughter,  the  v/ear- 
ing-out  of  six  fashions,  (which  is  four  terms,  or  two- 
actions,)  and  he  shall  laugh  without  intervallums. 
O,  it  is  much,  that  a  lie,  with  a  slight  oath,  and  a 
jest,  with  a  sad  brow,'  will  do  with  a  fellow  that 
never  had  the  ache  in  his  shoulders  !  O,  you  shall 
see  him  laugh,  till  his  face  be  like  a  wet  cloak  ill 
laid  up." 

Shal.  [Within.]  Sir  John  I 

Fd.  I  come,  master  Shallow ;  I  come,  master 
Shallow.  [Exit  Falstaff. 

•  SCEJ^E  II. — Westminster.  Jl  room  in  the  palace. 
Enter  Warwick,  and  the  Lord  Chief  Justice. 

War.  How  now,  my  lord  chief  justice?  whither 

away? 
Ch.Just.  How  doth  the  king? 
War.   Exceeding  well;   his  cares  are  now  all 

ended. 
Ch.  Just.  I  hope,  not  dead. 
War.  He's  walked  the  way  of  nature ; 

And,  to  our  purposes,  he  lives  no  more. 


(1)  ^senousface. 


(2)FullofwrinkIefl. 


Ch.  Just.  I  would,  his  majesty  had  call'd  me 

with  him : 

The  service  that  I  truly  did  his  life, 

Hath  left  me  open  to  all  injuries. 
War.  Indeed,  I  think,  the  young  king  loves  you 

not. 
Ch.  Just.  I  know,  he  doth  not ;  and  do  arm  my- 
self, 

To  welcome  the  condition  of  the  time  ; 

Which  cannot  look  more  hideously  upon  me 

Than  I  have  drawn  it  in  my  fantasy. 

Enter  Prince  John,  Prince  Humphrey,  Clarence, 
Westmoreland,  and  others. 

War.  Here  come  the  heavy  issue  of  dead  Harry : 
0,  that  the  living  Harry  had  the  temper 
Of  him,  the  worst  of  these  three  gentlemen  ! 
How  many  nobles  then  should  hold  their  places, 
That  must  sU-ike  sail  to  spirits  of  vile  sort ! 

Ch.  Just.  Alas !  I  fear,  all  will  be  overturn'd. 

P.  John.  Good  morro^v,  cousin  Warwick. 

P.  Humph.  Cla.  Good  morrow,  cousin. 

P.  John.  We  meet  like  men  that  had  forgot  to 
speak. 

War.  We  do  remember ;  but  our  argument 
Is  all  too  heavy  to  admit  much  talk. 

P.  John.  Well,  peace  be  with  him  that  hath  made 
us  heavy ! 

Ch.  Just.  Peace  be  with  us,  lest  we  be  heavier ! 

P.  Humph.  O,  good  my  lord,  you  have  lost  a 
friend,  indeed : 
And  I  dare  swear,  you  borrow  not  that  face 
Of  seeming  sorrow  ;  it  is,  sure,  your  own. 

P.  Johii.  Though  no  man  be  assur'd  what  grace 
to  find. 
You  stand  in  coldest  expectation  : 
I  am  the  sorrier  ;  'would,  'twere  otherwise. 

Cla.  Well,  you  must  now  speak  sir  John  Falstaff 
fair; 
Which  swims  against  your  stream  of  quality. 

Ch.  Just.   Sweet  princes,  what  I  did,  I  did  in 
honour. 
Led  by  the  impartial  conduct  of  my  soul ; 
And  never  shall  you  see,  that  I  will  beg 
A  ragged  and  forestall'd  remission. — 
If  trutn  and  upright  innocency  fail  me, 
I'll  to  the  king  my  master  that  is  dead. 
And  tell  him  who  hath  sent  me  after  him. 

War.  Here  comes  the  prince. 

Enter  King  Henry  V. 

Ch.  Just.  Good  morrow ;  and  heaven  save  your 
majesty ! 

King.  This  new  and  gorgeous  garment,  majesty. 
Sits  not  so  easy  on  mc  as  you  think. — 
Brothers,  you  mix  your  sadness  ivith  some  fear ; 
This  is  the  English,  not  the  Turkish  court ; 
Not  Amurath  an  Amurath'  succeeds. 
But  Harry,  Harry  :  Yet  be  sad,  good  brothers, 
For,  to  speak  truth,  it  very  well  becomes  you ; 
Sorrow  so  royally  in  you  appears. 
That  I  will  deeply  put  the  fashion  on. 
And  wear  it  in  my  heart.    Why  then,  be  sad : 
But  entertain  no  more  of  it,  good  brothers, 
Than  a  joint  burden  laid  upon  us  all. 
For  me,  by  heaven,  I  bid  you  be  assur'd, 
I'll  be  your  father  and  your  brother  too ; 
Let  me  but  bear  your  love,  I'll  bear  your  cares. 
Yet  weep,  that  Harry's  dead  ;  and  so  will  I : 
But  Harry  lives,  that  shall  convert  those  tears, 
By  number,  into  hours  of  happiness. 

(3)  Emperor  of  the  Turks,  died  in  1596;  his  son, 
who  succeeded  him,  had  all  his  brothers  strangled. 


^cene  III 


SECOND  PART  OP  KING  H^NRY  IV, 


435 


P.  JoAn,  ^e.  We  hope  no  other  from  your  ma- 
jesty. 

King.  You  all  look  strangrely  on  me :— and  vou 
most ;  [7b  the  Cliief  Justice. 

Vou  are,  I  think,  assur'd  I  love  you  not. 

Ch.  Jusl.  I  am  assur'd,  if  I  be  measur'd  rightly, 
Your  majesty  hath  no  just  cause  to  hate  me. 

Kins;.  No! 
How  niight  a  prince  of  my  creat  hopes  forget 
So  great  indig-nities  you  laid^upon  me  ? 
What !  rate,  rebuke,  and  rougiily  send  to  prison, 
The  immediate  heir  of  Enirland  !  Was  this  easy  ? 
May  this  be  wash'd  in  Lethe,  and  forg^otten  ? 

CIt.  Just.   I  then  did  use  the  person  of  your 
father  ; 
The  iiHEge  of  his  power  lay  then  in  me : 
And,  in  the  administration  of  his  law, 
Whiles  I  was  busy  for  the  commonwealth. 
Your  hi?;hness  pleased  to  forget  my  place, 
The  majesty  and  power  of  law  and  justice. 
The  image  of  the  king  w  horn  I  presented, 
And  struck  me  in  my  very  seat  of  jud2;ment; 
Whereon,  as  an  ofiender  to  your  father, 
I  gave  bold  way  to  my  authority. 
And  did  commit  vou.     If  the  deed  were  ill. 
Be  you  contented,  wearing  now  the  garland, 
To  have  a  son  set  your  decrees  at  nought ; 
To  pluck  down  justice  from  your  awful  bench ; 
To  trip  the  course  of  law,  and  blunt  the  sword 
That  guards  the  peace  and  safety  oC  four  person  : 
Nay,  more  ;  to  spurn  at  your  most  foyal  image. 
And  mock  your  workings  in  a  second  body.^ 
Question  your  royal  thou;:hls,  make  the  case  yours ; 
Be  now  the  father,  and  propose  a  son  : 
Hear  your  own  dignity  so  much  profan'd. 
See  your  most  dreadful  laws  so  loosely  slighted, 
Behold  yourself  so  by  a  son  disdain'd  ; 
And  then  imagine  me  taking  your  part, 
And,  in  your  power,  soft  silencing  your  son  : 
jVfter  this  cold  considerance,  sentence  me  ; 
And,  as  you  are  a  king,  speak  in  your  state,' 
What  I  have  done,  that  misbecame  my  place, 
Mv  person,  or  my  liege's  sovereignty. 

iiing.  Voa  are  tight,  justice,  and  you  weigh  this 
well ; 
Therefore  still  bear  the  balance,  and  the  sword  : 
And  I  do  wish  your  honours  may  increase, 
Till  you  do  live  to  see  a  son  of  mine 
Ofiend  vou,  and  obey  you,  as  T  did. 
So  shalf  I  live  to  speak  my  father's  words  ; — 
Happy  am  I,  tliat  have  a  man  so  bold, 
Thai  dares  do  justice  on  my  proper  son : 
,5)ial  not  less  Iiappy,  having  such  a  son, 
Tlutt  would  deliver  up  his  greatness  so, 
Into  the  hands  of  justice. — You  did  commit  me : 
For  which,  I  do  commit  into  your  hand 
The  unstained  sword  that  vou  have  us'd  to  bear ; 
With  this  remembrance,— That  you  use  the  same 
,     With  the  like  bold,  jusl,  and  impartial  spirit, 
'      As  you  have  done  'gainst  me.    There  is  my  hand  : 
You  shall  be  as  a  father  to  mv  youth : 
My  voice  shall  sound  as  you  do  prompt  mine  ear ; 
And  I  will  stoop  and  humble  my  intents 

To  your  well-practis'd,  wise  directions. 

And,  princes  all,  believe  me,  I  beseech  you ; — 
My  father  is  gone  wild  into  his  grave, 
For  in  his  tomb  he  my  affections  ; 
And  with  his  spirit  sadly*  I  survive, 
To  mock  the  expectation  of  the  world ; 

(1)  Crown. 

(■2)  Treat  with  contempt  your  acts  executed  by 
9,  representative. 
(3)  In  your  regal  character  and  cflTicCi 


To  frustrate  prophecies  :  and  to  J-aze  fiilt 
Rotten  opinion,  who  hath  writ  me  down 
Al\er  my  seeming.    The  tide  of  blood  in  me 
Hatli  proudly  ilow'd  in  vanity,  till  now  : 
Now  doth  it  turn,  and  ebb  back  to  the  sea ; 
Where  it  shall  mingle  with  the  state  of  floods. 
And  flow  henceforth  in  formal  majesty. 
Now  call  we  our  high  court  of  parliament : 
And  let  us  choose  such  limbs  of  noble  counsel. 
That  the  great  body  of  our  state  may  go 
In  equal  rank  with  the  best-govern'd  nation  ; 
That  war,  or  peace,  or  both  at  once,  may  be 

As  things  acquainted  and  familiar  to  us  ; 

In  which  you,  father,  shall  have  foremost  hand. — 
[To  the  Lord  Chief  Justice. 
Our  coronation  done,  we  will  accite,' 
As  I  before  remember'd,  all  our  state :     m 
And  (God  consigning  to  mv  good  intenti^ 
No  prince,  nor  peer,  shall  have  just  cause  to  sar, — 
Heaven  shorten  Harry's  happy  life  one  day.  [fixe. 

SCEXE  J//.— Glostershire.  The  garden  of  Sha.]- 
low's  house.  Enter  Falstaff,  Shallow,  Silence, 
Bardolph,  the  Page,  and  Davy. 

Shal.  Nay,  you  shall  see  mine  orchard :  where, 
in  an  arbour,  we  will  eat  a  last  year's  pippin  of  my 
own  grafting,  with  a  dish  of  caraways,  and  so  forth ; 
— come,  cousin  Silence  ; — and  then  to  bed. 

Fal.  'Fore  God,  you  ha»e  here  a  goodly  dwelling, 
and  a  rich.  * 

Shal.  Barren,  barren,  barren ;  beggars  all,  beg- 
nars  all,  sir  vJohn : — marry,  good  air. — Spread, 
Davy ;  spread,  Davy ;  well  said,  Davy. 

Fal,  This  Davy  serves  you  for  good  uses ;  he  is 
your  serving-man,  and  your  husbandman. 

Hhal.  A  good  varlet,  a  good  varlet,  a  very  good 
varlet,  sir  John. — By  the  mass,  I  have  drunk  too 

much  sack  at  supper : A  good  varlet.    Now  sit 

down,  now  sit  down : — come,  cousin.  i 

Sil.  Ah,  sirrah !  quoth-a, — we  shall 
Do  nothing  bul  eat,  and  make  good  cheer, 

[Singing. 
^Jnd  praise  heaven  for  the  merry  year  ; 
When  flesh  is  cheap  and  females  dear, 
,ind  lusty  lads  roam  here  and  there, 
Ho  merrily, 
And  ever  among  so  merrily. 
Fal.  There's  a  merry  heart ! — Good  master  Si- 
lence, I'll  give  you  a  health  for  that  anon. 
Shal.  Give  master  Bardolph  some  wine,  Davy. 
Davy.  Sweet  sir,  sit;  [Seating  Bardolph  and  the 
Page  at  another  table.]  I'll  be  with  you  anon  : — 

most  sweet  sir,  sit. Master  page,  good  master 

page,  sit :  preface  !'  What  you  want  in  meat,  we'll 
have  in  drink.  But  vou  must  bear ;  The  heart's 
all.  '  [Exit. 

Shal.  Be  merry,  master  Bardolph ;— and  my  little 
soldier  there,  be  merry. 
Sil.  Be  merry,  be  merry,  my  wife's  as  aU;" 

[Singing. 
For  women  are  shrews,  both  short  and  tall : 
'Tis  merry  in  ludl,  when  beards  wag  all, 

And  welcome  merry  shrove-tide. 
Be  merry,  be  merry,  Su:. 
Fal.  I  did  not  think,  master  Silence  had  been  a 
man  of  this  mettle. 

Sil.  Who,  I  ?  I  have  been  merry  twice  and  once 
ere  now. 

(4)  Gravely.  (5)  Summon. 

(6)  Italian,  much  good  may  it  do  you, 
I       (7)  As  all  women  are. 


43G 


SECOND  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV. 


.net  r. 


Re-enter  Davy. 
Davy,  There  is  a  dish  of  leather-coals'  for  you. 
[Setting  llieni  before  Bardolph. 
Shal.  Davy, — 

Davy.  Your  worship? — I'll  he  with  you  straight. 
[To  Bard.] — A  cup  of  wine,  sir? 
Sil.  •3  cup  of  wine,  llrnVs  brisk  and  fine. 
And  drink  unto  the  leman"  mine  ; 

[Singing. 
Jind  a  merry  heart  lives  long-a. 
Fal.  Well  sftid,  master  Silence. 
iSil.  And  we  shall  be  merry ; — now  comes  in  the 
sweet  of  the  night. 
Fal.  Health  and  long  life  to  you,  master  Silence. 
Sil.  Fill  the  cup,  and  let  it  come  ; 

I'll  pledge  yon  a  mile  to  the  bottom. 
Shal.  Honest  Bardolph,  welcome :  If  thou  want- 


Fal.  O  base  Assyrian  knight,  what  is  thy  news  ? 
Let  king  Cophetua  know  the  truth  thereou 

Sil.  3nd  liobin  Hood,  Scarlet,  and  John. 

[Sings. 

Fist.  Shall  dunghill  curs  confront  the  Helicons  ? 
And  shall  good  news  be  balBed  ? 
Then,  Pistol,  lay  thy  head  in  Furies'  lap. 

Shal.  Honest  gentleman,  I  know  not  your  breed- 

Pist.  Why  then,  lament  therefore. 

Shal.  Give  me  pardon,  sir ; — If,  sir,  you  come 
with  news  from  the  court,  I  take  it,  there  is  but 
two  ways  ;  either  to  utter  them,  or  to  conceal  them. 
I  am,  sir,  under  the  king,  in  some  authority. 

Fist.  Under  which  king,  Bezonian  ?  speak,  or  die. 

Shal.  Under  king  Harrj'. 

Fist.  Harry  the  fourth  ?  or  fifth  ? 

Shal.  Harry  the  fourth. 

Fist.  A  foutra  for  thine  office  ! — 


est  any  thmg,  and  will  not  call,  beshrew  thy  heart   gjr  John,  thy  tender  lambkin  now  is  king  ; 
_VV elcome,    my  little  tiny  thief;   [To  the  Fage.]  I  H^rrv  the  fifth's  the  man.     I  speak  the  trith : 
and  welcome    mdeed,    too.-I'll  drink  to  mastcr^Vhen  Pistol  lies,  do  this ;  and  fig  me,  like 
Bardolph,  and  to  all  the  cavaleroes^  about  London,  j 'I'l^,.  Ijj.yjrpin<r  Spaniard 

Davy.  I  hope  to  see  London  once^re  I  die.  |     jr„i  vviat":  is  the  old  king  dead  ? 

Fist.  As  nail  in  door  :  The  things  I  speak  are  just. 
Fal.  Away,  Bardolph  ;  saddle  my  horse. — Mas- 


Bard.  An  I  might  see  you  there,  Davy 

Shal.  By  the  mass,  you'll  crack  a  quart  together 
Ha  !  will  you  not,  master  Bardolph  ? 

Bard.  Yes,  sir,  in  a  pottle-pot. 

Shal.  I  thank  thee : — The  knave  will  stick  by 
thee,  I  can  assure  thee  that :  he  will  not  out ;  he 
is  true  bred. 

Bard.  And  I'll  stick  by  him,  sir. 

Shal.  Why,  there  spoke  a  king.  Lack  nothing  : 
be  merrv.  [Knocking  heard.']  Look  who's  at  door 
there :  Ho !  %vho  knocks  ?  '       [Exit  Davy, 

Fal.  Why,  now  you  have  done  me  right. 

[  To  Silence,  who  drinks  a  bumper. 

SU.  [Singing.]  Do  me  nghl, 
And  dub  me  knight  ;■* 
Samingo.'' 
Is't  not  so  ? 

Fal.  'Tis  so. 

Sil.  Is't  so  ?  Why,  then  say,  an  old  man  can  do 
somewhat. 

Re-enter  Davy, 

Davy.  An  it  please  your  worship,  there's  one 
Pistol  come  from  the  court  with  news. 
Fd.  From  the  court  ?  let  him  come  in. — 

Enter  Pistol. 
How  now,  Pistol  ? 

Fist.  God  save  you,  sir  John ! 

Fal.  What  wind  blew  you  here.  Pistol  ? 

Fist.  Not  the  ill  wind  which  blows  no  man  to 
good.^-Sweet  knight,  thou  art  now  one  of  the 
greatest  men  in  the  realm. 

Sil.  By'r  ladj',  I  think  'a  be ;  Tjut  goodman  Pufl 
of  Barson. 

Fist.  Puff? 
Puff  in  thy  teeth,  most  recreant  coward  base ! — 
Sir  John,  I  am  thy  Pistol,  and  thy  friend, 
And  helter-skelter  have  I  rode  to  thee  ; 
And  tidings  do  I  bring,  and  lucky  joys, 
And  golden  times,  and  happy  news  of  price. 

Fal.  I  pr'ythee  now,  deliver  them  like  a  man  of 
this  world. 

Fist.  A  foutra  for  the  world,  and  worldlings  base ! 
I  speak  of  Africa,  and  golden  jo3's. 

(1)  Apples  commonly  called  russetines. 

(2)  Sweetheart.  (3)  Gay  fellows. 

(4)  He  who  drank  a  bumper  on  his  knees  to  the 
health  of  nis  mistress,  was  dubbed  a  knight  for  the 
evening. 


ter  Robert  Shallow,  choose  what  office  thou  wilt 
in  the  land,  'tis  thine. — Pistol,  I  will  double-charge 
thee  with  dignities. 

Bard.  O  joyful  day  ! — I  would  not  take  a  knight- 
hood for  my  fortune. 
Fist.  What  ?  I  do  bring  good  news  ? 
Fal.  Carry  master  Silence  to  bed. — Master  Shal- 
lov/,  my  lord  Shallow,  be  %vhat  thou  wilt,  I  am  for- 
tune's steward.  Get  on  thy  boots  ;  we'll  ride  all 
night : — O,  sv.  ect  Pistol : — Away,  Bardolph.  [Exit 
Bardolph.] — Come,  Pistol,  utter  more  to  me;  and, 
withal,  devise  something,  to  do  thyself  good. — 
Boot,  boot,  master  Shallow  ;  I  know,  the  young 
king  is  sick  for  me.  Let  us  take  any  man's  horses  ; 
the  laws  of  England  are  at  my  commandment. 
Happy  are  they  which  have  been  my  fi  lends  ;  and 
wo  to  mv  lord  chief  justice  ! 

Fist.  Let  vultures  vile  seize  on  his  lungs  also ! 
Where  is  the  life  that  late  I  led  ?  say  they : 
Why,  here  it  is  ;  Welcome  these  pleasant  days. 

[Excxint. 
SCEJ^E  IV.— London.  A  street.   Enter  Beadles, 
dragging  in  Hostess  Quickly,   a}id  Doll  Tear- 
sheet. 

Host.  No,  thou  arrant  knave;  I  would  I  might 
die,  that  I  might  have  thee  hanged :  thou  hast  drawn 
my  shoulder  out  of  joint. 

1  Bead.  The  constables  have  delivered  her  over 
f o  me ;  and  she  shall  have  whipping-cheer  enough, 
I  warrant  her:  There  hath  beeii  a  man  or  two 
lately  killed  about  her. 

Doll.  Nut-hook,  nut-hook,' you  lie.  Come  on: 
I'll  tell  thee  what,  thou  damned  tripe-visaged 
rascal ;  an  the  child  I  now  go  with,  do  miscarry, 
thou  hadst  better  thou  hadst  struck  thy  nxother, 
thou  paper-faced  villain. 

Host.  0  the  Lord,  that  sir  John  were  come  !  he 
would  make  this  a  bloody  day  to  somebody.  But  I 
pray  God  the  fruit  of  her  womb  miscarry  ! 

1  Bead.  If  it  do,  you  shall  have  a  dozen  of 
cushions'  again ;  you  have  but  eleven  now.  Come, 
I  charge  you  both  go  with  me  ;  for  the  man  is  dead, 
that  you  and  Pistol  beat  among  you. 

(5)  It  should  be  Domingo ;  it  is  part  of  a  song 
in  one  of  Nashe's  plays. 

(6)  A  term  of  reproach  for  a  catchpoll. 

(7)  To  stuff  her  out  to  counterfeit  pregnancy. 


J 


fic«it<  V. 


SECOND  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV. 


4S7 


Doll.  I'll  tell  thee  what,  thou  thin  man  in  a  cen- 
ser !  I  will  have  you  as  soundly  swinged  for  this, 
you  blue-bottle  rogue ! '  you  tiithy  famished  cor- 
rectioner  !  if  you  be  not  swinged,  I'll  forswear  half- 
kirtles.'^ 

1  Bead.  Come,  come,  you  she  knight-errant, 
come. 

Host.  O,  that  right  should  thus  overcome  might! 
Well ;  of  sufferance  comes  ease. 

Doll.  Come,  you  rogue,  come ;  bring  me  to  a 
justice. 

Host.  Ay ;  come,  you  starved  blood-hound. 

Doll.  Goodman  death  !  goodman  bones ! 

Host.  Thou  atomy,  thou  ! 

Doll.  Come,  you  thin  tiling  ;  come,  you  rascal ! 

1  Bead.  Very  well.  '    [Exettnt. 

SCEJs^E   v.— A  pttblic  place  near  Westminster 
Abbey.     Enter  tico  Grooms,  strewing  rushes. 

1  Groom.  More  rushes,  more  rushes. 

2  Groom.  The  trumpets  have  sounded  twice. 

1  Groom.  It  will  be  two  o'clock  ere  they  come 
from  the  coronation  :  Despatch,  despatch. 

[Exeunt  Grooms. 

Enter  Falstaff,  Shallow,  Pistol,  Bardolph,  aitd 
the  Page. 

Fal.  Stand  here  by  me,  master  Robert  Shallow; 
I  will  make  the  king  do  you  grace :  I  will  leer  upon 
him,  as  'a  comes  by  ;  and  do  but  mark  the  counte- 
nance that  he  will  give  me. 

Pist.  God  bless  thv  lungs,  good  knight. 

Fal.  Come  here.  Pistol ;  stand  behind  mo. — 0, 
if  I  had  had  time  to  have  made  new  liveries,  I 
would  have  bestowed  the  thousand  pound  I  bor- 
rowed of  you.  [To  Shallow.1  But  'tis  no  matter; 
this  poor  show  doth  better:  this  doth  infer  the  zeal 
I  had  to  see  him. 

Slial.  It  doth  S3. 

Fal.  It  shows  my  earnestness  of  afibction. 

Shal.  It  doth  so. 

Fal.  Mv  devotion. 

Shal.  It  doth,  it  doth,  it  doth. 

Fal.  As  it  were,  to  ride  dav  and  night ;  and  not 
to  deliberate,  not  to  remember,  not  to  have  pa- 
tience to  shift  me. 

Shal.  It  is  most  certain. 

Fat.  But  to  stand  stained  with  travel,  and  sweat- 
ing with  desire  to  see  him :  thinking  of  nothing 
else:  putting  all  affairs  else  in  o])livion ;  as  if  there 
were  nothing  else  to  be  done,  but  to  see  him. 

Fist.  'Tis  semper  idem,  for  absque  hoc  nihil  est:^ 
'Tis  all  in  every  part. 

Shal.  'Tis  so,  indeed. 

Pist.  My  kniglit,  I  will  inflame  thy  noble  liver, 
And  make  thee  rajre. 

Thy  Doll,  and  Helen  of  thy  noble  thoughts, 
Is  in  base  durance,  and  contagious  prison  ; 
Haul'd  thither 

By  most  mechanical  and  dirty  hand : — 
Rouse  up  revenge  from  ebon  den  with  fell  Alecto's 

snake. 
For  Doll  is  in  ;  Pistol  speaks  nought  but  truth. 

Fal.  I  will  deliver  her. 

[Shouts  within,  and  the  trumpets  sound. 

Pist.  There  roar'd  the  sea,  and  trumpet-clangor 
sounds. 

Enter  the  King  and  his  train,  the  Chief  Justice 

among  them. 
Fal.  God  save  thy  grace,  king  Hal !  my  royal  Hal ! 

(1)  Beadles  usually  wore  a  blue  livery. 

(2)  Short  cloaks. 


Pist.  The  heavens  thee  guard  and  keep,  most 
royal  imp*  of  fame ! 

Fal.  God  save  thee,  my  sweet  bov ! 

King.  My  lord  chief  justice,  speak  to  that  vain 
man. 

Ch.  Just.  Have  you  your  wits  ?  knoir  you  trhat 
'tis  you  speak  ? 

Fal.  My  king!  my  Jove !  I  speak  to  thee,  my 
heart ! 

King.  I  know  thee  not,  old  man :  Fall  to  thy 
prayers ; 
How  ill  white  hairs  become  a  fool,  and  jester  J 
I  have  long  dream'd  of  such  a  kind  of  man, 
So  surfeit-swell'd,  so  old,  and  so  profane  ; 
But,  being  awake.  I  do  despise  my  dream. 
Make  less  thy  body,  hence,*  and  more  thy  grace  ; 
Leave  gormandizing ;  know,  the  grave  doth  Sf^ 
For  thee  tlirice  wider  than  for  other  men : —     "^ 
Reply  not  to  nie  withaHSbl-born  jest ; 
Presume  not,  thalsnm  the  thing  I  was : 
For  heaven  cloth  Knbw,  so  shall  the  world  perceive. 
That  I  have  tum'd  away  my  former  self;  . 
SojHI]  I  those  that  kept  nie  company. 
When  thou  dost  hear  I  am  as  I  have  "been. 
Approach  me  ;  and  thou  shall  be  as  thou  wast. 
The  tutor  and  the  feeder  of  mv  riots : 
Till  then,  I  banish  thee,  on  pain  of  death, — 
As  I  have  done  the  rest  of  my  misleaders, — 
Not  to  come  near  our  person  by  ten  mile. 
For  competence  of  life,  I  will  allow  you; 
That  lack  of  means  enforce  you  not  to  evil : 
And,  as  we  hear  you  do  reform  yourselves. 
We  will, — according  to  your  strength,  and  quali- 
ties,— 
Give  you  advancement. — Be  it  your  charge,  mj 

•      lord. 
To  see  perform'd  the  tenor  of  our  word. — 
Set  on.  [Exeunt  King,  and  his  train. 

Fal.  Master  Shallow,  I  owe  you  a  thousand  pound. 

Shal.  Ay,  marry,  sir  Jofin ;  which  I  beseech 
you  to  let  me  have  home  ivith  mc. 

Fal.  That  canhardly  be,  master  Shallow.  Do 
not  you  grieve  at  this ;  I  shall  be  sent  for  in  private 
lo  him :  look  you,  he  must  seem  thus  to  the  world. 
Fear  not  your  advancement;  I  will  be  the  man 
yet,  that  shall  make  you  great. 

Shal.  1  cannot  perceive  how;  unless  you  give 
me  your  doublet,  and  stuff  me  out  with  straw.  I 
beseech  you,  good  sir  John,  let  me  have  Ove  hun- 
dred of  my  thousand. 

Fal.  Sir,  I  will  be  as  good  as  my  word :  this 
that  you  heard,  was  but  a  colour. 

Shal.  A  colour,  I  fear,  that  you  will  die  in,  sir 
John. 

Ftd.  Fear  no  colours ;  go  with  me  to  dinner. 
Come,  lieutenant  Pistol ;— come,  Bardolph  : — I 
shall  be  sent  for  soon  at  night. 

Re-enter  P.  John,  the  Chief  Justice,  Officers,  4<. 

Ch.  Just.  Go,  carry  sir  John  Falstaff  to  the  Fleet ; 
Take  all  his  company  along  with  him. 

Fal.  My  lord,  my  lord, 

Ch.  Just.  I  cannot  now  speak :  I  will  hear  you 
soon. 
Take  them  away. 

Pist.  Si  fortu'na  me  tormenta,  spero  me  eonlenla. 
[Exe.  Fal.  Shal.  Pist.  Bard.  Page,  and  officers. 

P.  John.  I  like  this  fair  proceeding  of  the  king's  • 
He  hath  intent,  his  wonted  followers 
Shall  all  be  very  well  provided  for  ; 
But  all  are  banlsh'd,  till  tlieir  conversations 

(SJ  'Tis  all  in  all,  and  all  in  every  part, 

(4)  Child,  offspring.  (5)  Henceforwadr. 


438 


SECOND  P.UIT  OF  KING  HENRY  IV. 


^icl  r. 


Appear  more  wise  and  motlcst  to  the  world. 

Ch.  Just.  And  so  they  arc. 

P.  John.  The  king  hath  call'd  his  parliament, 
my  lord. 

Ch.  Just.  He  hath. 

P.  John.   I  ivill  lay  odds, — ^that,  ere  this  year 
expire, 
We  bear  our  civil  swords,  and  native  fire, 
As  far  as  France  :  I  heard  a  bird  so  sing, 
Whose  music,  to  my  thinking,  pleas'd  the  king. 
Come,  will  you  hence  ?  [Exeunt. 

EPILOGUE, 

SPOKEN    BY    A    DANCKR. 

FIRST,  my  fear;  then,  my  ciurt'sy;  last,  my 
speech.  My  fear  is,  your  displeasure ;  my  court'sy, 
ray  duty ;  and  my  speech,  to  beg  your  pardons.  If 
you  look  for  a  good  speech  now,  you  undo  me  :  for 
what  I  have  to  say,  is  of  mine  own  making ;  and 
•wliat,  indeed,  I  should  say,  will,  I  doubt,  prove 
mine  own  marring.  But  to  the  purpose,  and  so  to 
the  venture. — Be  it  known  to  you,  (as  it  is  very 
ivell,)  I  was  lately  here  in  the  end  of  a  displeasing 
play,  to  pray  your  patienco  for  it,  and  to  ])romise 
you  a  better.  I  did  mean,  indeed,  to  pay  you  with 
this ;  which  if,  like  an  ill  venture,  it  come  unluck- 
ily home,  I  break,  and  you,  my  gentle  creditors, 
lose.  Here,  I  promised  you,  I  would  be,  and  here 
I  commit  my  body  to  your  mercies:  bate  me  some, 
and  I  will  pay  you  some,  and,  as  most  debtors  do, 
promise  you  m  finitely. 

If  my  tongue  cannot  entreat  you  t^-acquit  me, 
will  you  command  me  to  use  my.jlegs'?  and  yet 
that  were  but  light  payment, — to  dance  &ut  of  your 
debt.  But  a  good  conscience  will  make  any  possi- 
ble satisfaction,  and  so  will  I.  All  the  gentlewo- 
men here  have  forgiven  me  ;  if  the  gentlemen  will 
not,  then  the  gentlemen  do  not  agree  with  the  gen- 
tlewomen, which  was  never  seen  before  in  such  an 
assembly. 

One  word  more,  I  beseech  you.  If  you  be  not 
too  much  cloyed  with  fat  meat,  our  humble  author 
"will  continue  the  story,  with  sir  John  in  it,  and 
make  you  merry  with  fair  Katharine  of  France : 
where,  for  any  thing  I  know,  FalstafT shall  die  of  a 
sweat,  unless  already  he  be  killed  with  your  hard 
opinions  ;  for  Oldcastlo  died  a  martyr,  and  this  is 
not  the  man.  My  tongue  is  weary ;  when  my  legs 
are  too,  I  will  bid  you  good  night ;  and  so  kneel 
down  before  you; — but,  indeed,  to  pray  for  the 
queen. 


I  fancy  every  reader,  when  he  ends  this  play, 
cries  out' with  Desdemona,  '  O  most  lame  and  im- 
potent conclusion!'  As  this  play  was  not,  to  our 
Knowledge,  divided  into  acts  by  the  author,  I  could 
be  content  to  conclude  it  with  the  death  of  Henry 
the  Fourth : 

•  In  that  Jerusalem  shall  Harry  die.' 

These  scenes,  which  now  make  the  fifth  act  of 
Henni  the  Fourth,  might  then  be  the  first  of  Henry 
the  Fifth ;  but  the  truth  is,  that  they  do  not  unite 
very  commodiously  to  either  play.  When  these 
plays  were  represented,  I  believe  fhey  ended  as  they 
are  now  ended  in  the  books ;  but  Shakspeare  seems 
to  have  designed  that  the  whole  series  of  action, 
from  the  beginning^of  Richard  the  Second,  to  the 
end  of  Henry  the  Fifth,  should  be  considered  by 
the  reader  as  one  work  upon  one  plan,  only  broken 
nto  parts  by  the  necessity  of  exhibition. 

Npne  of  Sljakspeare's  plays  arc  wore  read  than 


the  First  and  Second  Parts  <f  Uenru  the  Fourth. 
Perhaps  no  author  has  ever,  in  two  plays,  aflbrded 
so  much  delight.  The  great  events  are  interesting, 
for  the  fate  of  kingdoms  depends  upon  them  ;  the 
slighter  occurrences  are  diverthig,  and,  except  one 
or  two,  sufficiently  probable;  the  incidents  arc 
multiplied  with  wonderful  fertility  of  invention ; 
and  the  characters  diversified  with  the  utmost 
nicety  of  discernment,  and  the  profoundest  skill  in 
the  nature  of  man. 

The  prince,  who  is  the  hero  both  of  the  comic 
and  tragic  part,  is  a  young  man  of  great  abilities, 
and  violent  passions,  whose  sentiments  are  right, 
though  his  actions  arc  wrong;  whose  virtues  are 
obscured  by  negligence,  and  whose  understanding 
is  dissipated  by  levity.  In  his  idle  hours  he  is 
rather  loose  than  wicked  ;  and  when  the  occasion 
forces  out  his  latent  qualities,  he  is  great  without 
effort,  and  brave  without  tumult.  Tiic  trifler  is 
roused  into  a  hero,  and  the  hero  again  reposes  in 
the  trifler.  The  character  is  great,  original,  and  just. 

Percy  is  a  rugged  soldier,  choleric  and  quarrel- 
some, and  has  only  the  soldier's  virtues,  generosity 
and  courage. 

But  FalstafT!  unimitated,  unimitable  Falstaff! 
how  shall  I  describe  thee?  thou  compound  of  sense 
and  vice  ;  of  sense  which  may  be  admired,  but  not 
esteemed ;  of  vice  which  may  be  despised,  but 
hardly  detested.  Falstaft"  is  a  character  loaded 
with  faults,  and  with  those  fiiults  which  naturally 
produce  contempt.  He  is  a  tliicf  nnd  a  glutton,  a 
coward  and  a  boaster ;  always  ready  to  cheat  the 
weak,  and  prey  upon  tlie  poor  ;  to  terrify  the  timo- 
rous, and  insult  the  defenceless.  At  once  obsequi- 
ous and  malignant,  he  satirizes  in  their  absence 
those  whom  he  lives  by  flattering.  He  is  familiar 
with  the  prince  only  as  an  agent  of  vice ;  but  of 
this  familiarity  he  is  so  proud,  as  not  only  to  be 
supercilious  and  haughty  with  common  men,  but 
to  think  his  interest  of  importance  fo  the  duke  of 
Lancaster.  Yet  the  man  thus  corrupt,  thus  despi- 
cable, makes  himself  necessary  to  the  prince  that 
despises  him,  by  the  most  pleasing  of  all  qualities, 
perpetual  gaiety ;  by  an  unfailing  power  of  exciting 
laughter,  which  is  the  more  freely  indulged,  as  his 
wit  is  not  of  the  splendid  or  ambiliotis  kind,  but 
consists  in  easy  scapes  and  sallies  of  levity,  which 
make  sport,  but  raise  no  envy.  It  must  be  ob- 
served, that  he  is  stained  with  no  enormous  or  san- 
guinary crimes,  so  that  his  licentiousness  is  not  so 
offensive  but  that  it  may  be  borne  for  his  mirth. 

The  moral  to  be  drawn  from  this  representation 
is,  that  no  man  is  more  dangerous  tlian  he  that,  with 
a  will  to-corrupt,  hath  the  power  to  please;  and 
that  neither  wit  nor  honesty  ought  to  think  them- 
selves safe  with  such  a  companion,  when  they  see 
Henr)'  seduced  by  Falstaff.  JOHNSON. 

Mr.  Upton  thinks  these  two  plays  improperly 
called  the  First  and  Second  Paris' of  Henry  the 
Fourth.  The  first  play  ends,  he  says,  with  the 
peaceful  settlement  of  Henry  in  the  kingdom  by 
the  defeat  of  the  rebels.  This  is  hardly  true ;  for 
the  rebels  are  not  yet  finally  suppressed.  The 
second,  he  tells  us,  shows  Henry  the  Fifth  in  the 
Various  lights  of  a  good-natured  rake,  till,  on  his 
father's  death,  he  assumes  a  more  manly  character. 
This  is  true ;  but  this  representation  gives  us  no 
idea  of  a  dramatic  action.  These  two  plays  will 
appear  to  every  reader,  who  shall  peruse  them 
without  ambition  of  critical  discoveries,  to  be  so 
connected,  that  the  second  is  merely  a  sequel  to 
the  first ;  to  be  two,  only  because  they  are  too 
long  to  be  one.  JOHNSON. 


(    439    ) 


KING  HENRY  V, 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


JPoiff  Henry  tlieFiffe. 

DiUce  of  Exeter,  wide  to  the  king. 

Duke  of  York,  cousin  to  the  king. 

Earls  of  Salisbury,  Westmoreland,  and  Warwick. 

Archbishop  of  Canterbury. 

Bishop  ofE\y. 

Earl  q/"  Cambridge, ) 

Lord  Scroop,      "     >  conspirators  against  the  king. 

Sir  Thomas  Grey,   ) 

Sir  Thomas  Erpingham,  Gower,  FluoUen,  IMac- 

morris,  Jamv,  officers  in  king  Henry''s  arnvj. 
Bates,  Court,  Williams,  soldiers  in  the  same. 
Nyni,  Bardolph,  Pistol,  formerly  servants  to  Fal- 

staff,  now  ioldiers  in  tJie  same. 
Boy,  servant  to  them,    A  Herald.     Chorus. 


Charles  the  Sixthj  king  of  France. 

Lewis,  the  dauphin. 

Dukes  o/Burgundv,  Orleans,  and  Boarbon. 

The  Constable  of  France. 

Rambures,  and  Grandpre,  French  lords. 

Governor  o/Harfleur.     Montjoy,  a  FrguJi  hertidL 

Jlmbassadors  to  the  king  of  England. 

Isabel,  queen  of  Fimtee. 
Katliarine,  daughter  of  Charles  and  Isabel. 
Alice,  a  lady  attending  on  the  princess  Katharine. 
Qi)iddy,  PistoPs  wife,  a  hostess. 

Lords,  ladies,  officers,  French  and  English  soldiers, 
messengers,  and  attendants. 

The  Scene,  at  the  beginning  of  the  play,  lies  m 
England  ;  but  aftcncards,  wholly  in  France. 


Enter  Chorus^ 


O, 


f,  FOR  a  muse  of  fire,  that  would  ascend 
The  brightest  heaven  of  invention  ! 
A  kingdom  for  a  stage,  princes  to  act. 
And  monarchs  to  behold  the  swellin?  scene ! 
Then  should  the  warlike  Harry,  like  himself, 
Assume  the  port  of  Mars  ;  ancl,  at  his  heels, 
Leash'd  in,  like  hounds,  should  famine,  sword,  and 

fire. 
Crouch  for  employment.    But  pardon,  gentles  all. 
The  flat  uoraised  spirit,  that  hath  dar'd, 
On  this  unworthy  scaflbld,  to  bring  forth 
So  great  an  object :  Can  this  cockpit  hold 
The  vasty  fields  of  France?  or  may  we  cram 
Within  this  wooden  O,'  the  very  casques,* 
That  did  afiVisiit  the  air  at  Agincourt? 
O,  pardon  !  since  a  crooked  figure  may 
Attest,  in  little  place,  a  million  ; 
And  let  us,  cyphers  to  tliis  great  accompt, 
On  your  imaginary  forces-^  v/ork : 
Suppose,  wi'.hin  the  girdle  of  these  walls 
Are  now  ccnfm'd  two  mishty  monarchies, 
Whose  high-upreared  and  abutting  fronts 
The  perilous,  narrow  ocean  parts  asunder. 
Piece  out  our  imperfections  with  your  thoughts : 
Into  a  thousand  parts  divide  one  man. 
And  make  imaginary  puissance : 
Think,  when  we  talk  of  horses,  that  you  see  them 
Printin;;  their  proud  hoofs  i'the  receiving  earth : 
For  'tis  your  thoughts  that  now  must  deck  our 

kings. 
Carry  them  here  and  there ;  jumping  o'er  times  ; 
Turning  the  accomplis^hments  of  many  years 
Into  an  hour-glass ;  For  the  which  supply. 
Admit  me  Chorus  to  this  history ; 
W'ho,  prologue-like,  your  humble  patience  pray, 
Gently  to  hear,  kindly  to  judge,  our  play. 

(1)  An  allusion  to  the  circular  form  of  the 
theatre. 


ACT  I. 

SCEJ^E  J.— London,  .in  ante-chamber  in  the 
King's  palace.  Enter  the  .Srcktnsltop  of  Canter- 
bury, and  Bishop  q/"Ely. 

Canterbury. 

MY  lord,  ril  tell  you,— that  self  bill  is  nrg'd, 
^Vhich,  in  the  eleventh  year  o'the  last  king's  reign 
Was  like,  and  had  indeed  against  us  pass'd, 
But  that  the  scambling  and  unquiet  time 
Did  push  it  out  of  further  question.* 

Ely.  But  how,  my  lord,  shall  we  resist  it  now? 

Cant.  It  must  be  thought  onl  If  it  pass  against  us. 
We  lose  the  better  half  of  our  possession : 
For  all  the  temporal  lands,  which  men  devout 
By  testament  have  given  to  the  church, 
Would  they  strip  from  us  ;  being  valued  thus, — 
As  much  as  would  maintain,  to  the  king's  honour. 
Full  fifteen  earls,  and  fifteen  hundred  knights ; 
Six  thousand  and  two  hundred  good  esquires  ; 
And,  to  relief  of  lazars,  and  weak  age, 
Of  indigent  faiut  souls,  past  corporal  toil, 
A  hundred  alms-houses,  right  well  supplied ; 
And  to  the  coffers  of  tlie  king  beside, 
A  thousand  pounds  by  the  year :  Thus  runs  the  hilt, 

Ely.  This  would  drink  deep. 

Cant.  'Twould  drink  the  cup  and  alL 

Ely.  But  what  prevention  ? 

Cant.  The  king  is  full  of  grace,  and  fair  regard. 

Ely.  And  a  true  lover  of  the  holy  church. 

Cant.  The  courses  of  his  youth  promis'd  it  not. 
The  breath  no  sooner  left  his  father's  body. 
But  that  his  wildness,  mortified  in  him,  • 
Seem'd  to  die  too  :  yea,  at  that  very  moment. 
Consideration  like  an  angel  came. 
And  whipp'd  the  offending  Adam  out  of  him ; 
Leaving  his  body  as  a  paradise. 
To  envelop  and  contain  celestial  spirits. 
Never  was  such  a  sudden  scholar  made ; 

(-2)  Helmets.    (3)  Powers  of  fency.    (4)  Deb»ta, 


440 


KING  HENR?  V. 


>actl. 


Never  came  reformation  in  a  flood, 

With  such  a  heady  current,  scouring  faults ; 

Nor  never  Hydra-headed  wilfulness 

So  soon  did  lose  his  seat,  and  all  at  once, 

As  in  this  king. 

Ely.  We  are  blessed  in  the  change. 

Cant.  Hear  him  but  reason  in  divinity, 
And,  allradmiring,  with  an  inward  wish 
You  would  desire,  the  king  were  made  a  prelate: 
Hear  him  debate  of  commonwealth  affairs. 
You  would  say, — it  hath  been  all-in-all  his  study : 
List'  his  discourse  of  war,  and  you  shall  hear 
A  fearful  battle  render'd  you  in  music : 
Turn  him  to  any  cause  of  policy. 
The  Gordian  knot  of  it  he  will  unloose. 
Familiar  as  his  garter ;  that,  when  he  speaks. 
The  air,  a  charter'd  libertine,  is  still, 
And  the  mute  wonder  lurketh  in  men's  ears, 
To  steal  his  sweet  and  honeyed  sentences  ; 
So  that  the  art  and  practie  part  of  life 
Must  be  the  mistress  to  this  theoric  :^ 
Which  is  a  wonder,  how  his  grace  should  glean  it. 
Since  his  addiction  was  to  courses  vain : 
His  companies'  unletter'd,  rude,  and  shallow ; 
His  hours  fill'd  up  with  riots,  banquets,  sports ; 
And  never  noted  in  him  any  study. 
Any  retirement,  any  sequestration 
From  open  haunts  and  popularity. 

Ely.  The  strawberry  grows  underneath  the  net- 
tle; 
And  wholesome  berries  thrive  and  ripen  best, 
Neighbour'd  by  fruit  of  baser  quality ; 
And  so  the  prince  obscur'd  his  contemplation 
Under  the  veil  of  wildness  ;  which,  no  doubt. 
Grew  like  the  summer  grass,  fastest  by  night, 
Unseen,  vet  crescive*  in  his  faculty. 

Cant.  It  must  be  so :  for  miracles  are  ceas'd  ; 
And  therefore  we  must  needs  admit  th6  means. 
How  things  are  perfected. 

Ely.  Butj  my  good  lord, 

How  now  for  mitigation  of  this  bill 
Urg'd  by  the  commons  ?  Doth  his  majesty 
Incline  to  i*,  or  no  ? 

Cant.  He  seems  indifferent ; 

Or,  rather,  swaying  more  upon  our  part. 
Than  cherishin<r  the  exhibiters  against  us : 
For  I  have  macie  an  offer  to  his  majesty, — 
Upon  our  spiritual  convocation  ; 
And  in  regard  of  causes  now  in  hand. 
Which  I  have  open'd  to  his  grace  at  large. 
As  touching  France, — to  give  a  greater  sum 
Than  ever  at  one  time  the  clergy  yet 
Did  to  his  predecessors  part  withal. 

Ely.  How  did  this  offer  seem  receiv'd,  my  lord  ? 

Cant.  With  good  acceptance  of  his  majesty ; 
Save,  that  there  was  not  time  enough  to  hear 
(As,  I  perceiv'd,  his  grace  would  fain  have  done,) 
The  severals,  and  unhidden  passages. 
Of  his  true  titles  to  some  certain  diikedoms  ; 
And,  generally,  to  the  crown  and  seat  of  France, 
Deriv'd  from  Edward,  his  great-grandfather. 

Ely.  What  was  the  impediment  that  broke  this 
off? 

Cant.  The  French  ambassador,  upon  that  instant, 
Crar'd  audience  :  and  the  hour,  I  think,  is  come, 
To  give  him  hearing  :  Is  it  four  o'clock  ? 

JEty.  It  is. 

Cant.  Then  go  we  in,  to  know  his  embassy ; 
Which  I  could,  with  a  ready  guess,  declare. 
Before  the  Frenchman  speaK  a  word  of  it. 

Ely.  I'll  wait  upon  you  ;  and  I  long  to  hear  it. 

[Exeunt. 


SCEJ^E  JI.—The  same.  *3  room  of  stale  in  the 
same.  Enter  King  Henry,  Gloster,  Bedford, 
Exeter,  Warwick,  Westmoreland,  und  attend- 
ants. 

K.  Hen.  Where  is  my  gracious  lord  of  Canter- 
bury? 
Exe.  Not  here  in  presence. 
K.  Hen.  Send  for  him,  good  uncle. 
West.  Shall  we  call  in  the  ambassador,  my  liese  t 
K.  Hen.  Not  yet,  my  cousin ;  we  would  be  le 
solv'd, 
Before  we  hear  him,  of  some  things  of  weight. 
That  task  our  thoughts,  concerning  us  and  Trance. 

Enter  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  and  Bishop 
o/Ely. 

Cant.  God,  and  his  angels,  guard  your  sacred 
throne. 
And  make  you  long  become  it ! 

K.  Hen.  Sure,  we  thank  you. 

My  learned  lord,  we  pray  you  to  proceed  ; 
And  justly  and  religiously  unfold, 
Why  the  law  Salique,  that  they  have  in  France, 
Or  should,  or  should  not,  bar  us  in  our  claim. 
And  God  forbid,  my  dear  and  faithful  lord, 
1%at  you  should  fashion,  wrest,  or  bow  your  reading, 
Or  nicely  charge  your  understanding  soul 
With  opening  titles  miscreate,'  whose  right 
Suits  not  in  native  colours  with  the  truth  ; 
For  Goddotli  know,  how  many,  now  in  health. 
Shall  drop  their  blood  in  approbation 
Of  what  your  reverence  shall  incite  us  to : 
Therefore  take  heed  how  you  impawn  our  person, 
How  you  awake  the  sleepmg  sword  of  war  ; 
We  charge  you  in  the  name  of  God,  take  heed : 
For  never  two  such  kingdoms  did  contend. 
Without  much  fall  of  blood  ;  whose  guiltless  drops 
Are  every  one  a  wo,  a  sore  complaint, 
'Gainst  him,  whose  wrongs  give  edge  unto  the  swords 
That  make  such  ^vaste  m  brief  mortality. 
Under  this  conjuration,  speak,  my  lord : 
And  we  will  hear,  note,  and  believe  in  heart. 
That  what  you  speak  is  in  your  conscience  wash'd 
As  pure  as  sin  with  baptism. 

Cant.  Then  hear  mc,  gracious  sovereign, — and 
you  peers. 
That  owe  your  lives,  your  faith,  and  services. 
To  this  imperial  throne  j — There  is  no  bar 
To  make  against  your  highness'  claim  to  France. 
But  this,  which  they  produce  from  Pharamond, — 
In  terram  Salicam  muiieres  ne  succedant, 
J^o  woman  shall  succeed  in  Salique  land : 
Which  Salique  land  the  French  unjustly  gloze,* 
To  be  the  realm  of  France,  and  Pharamond 
The  founder  of  this  law  and  female  bar. 
Yet  their  own  authors  faithfully  affirm. 
That  the  land  Salique  lies  in  Germany, 
Between  the  floods  of  Sala  and  of  Elbe : 
Where  Charles   the  great,  having   subdued  the 

Saxons, 
There  left  behind  and  settled  certain  French ; 
Who,  holding  in  disdain  the  German  women, 
For  some  dishonest  manners  of  their  life, 
Establish'd  there  this  law, — to  wit,  no  female 
Should  be  inheritrix  in  Salique  land  ; 
Which  Salique,  as  I  said,  'twixt  Elbe  and  Sala, 
Is  at  this  day  in  Germany  call'd — Meisen. 
Thus  doth  it  well  appear,  the  Salique  law 
Was  not  devised  for  the  realm  of  France : 
Nor  did  the  French  possess  the  Salique  land 
Until  four  hundred  one  and  twenty  years 
After  def unction  of  king  Pharamond, 


(1)  Listen  to.    (2)  Theory.    (S)  Companions.        (4)  Increasing.    (5)  Spurious.    (6)  Exolauu 


aettu  11. 


KING  HENRY  V. 


441 


Idly  suppos'd  the  founder  of  this  law ; 

Who  died  within  the  year  of  our  redemption 

Four  hundred  twenty-six  ;  and  Charles  the  great 

Subdued  the  Saxons,  and  did  seat  the  French 

Beyond  the  riVer  Sala,  in  the  year 

Eight  hundred  five.    Besides,  their  writers  say, 

King  Pepin,  which  deposed  Childerick, 

Did,  as  heir  general,  being  descended 

Of  Blilhild,  which  was  daughter  to  kin!»  Clothair, 

Make  claim  and  title  ta>the  crown  of  France. 

Hu^h  Capet  also, — that  usurp'd  the  crown 

Of  Charles  the  duke  of  Lorain,  sole  heir  male 

Of  the  true  line  and  stock  of  Charles  tiie  great, — 

To  fine'  his  title  with  some  show  of  truth, 

(Though,  in  pure  truth,  it  was  corrupt  and  naught,) 

Convey'd  himself*  as  heir  to  the  lady  Lingare, 

Daughter  to  Charlemain,  who  was  the  son 

To  Cewis  the  emperor,  and  Lewis  the  son 

Of  Charles  the  great.    Also  king  Lewis  the  tenth, 

Who  was  sole  heir  to  the  usurper  Capet, 

Could  not  keej,  quiet  in  his  conscience. 

Wearing  the  crown  of  France,  till  satisfied 

That  fair  queen  Isabel,  his 


randmother, 
Was  lineal  of  the  lady  Ermengare,  Fouea 

Daughter  to  Charles  the  foresaid  duke  of  Lorain  :    iMKr  went  with  his  forces  into  France, 
By  the  which  marriage,  the  line  of  Charles  the  greirf^St  that   ' 
W  as  re-united  to  the  crown  of  France- 


So  hath  your  highness ;  never  king  of  England 
Had  nobles  richer,  and  more  loyafsubjects  ; 
Whose  hearts  have  left  their  bodies  here  in  England, 
And  lie  pavilion'd  in  the  fields  of  France. 

Caiif.  O,  let  their  bodies  follow,  my  dear  lieffc, 
With  blood,  and  sword,  and  fire,  to  win  your  rignt : 
In  aid  whereof,  we  of  the  spirituality 
\Vill  raise  your  highness  such  a  mighty  sum, 
As  never  did  the  clergy  at  one  time 
Bring  in  to  any  of  your  ancestors. 

K.  Hen.  We  must  not  only  arm  to  invade  the 
French ; 
But  lay  down  our  proportions  to  defend 
Against  the  Scot,  who  will  make  road  upon  us 
With  all  advantages. 

Cant.  They  of  those  marches,',  gracious  sove- 
reign. 
Shall  be  a  wall  sufficient  to  defend 
Our  inland  from  the  pilfering  borderers. 

K.  Hen.  We  do  notjiiui  the  coursing  snatchers 
only,         ^.^^ 
But  fear  the"  main  intendment'  of  the  Scot, 
Who  hath  been  still  a  giddy  neighbour  to  us  ; 
Focjeu  shall  read,  that  my  great  grandfather 


So  that,  as  clear  as  is  the  summer's  sun. 
King  Pepin's  title,  and  Hugh  Capet's  claim, 
King  Lewis  his  satisfaction,  all  appear-  ■• 
To  hold  in  right  and  title  of  the  female: 
So  do  the  kings  of  France  unto  tliisoay; 
Howbcit  they  would  hold  up  this  Saliquc  law. 
To  bar  your  highness  claiming  from  the  female  ; 
And  rather  choose  to  hide  them  in  a  net, 
Than  amply  to  imbare^  their  crooked  titles 
Usurp'd  from  you  and  your  progenitors. 

K.  Hen.  May  I,  with  right  and  conscience,  make 
this  claim  ? 

Cant.  The  sin  upon  my  head,  dread  sovereign ! 
For  in  the  book  of  Numbers  is  it  writ, — 
When  the  son  dies,  let  the  inheritance 
Descend  unto  the  daughter.     Gracious  lord. 
Stand  for  your  own  ;  unwind  your  bloody  flag  ; 
Look  back  unto  your  mighty  ancestors: 
Go,  my  dread  lord,  to  yrfur  great  grandsire's  tomb. 
From  whom  you  claim  ;  invoke  his  warlike  spirit, 
And  your  great  uncle's,  Edward  the  biack  pnnce ; 
Who  on  the  French  ground  play'd  a  tragedy. 
Making  defeat  on  the  full  power  of  France  ; 
Whiles  his  most  mighty  father  on  a  hill 
Stood  smiling ;  to  behold  his  lion's  whelp 
Forage  in  blood  of  French  nobility.* 
O  noble  English,  that  could  entertain 
With  half  their  forces  the  full  pride  of  France ; 
And  let  another  half  stand  laughing  by. 
All  out  of  work,  and  cold  for  action  ! 

Ely.  Awake  remembrance  of  these  valiant  dead. 
And  with  your  puissant  arm  renew  their  feats : 
You  are  their  heir,  you  sit  upon  their  throne  ; 
The  blood  and  courage,  that  renowned  them,  _ 
Runs  in  your  veins  ;  and  my  thrice-puissant  liege 
Is  in  the  very  May-morn  of  his  youth. 
Ripe  for  exploits  and  mighty  enterprises. 

Exe.  Your  brother  kiiigs  and  monarchs  of  the 
earth 
Do  all  expect  that  you  should  rouse  yourself, 
As  did  the  former  lions  of  your  blood. 

West.  They  know,  your  grace  hath  cause,  and 
means,  and  might ; 

(1)  Make  showv  or  specious.  (2)  Derived  his  title. 
(S)  Lay  open.   '     (4)  At  the  battle  of  Crcssy. 
(5)  The  borders  of  England  and  Scotland. 


the  Scot  on  his  unfurnish'd  kingdom 
Came  pouring,  like  the  tide  into  a  breach. 
With  ample  and  brim  fulness  of  his  force  ; 
Galling  the  gleaned  land  with  hot  essays ; 
Girdin<T  witli  grievous  siege,  castles  and  towns , 
That  England,  being  empty  of  defence. 
Hath  shook,  and  trembled  at  the  ill  neighbourhood. 

Cant.   She  hath  been  then  more  fear'd'  than 
harm'd,  my  liege : 
For  hear  her  but  exampled  by  herself, — 
When  all  her  chivalry  liath  been  in  France, 
And  she  a  mourning  widow  of  her  nobles. 
She  hath  herself  not  only  well  defended, 
But  taken,  and  impounded  as  a  stray, 
The  kins  of  Scots  ;  whom  she  did  send  to  France, 
To  fill  king  Edward's  fame  with  prisoner  kings  ; 
And  make  your  chronicle  as  rich  with  praise. 
As  is  the  ooze  and  bottom  of  the  sea 
With  sunken  wreck  and  sumless  treasuries. 

West.  But  there's  a  saying,  very  old  and  true,— 
If  thai  you  wiU  France  win, 
Then  loilk  Scotland  first  begin : 
For  once  the  eagle  England  being  in  prey, 
To  her  unguarded  nest  the  weasel  Scot 
Comes  sneaking,  and  so  sucks  her  princely  eggs ; 
Playing  the  mouse,  in  absence  of  the  cat, 
To  spoil  and  havoc  more  than  she  can  eat. 

Exe.  It  follows  then,  the  cat  must  stay  at  home : 
Yet  that  is  but  a  curs'd  necessity ; 
Since  we  have  locks  to  safeguard  necessaries. 
And  pretty  traps  to  catch  the  petty  thieves. 
While  that  the  armed  hand  doth  fight  abroad. 
The  advised  head  defends  itself  at  home : 
For  government,  though  high,  and  low,  and  lower 
Put  into  parts,  doth  keep  in  one  concent;' 
Congruing*  in  a  full  and  natural  close, 
Like  music. 

Cant.  True :  therefore  doth  heaven  dirida 

The  state  of  man  in  divers  functions. 
Setting  endeavour  in  continual  motion;    . 
To  which  is  fixed,  as  an  aim  or  butt, 
Obedience :  for  so  work  the  honey-bees : 
Creatures,  that,  by  a  rule  in  nature,  teach 
Tlie  act  of  order  to  a  peopled  kingdom. 
They  have  a  king,  ana  officers  of  sorts  :'• 

(G)  General  disposition.        (7)  Frightened. 
(8)  Harmony.  (9)  Agreeing. 

(10^  Difierent  degrees. 
SK 


442 


KING  HENRY  V. 


-Jet  II. 


Where  some,  like  magistrates,  correct  at  home ; 
Others,  like  merchants,  venture  trade  abroad ; 
Others,  like  soldiers,  armed  in  their  stings. 
Make  boot  upon  the  summer's  velvet  buus ; 
Which  pillage  they  with  merry  march  bring  home 
To  the  tent-royal  of  their  emperor : 
Who,  busied  in  his  majesty,  surveys 
The  singing  masons  building  roofs  of  gold ; 
The  civil'  citizens  kneading  up  the  honey  ; 
The  poor  mechanic  porters  crowding  in 
Their  heavy  burdens  at  his  narrow  gate ; 
The  sad-ey'd  justice,  with  his  surly  hum, 
Delivering  o'er  to  executors^  pale 
The  lazy  yawning  drone.     I  this  infer, — 
That  many  things  having  full  reference 
To  one  concent,  may  work  contrariously ; 
As  many  arrows,  loosed  several  ways. 
Fly  to  one  mark ; 

As  many  several  ways  meet  in  one  town ; 
As  many  fresh  streams  run  in  one  self  sea ; 
As  many  lines  close  in  the  dial's  centre  ; 
So  may  a  thousand  actions,  once  afoot, 
End  in  one  purpose,  and  bt,  all  v.-ell  borne 
Without  defeat.    Therefore  to  France,  my  liege. 
Divide  your  happy  England  into  four  ; 
Whereof  take  you  one  quarter  into  France, 
And  you  withal  shall  make  all  Gailia  shake. 
If  we,  with  thrice  that  power  left  at  home. 
Cannot  defend  our  own  door  from  the  dog. 
Let  us  be  worried  ;  and  our  nation  lose 
The  name  of  hardiness,  and  policy. 
K.  Hen.  Call  in  the  messengers  sent  from  the 
dauphin. 
[Exit  an  attendant.    The  King  ascends  his 
throne. 
Now  are  we  well  resolv'd :  and, — ^by  God's  help, 
And  yours,  the  noble  sinews  of  our  power, — 
France  being  ours,  we'll  bend  it  to  our  awe. 
Or  break  it  all  to  pieces :  Or  there  we'll  sit, 
Ruling  in  large  and  ample  emper^',' 
O'er  France,  and  all  her  almost  kingly  dukedoms : 
Or  lay  these  bones  in  an  unworthy  urn, 
Tombless,  with  no  remembrance  over  them : 
Either  our  history  shall,  with  full  mouth,* 
Speak  freely  of  ou;-  acts  ;  or  else  our  grave, 
Like  Turkish  mute,  shall  have  a  tongueless  mouth. 
Not  worship'd  with  a  waxen  epitaph. 

Enter  Embassadors  of  France. 

Now  are  we  well  prepar'd  to  know  the  pleasure 
Of  our  fair  cousin  dauphin  ;  for,  we  hear. 
Your  greeting  is  from  him,  not  from  the  king. 

%(lmb.  May  it  please  your  majesty,  to  give  lis  leave 
Freely  to  render  what  we  have  in  charge ; 
Or  shall  we  sparingly  show  you  far  off 
The  dauphin's  meaning,  and  our  embassy? 

K.  Hen.  We  are  no  tyrant,  but  a  Christian  king ; 
Unto  whose  grace  our  passion  is  as  subject. 
As  are  our  wretches  fctter'd  in  our  prisons  : 
Therefore,  with  frank  and  with  uncurbed  plainness, 
Tell  us  the  dauphin's  mind. 

Jimb.  Thus  then,  in  few. 

Your  highness,  lately  sending  into  France, 
Did  claim  some  certain  dukedoms,  in  the  right 
Of  your  great  predecessor,  king  Edivard  the  third. 
Iri  answer  of  which  claim,  the  prince  our  master 
Saj's, — that  you  savour  too  much  of  your  youth ; 
And  bids  you  be  advis'd,  there's  nought  in  France, 
That  can  oe  with  a  nimble  galliard^  won ; 

1)  Sober,  grave.        (2)  Executioners. 
3)  Dominion.  (4)  An  ancient  dance. 

|5)  A  place  in  the  tennis-court  ioto  which  the 
'  u  sometimes  struckj 


You  cannot  revel  into  dukedoms  there : 
He  therefore  sends  you,  meeter  for  your  spirit. 
This  tun  of  treasure ;  and,  in  lieu  of  this, 
Desires  you,  let  the  dukedoms,  that  you  claim. 
Hear  no  more  of  you.    This  the  dauphin  speaKS. 

K.  Hen.  What  treasure,  uncle  ? 

Exe.  Tennis-balls^  my  liege. 

K,  Hen.  We  are  glad,  the  dauphin  is  so  plea- 
sant with  us ; 
His  present,  and  your  pains,  we  thank  you  for : 
When  we  have  match'd  our  rackets  to  these  balls, 
We  will,  in  France,  by  God's  grace,  play  a  set. 
Shall  strike  his  father's  crown  into  the  hazard ;» 
Tell  him,  he  hath  made  a  match  with  such  a 

wrangler. 
That  all  the  courts  of  France  will  be  disturb'd 
With  chaces."    And  we  understand  him  well, 
How  he  comes  o'er  us  with  our  wilder  days. 
Not  measuring  what  use  we  made  of  them. 
We  never  valu'd  this  poor  seat'  of  England ; 
And  therefore,  living  hence,'  did  give  ourself 
To  barbarous  license ;  As  'tis  ever  common. 
That  men  are  merriest  ivhen  they  are  from  home. 
But  tell  the  dauphin, — I  will  keep  my  state  ; 
Be  like  a  king,  and  show  my  sail  of  greatness. 
When  I  do  rouse  me  in  my  throne  of  France : 
For  that  I  have  laid  by  my  majesty, 
And  plodded  like  a  man  for  working  days ; 
But  1  will  rise  there  with  so  full  a  glory. 
That  I  ivill  dazzle  all  the  eyes  of  France, 
Yea,  strike  the  dauphin  blind  to  look  on  us. 
And  tell  the  pleasant  prince, — this  mock  of  his 
Hath  turn'd  his  balls  to  gun-stones ;  and  hb  soul 
Shall  stand  sore  charged  for  the  wasteful  vengeance 
That  shall  fly  with  them :   for  many  a  thousand 

widows 
Shall  this  his  mock  mock  out  of  their  dear  husbands ; 
Mock  mothers  from  their  sons,  mock  castles  down ; 
And  some  are  yet  ungotten,  and  unborn. 
That  shall  have  cause  to  curse  Ihc  dauphin's  scorn. 
But  this  lies  all  within  the  v.ill  of  God, 
To  whom  I  do  appeal ;  And  in  whose  name. 
Tell  you  the  dauphin,  I  am  coming  on, 
To  ven^e  me  as  I  may,  and  to  put  forth 
My  rightful  hand  in  a  well-hallow'd  cause. 
So,  get  you  hence  in  peace ;  and  tell  the  dauphin, 
His  jest  will  savour  but  of  shallow  wit, 
When  thousands  weep,  more  than  did  laugh  at  it. — 
Convey  them  with  safe  conduct. — Fare  you  well. 
[Extunt  Ambassadors. 

Exe.  This  was  a  merry  message. 

K.  Hen.  We  hope  to  make  the  sender  blush  at  it. 
[Descends  from  his  throne. 
Therefore,  my  lords,  omit  no  happy  hour, 
That  may  give  furtherance  to  our  expedition : 
For  we  have  now  no  thought  in  us  but  France  ; 
Save  those  to  God,  that  run  before  our  business. 
Therefore,  let  our  proportions  for  these  wars 
Be  soon  collected  ;  and  all  things  thought  upon, 
That  may,  with  reasonable  sniftnrss,  add 
More  feathers  to  our  wings  ;  for,  God  before. 
We'll  chide  this  datiphin  at  his  father's  door. 
Therefore,  let  every  man  now  task  hb  tiiought. 
That  this  fair  action  may  on  foot  be  brought. 

[Exeunt, 


bdl 


ACT  II. 

Enter  Chorus. 
Chor.  Now  all  the  youth  of  England  are  on  firo 

(6)  A  term  at  tennis.        (7)  The  throne. 
(8)  Withdrawing  from  the  court. 


Stent  I. 


KING  HENRY  V. 


443 


And  silken  dalliance  in  \hc  wardrobe  lies ; 

Now  thrive  the  armourers,  and  honour's  thought 

Reigns  solely  in  the  breast  of  every  man  : 

They  sell  the  pasture  now,  to  buy  the  horse ; 

Following  the  mirror  of  all  Christian  kings, 

With  winged  heels,  as  English  Mercuries. 

For  now  sits  Expectation  in  the  air  ; 

And  hides  a  sword,  from  hilts  unto  the  point. 

With  crowns  imperial,  crowns,  and  coronets, 

Promis'd  to  Harrj-,  and  his  followers. 

The  French,  advis'd  by  good  intelligence 

Of  this  most  dreadful  preparation. 

Shake  in  their  fear;  and  with  pale  policy 

Seek  to  divert  the  English  purposes. 

0  Ensland  ! — model  to  thy  inward  greatness, 
Like  little  body  with  a  miL^hfy  heart,— 

What  mighl'st  thou  do,  that  honour  would  thee  do, 

Were  all  thy  children  kind  and  natural ! 

But  see  thv  fault !  France  hath  in  thee  found  out 

A  nest  of  Hollow  bosoms,  which  he'  fills 

With  treacherous   crowns ;   and  three  corrupted 

men, — 
One,  Richard  earl  of  Cambridge;  and  the  second, 
Henry  lord  Scroop  of  Masham";  and  the  third. 
Sir  Thomas  Grey,  knight  of  Northumberland, — 
Have,  for  the  gilt-  of  France,  (O  guilt,  indeed  !) 
Confirm'd  conspiracy  with  fearful  France ; 
And  by  their  hands  this  grace  of  kings  must  die 
(If  hell  and  treason  hold  their  promises,) 
Ere  he  take  ship  for  France,  and  in  Southampton. 
Linger  your  patience  on  ;  and  well  digest 
The  abuse  of  distance,  while  we  force  a  play. 
The  sum  is  paid  ;  the  traitors  are  agreed  ; 
The  king  is  set  from  London  ;  and  the  scene 
Is  now  transported,  gentles,  to  Southampton : 
There  is  the  playhouse  now,  there  must  you  sit: 
And  thence  to  France  shall  we  convey  you  safe, 
And  bring  you  back,  charming  the  narrow  seas 
To  give  you  gentle  pass ;  for,  if  we  may. 
We'll  not  offend  one  stomach  with  our  play. 
But,  till  the  king  come  forth,  and  not  till  then. 
Unto  Soutliampton  do  we  shift  our  scene.      [Exit. 

SCEJ^E  I.— The  same.  Eastcheap.  Enter  Nym 
and  Bardolph. 

Bard.  Well  met,  corporal  Nym. 

JV'i/7n.  Good  morrow,  lieutenant  Bardolph. 

Bard.  What,  are  ancient  Pistol  and  you  friends 
yet? 

^ym.  For  my  part,  I  care  not :  I  say  little :  but 
when  time  shall  serve,  there  shall  be  smiles  ; — but 
that  shall  be  as  it  may.  I  dare  not  fight ;  but  I  will 
wink,  and  hold  out  mine  iron  :  It  is  a  simple  one  ; 
but  what  though  ?  it  will  toast  cheese  ;  and  it  will 
endure  cold  as  another  man's  sword  will :  and 
there's  the  humour  of  it. 

Bard.  I  will  bestow  a  breakfast,  to  make  you 
friends ;  and  we'll  be  all  three  sworn  brothers  to 
France  ;  let  it  be  so,  good  corporal  Nym. 

»Vi/m.  'Faith,  I  will  live  so  long  as  I  may,  that's 
the  certain  of  it ;  and  when  I  cannot  live  any  longer, 

1  will  do  as  I  may :  that  is  my  rest,^  that  is  the 
rendezvous  of  it. 

Bard.  It  is  certain,  corporal,  that  he  is  married 
to  Nell  Quickly :  and,  certainly,  she  did  you  wrong ; 
for  you  were  troth-plight  to  her. 

.Vyni.  I  cannot  tell ;  things  must  be  as  they  may : 
men  may  sleep,  and  they  may  have  their  throats 
about  them  at  that  time ;  and,  some  say,  knives 

(1)  t.  e.  The  king  of  France.    (2)  Golden  money. 
(3)  What  I  am  resolved  on.      (4)  Clown. 
lb)  Par  Dieu !  (6)  Name  of  a  demon. 

(7)  Breathe  your  lost. 


have  edges.  It  must  be  as  it  may:  though  patience 
be  a  tu-ed  mare,  yet  she  will  plod.  There  must  b« 
conclusions.    W  ell,  I  cannot  tell. 

Enter  Pistol  and  J\Irs.  Quickly. 

Bard.  Here  comes  ancient  Pistol,  and  his  wife 
—good  corporal,  be  patient  here.— How  now.  mine 
host  Pistol  ?  * 

Pist.  Base  tike,*  call'st  thou  me— host? 
Now,  by  tills  hand  I  swear,  I  scorn  the  term  ; 
Nor  shall  my  Nell  keep  lodgers. 

Q,tiick.  No,  by  my  troth,  not  long :  for  we  cannot 
lodge  and  board  a  dozen  or  fourteen  gentlewomen 
that  lire  honestly  by  the  prick  of  their  needles,  but 
it  will  be  thought  we  keep  a  bawdy-house  straight. 
[Nym  draws  Iiis  stcord.]  O  wel!-a-dav.  Lady,  if  he 
be  not  drawn  now  !  O  Lord  !  here's  corporal 
Nym's— now  we  shall  have  wilful   adultery  and 

murder  committed.    Good  lieutenant  Bardolph, 

good  corporal,  offer  notMte  here. 

J^ym.  Pish! 

Pist.  Pish  for  thee,  Iceland  dog !  thou  prick-car'd 
cur  of  Iceland ! 

Q,mck.  Good  corporal  Nym,  show  the  ralour  of 
a  man,  end  put  up  thy  sr.ord. 

JV*»/?)i.  Will  you  shog  off?  I  would  have  you  s(Uus. 
\ Sheathing  his  stcord. 

Pist.  Solits,  egregious  dog  ?  O  viper  vile ! 
The  solus  in  thy  most  marvellous  face  ; 
The  schis  in  thy  teeth,  and  in  thy  throat. 
And  in  thy  hateful  lungs,  yea,  in  thy  maw,  perdy ;' 
And,  which  is  worse,  within  thy  nasty  mouth ! 
I  do  retort  the  solid  in  thy  bowels  : 
For  I  can  take^  and  Pistol's  cock  is  up, 
And  flashing  fire  will  follow. 

J^ym.  I  am  not  Barbason  ;*  you  cannot  conjure 
me.  I  have  a  humour  to  knocK  you  indifferently 
well :  If  you  grow  foul  with  me,  Pistol,  I  will 
scour  your  with  my  rapier,  as  I  may,  in  fair  terms : 
If  you  would  walk  off,  I  would  prick  your  guts  a 
little,  in  good  terms,  as  I  may  ;  and  that's  the 
humour  of  it. 

Pist.  O  braggard  vile,  and  damned  furious  wight ! 
The  grave  doth  gape,  and  doting  death  is  near ; 
Therefore  exhale.'  [Pistol  and  Nym  drain. 

Bard.  Hear  me,  hear  me  what  I  say ; — he  that 
strikes  the  first  stroke,  I'll  nm  him  up  to  the  hilts, 
as  I  am  a  soldier.  [Drmcs. 

Pist.  An  oath  of  mickle  might ;  and  fury  shall 
abate. 
Give  me  thy  fist,  thy  fore-foot  to  me  give ; 
Thy  spirits' are  most  tall. 

.Vym.  I  will  cut  thy  throat,  one  time  or  other, 
in  fair  terms ;  that  is  the  humour  of  it. 

Pist.  Conp  le  gorge,  that's  the  word? — I  thee 
defy  again. 

0  hound  of  Crete,"  think'st  thou  my  spouse  to  get? 
No  ;  to  the  spital'  go. 

And  from  the  powdering  tub  of  infamy, 
Fetch  forth  the  lazar  kite  of  Cressid's  kind," 
Doll  Tear-sheet  she  bv  name,  and  her  espouse : 

1  have,  and  I  will  hold,  the  (ptondam"  Quicklv 
For  the  only  she ;  and— Pauca,  there's  enough. 

Enter  the  Boy. 
Boy.  Mine  host  Pistol,  you  must  cofte  to  my 
master, — and  you,  hostess  ; — he  is  very  sick,  an^ 
would  to  bed.— Good  Bardolph,  put  thy  nose  be- 
tween his  sheets,  and  do  the  office  of  a  warming 
pan :  'faith,  he's  very  ill. 

(8)  Bloodhound.  (9)  Hospital. 

(10)  Of  Cressida's  nature,  see  the  play  of  Troiiiui 

and  Cressida. 

(11)  Formerly. 


444 


KING  HENRY  V. 


4cl  II. 


Bard.  Away,  you  rogue. 

(luick.  By  my  troth,  he'll  yield  the  crow  a  pud- 
ding one  of  these  clays:  tlie  king  has  killed  his 
heart. — Good  husband,  come  home  presently. 

[Exeunt  jMrs.  Quickly  and  Boy, 

Bard.  Come,  shall  I  make  you  two  friends  1  We 
must  to  France  together  ;  Why,  the  devil,  should 
Tve  keep  knives  to  cut  one  another's  throats  ? 

Pist.  Let  floods  o'erswcll,   and  fiends  for  food 
howl  on ! 

JVi/Ju.  You'll  pay  me  the  eight  shillings  I  won 
of  you  at  betting? 

Pist.  Base  is  the  slave  that  pays. 

J^Tym.  That  now  I  will  have  ;  that's  the  humour 
of  it. 

Pist.  As  manhood  shall  compound ;  Push  home. 

Bard.  By  this  sword,  he  that  makes  the  first 
thrust,  I'll  kill  him  ;  by  this  sword,  I  will. 

Pist.   Sword   is  an  oa!h,  and  oaths  must  have 
their  course. 

Bard.  Corporal  Nj'm,  an  thou  wilt  tie  friends, 
be  friends  :  an  thou  wilt  not,  why  tlieu  be  enemies 
with  me  too.     Pry'thee,  put  up. 

J^ym.  I  shall  have  my  eight  shillings,  I  won  of 
you  at  bettina;  ? 

Pist.  A  nohle'  shalt  fhou  have,  and  present  pay; 
And  liquor  likewise  will  1  give  to  thee. 
And  friendship  shall  combine,  and  brotherhood  : 
I'll  live  by  Nym,  and  Nym  shall  live  bj'  me  ; — 
Is  not  this  just  ? — for  I  shall  sutler  be 
Unto  the  camp,  and  profits  will  accrue. 
Give  me  thy  hand. 

.N'yin.  I  shall  have  my  noble  ? 

Pist.  In  cash  most  justly  paid.  ' 

JVj/m.  Well  then,  that's  the  humour  of  it. 

Re-enter  J\Irs.  Quickly. 

Quicfc.  As  ever  you  came  of  women,  come  in 
quickly  to  sir  John  :  Ah,  poor  heart !  he  is  so 
shaked  of  a  burning  quotidian  tertian,  that  it  is  most 
lamentable  to  behold.     Sweet  men,  come  to  him. 

J^ym.  The  king  hath  run  bad  humours  on  the 
knisnt,  that's  the  even  of  it. 

Pist.  Nym,  thou  hast  spoke  the  right ; 
His  heart  is  fracted,  and  corroborate. 

Jfym.  The  king  is  a  good  king :  but  it  must  be 
as  it  may  ;  he  passes  some  humours,  and  careers. 

Pist.  Let  us  condole  the  knight ;  for,  lambkins, 
we  will  live.  [Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E  II. — SoTithampton.    ^  cmtncU-chamber. 
Enter  Exeter,  Bedford,  and  Westmoreland. 
Bed.  'Fore  God,  his  grace  is  bold,  to  trust  these 

trailora. 
Exe.  They  shall  be  apprehended  by  and  b}'. 
West.    How    smooth  anfl  even  they  do  bear 
themselves ! 
As  if  allegiance  in  their  bosom  sat, 
Crowned  with  faith,  and  constant  loyalty. 

Bed.  The  king  hath  note  of  all  that  they  intend, 
By  interception  which  they  dream  not  of. 

Exe.  Nay,  but  the  man  that  was  his  bedfellow. 
Whom   he  hath  cloy'd  and  grac'd  with  princely 

favours,jj— 
That  he  should,  for  a  foreign  purse,  so  sell 
His  sovereign's  life  td  death  and  treachery ! 

Trumpet   smmds.     Enter  King  Henry,    Scroop, 
Cambridge,  Grey,  Lords,  and  Attendants. 

K.  Hen.  Now  sits  the  wind   fair,  and  we  vnli 
aboard. 

(1)  A  coin,  value  six  shillings  and  eight-pence. 

(2)  Force.   (S)  Compounded.    (4)  Recompense. 


My  lord   of  Cambridge,— and  my  kind  lord  of 

Masham, — 
And   you,    my  gentle  knight, give  me  your 

thoughts : 
Think  you  not,  that  the  powers  we  bear  with  us, 
Will  cut  their  passage  through  the  force  of  France  ; 
Doing  the  execution,  and  the  act. 
For  which  we  have  in  head-, assembled  them  ? 

Scroo]).  No  doubt,  my  liege,  if  each  man  do  his 
best. 

K.  Hen.  •  I  doubt  not  that :  since  we  are  well 
persuaded. 
We  carry  not  a  heart  ivith  us  from  hence. 
That  grows  not  in  a  fair  consent  with  ours  ; 
Nor  leave  not  one  behind,  that  doth  not  wish 
Success  and  conquest  to  attend  on  us. 

Cam.  Never  was  monarch  better  fear'd,  and  lov'd. 
Than  is  your  majesty ;  there's  not,  I  think,  a  subject. 
That  sits  in  heart-grief  and  uneasiness 
Under  th«!  sweet  shade  of  your  government. 

Grey.  Even  those,  that  were  your  father's  enemies. 
Have  steep'd  Jheir  galls  in  honey ;  and  do  serve  you 
With  hearts  6reate^  of  duty  and  of  zeal. 

A'.  Hen.    We    therefore  have  great  cause  of 
thankfulness ; 
And  shall  forget  the  office  of  our  hand. 
Sooner  than  quittance"  of  desert  and  merit, 
According  to  the  weight  and  worthiness. 

Scroop,  So  service  shall  with  steeled  sinews  toil ; ; 
And  labour  shall  refresh  itself  with  hope. 
To  do  vour  grace  incessant  services. 

K.  Hen.  We  judge  no  less. — Uncle  of  Exeter, 
F-nlarge  the  man  connnitted  yesterday, 
That  rail'd  against  our  person  :  we  consider, 
It  was  excess  of  wine  that  set  him  on  ; 
And,  on  his  more  advice,^  we  pardon  him. 

Scroop.  That's  mercy,  but  too  much  security : 
Let  him  be  punish'd,  sovereign  ;  lest  example 
Breed,  by  his  sufFerance.  more  of  such  a  kind. 

K.  Hen.  O,  let  us  yet  oe  merciful. 

Cam.  So  may  your  highness,  and  yet  punish  too. 

Gi-etj.  Sir,  you  show  great  mercy,  if  you  give  him 
life. 
After  the  taste  of  much  correction. 

K.  Hen.  Alas,  your  too  much  love  and  care  of  me 
Are  heavy  orisons'^  'gainst  this  poor  wretch. 
If  little  faults^  proceeding  on  distemper. 
Shall  not  be  wmk'd  at,  how  shall  wc  stretch  our  eye, 
When    capital    crimes,    chew'd,  swallow'd,  and 

disrested. 
Appear  before  us  ? — We'll  yet  enlarge  that  man. 
Though  Cambridge,  Scroop,  and  Grey, — in  their 

dear  care. 
And  tender  preservation  of  our  person, — 
Would  have  him  punish'd.  Aijid  no w  to  our  French 

causes ;  ' 

Who  are  the  late'  commissioners  ? 

Cam.  I  one,  my  lord ; 
Your  highness  bade  me  ask  for  it  to-day. 

Scroop.  So  did  you  me,  my  liege. 

Grew.  And  me,  my  royal  sovereign. 

K.  Hen.  Then,   Richard,  earPof  Cambridge, 
there  is  yours  ; — 
There  yours,  lord  Scroop  of  Masham ;— and,  sir 

knight. 
Grey  of  Northumberland,  this  same  is  yours  : — 
Read  them  ;  and  know,  I  know  your  worthiness.— 
M^  lord  of  Westmoreland,— and  uncle  Exeter, — 
We  will  aboard  to-night.— Why,  how  now,  gentle 

men  ?  * 

What  see  you  in  those  papers,  that  you  lose 


(5)  Better  information. 
(7)  Lately  appointed. 


(6)  Prayers, 


Scene  III. 


liING  HENRY  V. 


445 


And  God  acquit  them  of  their  practices ! 
Exc.  I  arrest  thee  of  hi<ih  treason,  by  il 


Richard  earl  of  Cambridge 


So  much  complexion  ?— Look  ye,  how  they  change!  For  this  reTolt  of  thine,  mcthinks  is  like 
Their  cheeks  are  paper.— Why,  what  read  3ou  Another  fall  of  man.— Their  faulli  are  open 
rru.u.l       '         ^   1      J    u    ,j  ,.      ,         iArrest  them  to  the  answer  of  the  law;—      ' 

That  hath  so  cowarded  and  chas'd  your  blood  ■     •■ 

Out  of  appearance  ? 

Cam.  I  do  confess  my  fault ; 

And  do  submit  me  to  your  highness'  mercy. 

Grey.  Hcroop.  To  which  we  all  appeal. 

K.  Hen.  The  mercy,  that  was  quick 'in  us  but  late, 
By  your  own  counsel  is  suppress'd  and  kill'd : 
You  must  not  dare,  for  shame,  to  talk  of  mercy  ; 
For  your  oivn  reasons  turn  into  your  bosoms. 
As  dogs  upon  their  masters,  worrying-  them. — 
See  you,  my  princes,  and  my  noble  peers. 
These  English  monsters !  My  lord  of  Cambridge 

here, — 
Y'ou  know,  liuw  apt  our  love  ^vas,  to  accord 
To  furnish  him  with  ail  appertinents 
Belonging  to  his  honour  ;  and  this  man 
Hath,  for  a  few  lizht  crowns,  lightly  conspir'd, 
And  sworn  unto  tlrie  practices  of  France, 
To  kill  us  here  in  Hampton  :  to  the  which, 
This  knight,  no  less  for  bounty  bound  to  us 


the  name  of 


I  arrest  thee  of  high  treason,  by  the  name  of  Henrr 
lord  Scroop  of  Masham. 

I  arrest  thee  of  high  treason,  by  the  name  of 
Thomas  Grej',  knight  of  Northumberland. 

Scroop.  Our  purposes  God  justlv  hath  di»co»er'd  ; 
And  I  repent  mv  fault,  more  than  my  death  ; 
Which  I  beseech  your  highness  to  forgive, 
Although  my  body  pay  the  price  of  it. 

Cam.  For  me,— the  gold  of  France  did  not  seduce ; 
Although  I  did  admit  it  as  a  motive, 
The  sooner  to  e.Tect  what  I  intended; 
But  God  be  thanked  for  prevention  ; 
Which  I  ii}  sufterance  heartily  will  rejoice, 
Beseeching  God,  and  joi^'to  pardon  "me. 

Grey.  Never  did  faithful  sunject  more  rejoice 
At  the  discovery  of  most  danccrous  treason, 
ThauJvdo  at  this  hour  joy  o'er  myself, 


Than  Cambridge  is, — hath  likewise  sworn. — But  O !  i  Prevented  from  a  damned  enterprise : 


What  shall  I  say  to  thee,  lord  Scroop ;  thou  cruel, 
Ingrateful,  savage,  and  inhuman  creature ! 
Thou,  that  didst  bear  tlie  key  of  all  my  counsels, 
That  knew'st  the  very  bottom  of  my  soul, 
That  almost  might'st  have  coin'd  me  into  gold, 
Would'st  thou  have  practis'd  on  me  for  thy  use? 
May  it  be  possible,  that  foreign  hire 
Could  out  of  thee  extract  one  spark  of  evil. 
That  might  annoy  my  finger  ?  'tis  so  strange. 
That,  though  the  truth  of  it  stands  off  as  gross 
As  black  from  white,  my  eye  will  scarcely  see  iL 
Treason,  and  murder,  ever  kept  together. 
As  two  yoke-devils  sworn  to  cither's  purpose, 
^Vorking  so  grossly  in  a  natural  cause. 
That  admiration  did  not  whoop  at  them  : 
But  thou,  'gainst  all  proportion,  didst  bring  Hn 
Wonder,  to  wait  on  treason,  and  on  murder : 
And  whatsoever  cunning  fiend  it  was. 
That  wrought  upon  tliec  so  preposterously, 
H'ath  got  the  Toice  in  hell  for  excellence  : 
And  other  devils,  that  suggest  by  treasons, 
Do  botch  and  bungle  up  damnation 
AVith  patches,  colours,  and  with  forms  being  fctch'd 
From  glistering  semblances  of  piety ; 
But  he,  that  tcmper'd-  thee,  bade  thee  stand  up. 
Gave  thee  no  instance  why  thou  should'st  do  treason, 
Unless  to  dub  thee  with  the  name  of  traitor. 
If  that  same  djemon,  that  hath  guU'd  thee  thus. 
Should  with  his  lion  gait'  walk  the  whole  world, 
He  miffht  return  to  vasty  Tartar*  back. 
And  tell  the  legions — I  can  never  win 
A  soul  so  easy  as  that  Englishman's. 
O,  how  hast  thou  with  jealousy  infected 
The  sweetness  of  alliance  !  Show  men  dutiful  ? 
Whv,  so  didst  thou  :  Seem  they  grave  and  learned  ? 
Why,  so  didst  thou:  Come  they^of noble  family? 
Why,  so  didst  thou :  Seem  they  religious  ? 
Why,  so  didst  thou  :  Or  are  they  spare  in  diet ; 
Free  from  gross  passion,  or  of  mirth,  or  an2;er; 
Constant  in  spirit,  not  swerving  with  the  blood ; 
Garnish'd  and  deck'd  in  modest  complement  ;* 
Not  working  with  the  eye,  without  the  car. 
And,  but  in  pureed  judgment,  tru.>ting  neither? 
Such,  and  so  finely  bolted,'^  didst  thou  seem : 
And  thus  thy  fall  hatli  left  a  kind  of  blot, 
To  mark  the  full-fraught  man,  and  best  mdued,' 
With  some  suspicion.    I  will  weep  for  thee ; 

il)  Living.        (2)  Rendered  thee  pliable. 
3)  Pace,  step.  (4)  Tartarus. 


My  fault,  but  not  my  body,  pardon,  sovereign. 
A.  Hen.  God  quit  you  in  his  mercy  I  Hear  your 
sentence. 
You  have  conspir'd  against  our  royal  person, 
Join'd  with  an  ci^cmy  proclaim'd,  and  from  his 

coffers 
Received  the  golden  earnest  of  our  death  ; 
Wherein  you  would  have  sold  your  king  to  slaughter. 
His  princes  and  his  peers  to  servitude, 
His  subjects  to  oppressicn  and  contempt. 
And  his  whole  kingdom  unto  desolation. 
Touching  our  person,  seek  we  no  revenge  ; 
But  we  our  kingdom's  safety  must  so  tender. 
Whose  ruin  you  three  sought,  that  to  her  laws 
W^e  do  deliver  you.    Get  you  therefore  hence. 
Poor  miserable  wretches,  to  your  death : 
Tiie  taste  whereof,  God,  of  his  mercy,  give  you 
Patience  to  cndurCj  and  true  repentance 
Of  all  your  dear  offences  ! — Bear  them  hence. 

[Exeunt  conspirators  ptarded. 
Now,  lords,  for  France  ;  the  enterprise  whereof 
Shall  be  to  you,  as  us,  like  glorious. 
We  doubt  not  of  a  fair  and  lucky  war ; 
Since  God  so  graciously  hath  brought  to  light 
This  dangerous  treason,  lurking  in  our  way. 
To  hinder  our  beginnings,  we  doubt  not  now, 
But  every  rub  is  smoothed  on  our  way. 
Then,  forth,  dear  countrymen  :  let  us  delircr 
Our  puissance  into  the  hand  of  God, 
Putting  it  straight  in  expedition. 
Checriy  to  sea;  the  sisrns  of  war  advance  : 
No  king  of  England,  if  not  king  of  France.    [Exe. 

SCEJ^E  ///.—London.   Mrs.  Qulckly's  house  in 

Eastcheap.    Enter  Pistol,  .Mrs.  Qufcklr,  Nym, 

Bardolph,  and  Boy. 

(luick.  Pr'ythee,  honey-sweet  husband,  let  me 
brini!*  thee  to  Sta\pes. 

Pist.  No ;  for  my  manly  heart  doth  yearn.* — 
Bardolph,  be  blithe ;— Nym,  rouse  thy  Taunting 

veins;  ,  '• 

Boy,  bristle  thycouracc  up;  for  Falstaffhe  is  dead, 
And  we  must  yearn  therefore. 

Bard.  'Would,  I  were  with  him,  wheresome'er 
he  is,  either  in  heaven,  or  in  hell ! 

Q,uick.  Nay,  sure,  he's  not  in  hell ;  he's  in  Ar- 
thur's bosom,  if  ever  man  went  to  .Arthur's  bosom. 

(5)  Accomplishment.  (6)  SiRed.  (7)  Endowed, 
(8)  Attend.  (9)  Grieve. 


446 


KING  HENRY  V. 


kSct  Iti 


'A  made  a  finer  end,  and  went  away,  an  it  had 
been  any  christom'  child  ;  'a  parted  even  just  be- 
tween twelve  and  one,  e'en  at  turning  o'the  tide  : 
for  after  I  saw  him  tumble  with  the  sheets,  and 
play  with  flowers,  and  smile  upon  his  fingers'  ends, 
I  knew  there  was  but  one  way;  ibr  his  nose  was 
as  sharp  as  a  pen,  and  'a  babbled  of  o;reen  fields. 
How  now,  sir  John?  quoth  I :  what,  man  !  be  of 
good  cheer.  So  'a  cried  out — God,  God,  God  ! 
three  or  four  times :  now  I,  to  comfort  hira,  bid 
him,  'a  should  not  tliiak  of  God ;  I  hoped,  there 
was  no  need  to  trouble  himself  with  any  such 
thoughts  vet:  So,  'a  bade  me  lay  more  clothes  on 
his  feet :  \  put  my  hand  into  the  bed,  and  felt  them, 
and  they  were  as  cold  as  any  stone  ;  then  I  felt  to 
his  knees,  and  so  upward,  ai:d  upward,  and  all 
was  as  cold  as  any  stone. 

JVi/m.  They  say,  he  cried  out  for  sack. 

QwtcA:.  Ay,  that  'a  did. 

hard.  And  of  uomen. 

<^uick.  Nay,  that  'a  did  not. 

Boy.  Yes,  that  'a  did  ;  and  said,  they  were  devils 
incarnate. 

Qjuick.  'A  could  never  abide  carnation ;  'twas  a 
colour  he  never  liked. 

Boy.  'A  said  once,  the  devil  would  have  him 
about  women. 

Qutcfc.  'A  did  in  some  sort,  indeed,  handle  wo- 
men :  but  then  he  was  rheumatic  ;*  and  talked  of 
the  whore  of  Babylon. 

Boy.  Do  you  not  remember,  'a  saw  a  flea  slick 
upon  Bardolph's  nose  ;  and  'a  said,  it  was  a  black 
soul  burninfr  in  hell-lire? 

Bard.  Well,  the  fuel  is  gone,  that  maintained 
that  fire  :  that's  all  the  riches  I  got  in  his  service. 

J>Cym.  Shall  we  shog  oft"?  the  king  will  be  gone 
from  Southampton. 

Pist.  Come,  let's  away. — My  love,  give  mc  thy 
lips. 
Look  to  my  chattels,  and  my  moveables  : 
Let  senses  rule ;  the  word  is,  PUcli  and  Pay; 
Trust  none ; 

For  oaths  are  straws,  men's  faiths  are  wafer-cakes, 
And  hold-fast  is  the  only  dog,  my  duck ; 
Therefore,  caveto  be  thy  counsellor. 
Go,  clear  thy  crystals.' — Yoke-fellows  in  arms. 
Let  us  to  France  !  like  horse-leeches,  my  boys ; 
To  suck,  to  suckj  the  very  blood  to  suck ! 

Boy.  And  that  is  but  unwholesome  food,  they  say. 

Pist.  Touch  her  soft  mouth,  and  march. 

Bard.  Farewell,  hostess.  [Kissing  her. 

Ayni.  I  cannot  kiss,  that  is  tlic  humour  of  it ; 
but  adieu. 

Pist.  Let  housewifery  appear ;  keep  close,  I  thee 
command. 

Q,xuck,  Farewell ;  adieu.  [Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E  7F.— France.  A  room  in  the  French 
King's  palace.  Enter  the  French  Kinir  attended; 
the  Dauphin,  the  Duke  o/Burgundy,  the  Consta- 
ble, and  others, 

Fr.  Kins;.  Thus  come  the  English  with  full  power 
upon  us ; 
And  more  than  carefully  it  us  concerns, 
To  answer  royally  in  our  defences. 
Therefore  the  dukes  of  Berry,  and  of  Bretagne, 
Of  Brabant,  and  of  Orleans,  shall  make  forth, — 
And  you,  prince  dauphin, — with  all  swill  despatch. 
To  line,  and  new  repair,  our  towns  of  war, 
With  men  of  courage,  and  with  means  defendant : 

n)  A  child  not  more  than  a  month  old. 

i2)  Mrs.  Quickly  means  lunatic, 

(3)  Dry  thy  eyes,  < 


For  England  his  approaches  makes  as  fierce, 

As  waters  to  the  sucking  of  a  gulf. 

It  fits  us  then,  to  be  as  provident 

As  fear  may  leach  us,  out  of  late  examples 

Left  by  the  fatal  and  neglected  English 

Upon  our  fields. 

Dau.  My  most  redoubled  father, 

It  is  most  meet  we  arm  us  'gainst  the  foe : 
For  peace  itself  should  not  so  dull'  a  kingdom, 
(Though  war,   nor  no  known  quarrel,   were  in 

question,) 
But  that  defences,  musters,  preparations, 
Should  be  maintain'd,  assembled,  and  collected, 
As  were  a  war  in  expectation. 
I'herefore,  I  say,  'tis  meet  we  all  go  forth. 
To  view  the  sick  and  feeble  parts  of  France  : 
And  let  us  do  it  with  no  show  of  fear ; 
No,  with  no  more,  than  if  we  heard  that  England  , 
Were  busied  with  a  Whitsun  morris-dance : 
For,  my  good  liege,  she  is  so  idly  king'd, 
Her  sceptre  so  fanlaslically  borne 
By  a  vain,  giddy,  shallow,  'humorous  youth. 
That  fear  attends  her  not. 

Con.  O  peace,  prince  daupliin I 

You  are  too  much  mistaken  in  this  king: 
Question  your  grace  the  late  ambassadors, — 
With  what  great  state  he  heard  their  embassy. 
How  well  supplied  with  noble  counsellors, 
How  modest  in  exception,'  and,  withal. 
How  terrible  in  constant  resolution, — 
And  you  shall  fmd,  his  vanities  fore-spent* 
Were  but  the  outside  of  the  Roman  Brutus, 
Covering  discretion  with  a  coat  of  folly  ; 
As  gardeners  do  with  ordure  hide  those  roots 
That  shall  first  spring,  and  be  most  delicate. 

Dan.  Well,  'tis  not  so,  my  lord  high  constable, 
But  tSough  we  think  it  so,  it  is  no  matter : 
In  cuses  of  defence,  'lis  best  to  weigh 
The  enemy  more  mighty  than  he  seems, 
So  the  proportions  of  defence  are  fiU'd  ; 
Which,  of  a  weak  and  niggardly  projection. 
Doth,  like  a  miser,  spoil  his  coat,  with  scanting 
A  little  cloth. 

Fr.  King.  Think  we  king  Harry  strong ; 
And,  princes,  look,  you  strongly  arm  to  meet  hinif 
The  kindred  of  him  hath  been  (lesh'd  upon  us  ; 
And  he  is  bred  out  of  that  bloody  strain,' 
That  haunted  us  in  our  familiar'paths : 
Witness  our  too  much  memorable  shame, 
When  Cressy  battle  fatally  was  struck. 
And  all  our  princes  capliv'd,  by  the  hand 
Of  that  black  name,  Edward  black  prince  of  Wales; 
Whiles  that   his   mountain   sire, — on   mountain 

standing. 
Up  in  the  air,  crown'd  with  the  golden  sun, — 
Saw  his  heroical  seed,  and  smil'd  to  see  him 
Mangle  tb.e  work  of  nature,  and  d(;face 
The  patterns  that  by  God  and  by  French  fathers 
Had  twenty  years  been  made.     This  is  a  stem 
Of  that  victorious  stock ;  and  let  us  fear 
The  native  mightiness  and  fate  of  liim. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mevs.  Ambassadors  from  Henry  king  of  England 
Do  crave  admittance  to  your  majesty. 
Fr.  King.   We'll  give  them  present  audience. 
Go,  and  bring  them. 

[Exe.  Mess,  and  certain  Lordu 

You  see,  this  chace  is  hotly  foUow'd,  friends. 

(4|  Render  it  callous,  insensible. 

(5)  In  making  objections. 

(6)  Wasted,  exhausted.        (7)  laneage« 


Scene  L 


KING  HENRY  T. 


Uf 


Dau.  Turn  head,  and  stop  pursuit :  for  coward 

dogs 
Must  spend  their  mouths,  when  what  they  seem  to 

threaten, 
Runs  far  before  them.    Good  my  sovereiain, 
T;ike  up  the  Entrlish  short ;  and  let  themknow 
Of  what  a  monarchy  you  are  the  head  : 
Self-love,  my  liege,  is  not  so  vile  a  sin 
As  self-neglecting. 

Re-enter  Lords,  with  Exeter  and  train. 

Fr.  King.  Froirt  our  brother  England  ? 

Exe.  From  him ;  and  thus  he  greets  your  majesty. 
He  wills  you,  in  tlie  name  of  God  Almighty, 
That  you  divest  yourself,  and  lay  apart 
The  borrow'd  glories,  that,  by  gift  of  heaven. 
By  law  of  nature,  and  of  nations,  'long 
To  him,  and  to  his  heirs ;  namely,  the  crown, 
And  all  wide-stretched  honours  that  pertain, 
By  custom  and  the  ordinance  of  times. 
Unto  the  crown  of  France.    That  you  may  know, 
'Tis  no  sinister,  nor  no  awkward  claim, 
Pick'd  from  the  worm-holes  of  long-vanish'd  days, 
IS' or  from  the  dust  of  old  oblivion  rak'd. 
He  sends  you  this  most  memorable  line, 

[Gives  a  paper. 
In  every  branch  truly  demonstrative ; 
VVilUng  you,  overlook  this  pedigree  : 
And,  when  you  find  him  evenly  deriv'd 
From  his  most  fam'd  of  famous  ancestors, 
Edward  the  third,  he  bids  you  then  resign 
Your  crown  and  kingdom,  indirectly  held 
From  him  the  native  and  true  challenger. 

Fr.  King.  Or  else  what  follows  ? 

Exe.  Bloodv  constraint;  for  if  you  hide  the  crown 
Even  in  your  hearts,  there  will  he  rake  for  it : 
And  therefore  in  fierce  tempest  is  he  coming, 
In  thunder,  and  in  earthquake,  like  a  Jove ; 
(That,  if  requiring  fail,  he  will  compel ;) 
And  bids  you,  in  the  bowels  of  the  Lord, 
Deliver  up  the  crown ;  and  to  take  mercy 
On  the  po'ir  souls,  for  whom  this  hungry  war 
Opens  his  vasty  jaws  :  and  on  your  head 
Turns  he  t'ne  widows'  tears,  the  orphans'  cries. 
The  dead  men's  blood,  the  pining  maidens' groans. 
For  husbands,  fathers,  and  betrothed  lovers. 
That  shall  be  swallow'd  in  this  controversy. 
This  is  his  claim,  his  threat'ning,  and  my  message ; 
Unless  the  dauphin  be  in  presciice  here, 
To  whom  expressly  I  bring  greeting  too. 

Fr.  King.  For  us,  we  will  consider  of  this  further: 
To-morrow  shall  you  bear  our  full  intent 
Back  to  our  brother  England. 

Dau.  For  the  dauphin, 

I  stand  here  for  him ;  What  to  him  from  England  ? 

Exe.  Scorn,  and  defiance ;  slight  regard,  -con- 
tempt. 
And  any  thing  that  may  not  misbecome 
The  mighty  sender,  doth  he  prize  you  at. 
Thus  says  my  king :  and,  if  ycur  father's  highness 
Do  not,  in  grant  of  all  demands  at  large, 
Sweeten  the  bitter  mock  you  sent  his  majesty. 
He'll  call  you  to  so  hot  ah  answer  for  it. 
That  caves  and  womby  vaultages  of  France 
Shall  chide'  your  trespass,  and  return  your  mock 
In  second  accent  of  his  ordnance. 

Dau.  Sav,  if  my  father  render  fair  reply, 
It  is  against  mv  will :  for  I  desire 
Nothing  but  odds  with  England  ;  to  that  end, 
As  matchintr  to  his  youth  and  vanity, 
I  did  present  iiim  with  those  Paris  balls. 


(1)  Resound,  echo, 
(systems  of  the  ships. 


(2)  Bank  or  shore, 


Exe.  He'll  make  yoar  Paris  Louvre  shake  lor  it. 
Were  it  the  mistress  court  of  mighty  Europe : 
And,  be  assur'd,  you'll  find  a  difference 
(As  we,  his  subjects,  have  in  wonder  found,) 
Between  the  promise  of  his  greener  days. 
And  these  he  masters  now  ;  now  he  weighs  time, 
Even  to  the  utmost  grain  ;  which  you  shsill  read 
'n  your  own  losses,  if  he  stay  in  France. 
Fr.  King.  To-morrow  shall  you  know  our  mind 

at  full. 
Exe.  Despatch  us  with  all  speed,  lest  that  our 
king 
Come  here  himself  to  question  our  delay ; 
For  he  is  footed  in  this  land  already. 
Fr.  King.  You  shall  be  soon  dispatch'd,  with 
fair  conditions : 
A  night  is  but  small  breath,  and  little  pause, 
To  ansv/er  matters  of  this  consequence. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  ni. 

Enter  Chorus. 

Cho.  Thus  with  imagin'd  wing  our  swift  scene 
flies, 
In  motion  of  no  less  celerity 
Than  that  of  thought.  Suppose,  that  you  have  seen 
The  well-appointed  king  at  Hampton  pier 
Embark  his  royalty ;  and  his  brave  fleet 
With  silken  streamers  the  young  Phcrbus  fanning. 
Play  with  your  fancies  ;  and  in  them  behold, 
Upon  the  hempen  tackle,  ship-boys  climbing : 
Hear  the  shrill  whistle,  which  doth  order  give 
To  sounds  confus'd  :  behold  the  ihreaden  sails. 
Borne  with  the  invisible  and  creeping  wind. 
Draw  the  huge  bottoms  through  tlie  furrow'd  sea, 
Breasting  the  lofty  surge :  0,  do  but  think. 
You  stand  upon  the  riyage^  and  behold 
A  city  on  the  inconstant  billows  dancing  ; 
For  so  appears  this  fleet  majcstical. 
Holding  due  course  to  Harfleur.    Follow,  follow ! 
Grapple  your  minds  to  sternage'  of  this  navy; 
And  leave  your  Eneland,  as  dead  midnight,  still. 
Guarded  with  grandsircs,  babies,  and  old  women, 
Either  past,  or  not  arriv'd  to,  pith  and  puissance : 
For  who  is  he,  whose  chin  is  but  enrich'd 
With  one  anpearing  hair,  that  will  not  follow 
These  culi'd  and  choice-drawn  cavaliers  to  France? 
Work,  work,  your  thoughts,  and  therein  see  a  siege : 
Behold  the  onlnance  on  their  carriages, 
With  fatal  mouths  gaping  on  girded  Harfleur. 
Suppose,  the  ambassador'  from  the  French  comes 

back ; 
Tells  Harry — that  the  king  doth  oflTer  him 
Katharine  his  daughter ;  and  with  her,  to  dowry, 
Some  petty  and  unprofitable  dukedoms. 
The  oter  likes  not :  and  the  nimble  gunner 
With  linstock*  now  Ihe  devilish  cannon  touches, 

[JUarwn  :  and  chambers*  go  off. 
And  down  goes  all  before  them.    Still  be  kind, 
And  eke  out  our  performance  with  your  mind. 

[ExU. 
SCEJ^E  I.— The  same.    Before  Harfleur.    Ma- 

rums.     Enter  King  Henry,  Exeter, '  Bedford, 

Gloster,  and  soldiers,  with  scaling-ladders. 

K.Hen.  Once  more  unto  the  breach,  dear  friends, 
once  more ; 
Or  close  the  wall  up  with  our  Enghsh  dead ! 

(4)  The  staff  which  holds  the  match  used  in  firing 
cannon. 

(5)  Small  pieces  of  ordnance. 


m 


KING  HENRY  V. 


JSct  IIL 


In  peace,  there's  nothing  so  becomes  a  man, 

As  modest  stillness,  and  humility : 

But  when  the  blast  of  war  blows  in  our  ears, 

Then  imitate  the  action  of  the  tiger ; 

Stiffen  the  sinews,  summon  up  the  blood, 

Disguise  fair  nature  with  hard-favour'd  rage  : 

Then  lend  the  eye  a  terrible  aspect ; 

Let  it  pry  through  the  portagre  of  the  head. 

Like  the  brass  cannon ;  let  the  brow  o'erwhelm  it, 

As  fearfully,  as  doth  a  galled  rock 

O'erhang  and  jutty'  his  confounded*  base, 

Swill'd  with  the  wild  and  wasteful  ocean. 

Now  set  the  teeth,  and  stretch  the  nostril  wide  ; 

Hold  hard  the  breath,  and  bend  up  every  spirit 

To  his  full  height !— On,  on,  jou  noblest  English, 

Whose  blood  is  fet^  from  fathers  of  war-proof! 

Fathers,  that,  like  so  many  Alexanders, 

Have,  in  these  parts,  from  morn  till  even  fought, 

And  sheath'd  their  swords  for  lack  of  argument.* 

Dishonour  not  your  motiiers  ;  now  attest. 

That  those,  whom  you  call'd  fathers,  did  beget 

you ! 
Be  copy  now  to  men  of  grosser  bloojj 
And  teach  them  how  to  war! — And  you,  good 

yeomen, 
Whose  limbs  were  made  in  England,  show  us  here 
The  mettle  of  your  pasture  ;  let  us  swear 
That  you  are  worth  your  breeding :  which  I  doubt 

not ; 
For  there  is  none  of  you  so  mean  and  base. 
That  hath  not  noble  lustre  in  your  e)'es. 
I  see  you  stand  like  greyhounds  in  the  slips. 
Straining  upon  the  start.     The  game's  afoot ; 
Follow  your  spirit :  and,  upon  this  chargfe. 
Cry — God  for  Harry!  England!  and  Saint  George! 
\Exeunt.     Jllarum,  and  chambers  go  off. 

SCEJ^EII.—  Thesame.    Forces  pass  over  ;  then 
enter  Nym,  Bardolph,  Pistol,  and  Boy. 

Bard.  On,  on,  on,  on,  on !  to  the  breach,  to  the 
breach ! 
\  J^Tym.  'Pray  thee,  corporal,  stay ;    the  knocks 

are  too  hot ;  and,  for  mine  own  part,  I  have  not  a 
case  of  lives  :  the  humour  of  it  is  too  hot,  that  is 
the  very  plain-song  of  it. 
Pist.  The  plain-song  is  most  just;  for  humours 
do  abound  ; 
Knocks  go  and  come ;  God's  vassals  drop  and  die ; 
And  sword  and  shield, 
In  bloody  field, 
Doth  win  immortal  fame. 
Boy.  'Would  I  were  in  an  ale-house  in  London  ! 
I  would  give  all  my  fame  for  a  pot  of  ale,  and  safety. 
Pist.  And  I : 

If  wishes  would  prevail  with  me. 
My  purpose  should  not  fail  with  me. 
But  thither  would  I  hie. 
Boy.  As  duly,  but  not  as  truly,as  bird  doth  sing 
on  bough. 

Enter  Wuellen. 

Flu.    Got's  plood ! — Up  to  the  preaches,  you 
rascals !  Avill  you  not  up  to  the  preaches  ? 

[Driving  them  foncard' 
Pist.  Be  merciful,  gre»t duke, 'to  men otmould!* 
Abate  thy  rage,  abate  thy  manly  rage ! 
Abate  thy  rage,  great  duke ! 
Good  bawcock,  bate  thy  rage !  use  lenity,  sweet 
chuck ! 


At/m.  These  be  good  humours !— your  honour 
wins  bad  humours. 

[Exeunt  Nvm,  Pistol,  and  Bardolph,  fol- 
lowed by  Fluellen. 

Boy.  As  young  as  I  am,  I  have  observed  these 
three  swashers.  I  am  boy  to  them  all  three  •  but  all 
they  three,  though  they  would  serve  me,  could  not 
be  man  to  me ;  for,  indeed,  three  such  antics  do 
not  amount  to  a  man.  For  Bardolph, — heis  white- 
jlivered,  and  red-faced ;  by  the  means  whereof,  'a 
I  faces  it  out,  but  lights  not.  For  Pistol, — he  hath  a 
killing  tongue,  and  a  quiet  sword  ;  by  the  means 
whereof 'a  breaks  words,  and  keeps  whole  weapons. 
For  Nym, — he  hath  heard,  that  men  of  few  words 
are  the  best'  men  ;  and  therefore  he  scorns  to  say 
his  prayers,  lest  'a  should  be  thought  a  coward ;  but 
his  few  bad  words  are  match'd  with  as  few  good 
deeds  ;  for  'a  never  broke  any  man's  head  but  his 
own :  and  that  was  against  a  post,  when  he  was 
drunk.  They  will  steal  any  thing,  and  call  it, — 
purchase.  Bardolph  stole  a  lute-case ;  bore  it 
twelve  leagues,  and  sold  it  for  three  halfpence. 
Nym  and  Bardolph,  are  sworn  brothers  in  filching ; 
and  in  Calais  they  stole  a  fire-shovel :  I  knew,  by 
that  piece  of  service,  the  men  would  carry  coals.* 
They  would  have  me  as  familiar  with  men's  pockets, 
as  their  gloves  or  their  handkerchiefs  :  ivhich  makes 
much  against  my  manhood,  if  I  should  take  from 
another's  pocket,  to  put  into  mine  ;  for  it  is  plain 
pocketing  up  of  wrongs.  I  must  leave  them,  and 
seek  some  better  service :  their  villany  goes  against 
my  weak  stomach,  and  therefore  I  must  cast  it  up. 

[Exit  Boy. 

Re-enter  Fluellen,  Govrcx  following. 

Gow.  Captain  Fluellen,  you  must  come  presently 
to  the  mines ;  the  duke  of  Gloster  would  speak 
with  you. 

Flu.  To  the  mmes  !  tell  you  the  duke,  it  is  not 
so  good  to  come  to  the  mines :  For,  look  you,  the 
mines  is  not  according  to  the  disciplines  of  the  war ; 
the  concavities  of  it  is  not  sufficient ;  for,  look 
you,  th'  athversary  (you  may  discuss  unto  the  duke, 
look  you, )  is  dight'  himself  four  vards  under  the 
countermmes:  by  Cheshu,  I  think,  'a  will  plow" 
up  all,  if  there  is  not  better  directions. 

Gow.  The  duke  of  Gloster,  to  whom  the  order  of 
the  siege  is  given,  is  altogether  directed  by  an  Irish- 
man ;  a  very  vahant  gentleman,  i'faith. 

Flu.  It  is  captain  Macmorris,  is  it  not? 

Gow.  I  think,  it  be. 

Flu.  By  Cheshu,  he  is  an  ass,  as  in  the  'orld  :  I 
will  verify  as  much  in  his  peard :  he  has  no  more 
directions  in  the  true  disciplines  of  the  wars,  look 
you,  of  the  Roman  disciplines,  than  is  a  puppy-dog. 

Enter  Macmorris  and  Jamy,  at  a  distance. 

Gow.  Here  'a  comes;  and  the  Scots  captain, 
captain  Jamy,  with  him. 

Flu.  Captain  Jamy  is  a  marvellous  falorous  gen- 
tleman, that  is  certain ;  and  of  great  expedition, 
and  knowledge,  in  the  ancient  wars,  upon  my  par- 
ticular knowledge  of  his  directions  :  by  Cheshu,  he 
will  maintain  his  argument  as  well  as  any  military 
man  in  the  'orld,  in  the  disciplines  of  the  pcistine 
wars  of  the  Romans. 

Jamy.  I  sa)%  gud-day,  captain  Fluellen. 

Flu.  God-den  to  your  worship,  goot  captain  Jamy. 

Gow.  How  now,  captain  Macmorris  ?  have  yon 
quit  the  mines?  have  the  pioneers  given  o'er  ? 


(1)  A  mole  to  withstand  the  encroachment  of  the     (4)  Matter,  subject.  (5)  Commander. 

tide.  ,    (6   Earth.      (7)  Bravest.      (8)  Pocket  affronts, 

{t)  Worn,  wasted.  (3)  Fetched.  '    (9)  Digged.  (10)  Blow. 


Mem  m,  IT. 


^INC  HENRY  V. 


449 


Mac.  By  Chrish  la,  tish  ill  done :  the  work  isn 
give  o?er,  the  trumpet  sound  the  retreat.  By  mv 
hand,  I  swear,  and  by  my  father's  soul,  the  work 
ish  ill  done ;  it  ish  a:ive  over  :  I  would  have  blowed 
up  the  town,  so  Chrish  save  me,  la,  in  an  hour. 
O,  tish  ill  done,  tish  ill  done ;  ty  my  hand,  tish  ill 
done ! 

Flu.  Captain  Macmorris,  I  peseech  you  now,  will 
you  vouchsafe  me,  look  you,  a  few  disputations  with 
you  ?  as  partly  touching  or  concerning  the  disci- 
plines of  the  war,  the  Roman  wars,  in  the  way  of 
argument,  look  you,  and  friendly  communication  ; 
partly,  to  satisfy  my  opinion,  and  partly,  for  the 
satisfaction,  look  you,  of  my  mind,  as  louchins  the 
direction  of  tlie  military  discipline ;  that  is  the  point. 

Jamy.  It  sail  be  very  gud,  gud  feith,  gud  cap- 
tains both :  and  I  sail  quit'  you  with  gud  leave,  as 
I  may  pick  occasion  ;  that  sail  I,  marry. 

J\Iac.  It  is  no  time  to  discourse,  so  Chrisrtsave 
me,  the  day  is  hot,  and  the  weather,  and  the  wars, 
and  the  king,  and  the  dukes ;  it  is  no  time  to  dis- 
course. The  town  is  beseeched,  and  the  trumpet 
calls  us  to  the  breach ;  and  we  talk,  and,  by  Chrish, 


And  the  flesh'd  soldier,— rough  and  hard  of  heart- 
In  liberty  of  bloody  hand,  shall  ranee 
With  xjonscience  wide  as  hell ;  mowing  like  irraM 
Your  fresh-air  virgins,  and  your  flowering  inftnU, 
What  IS  It  then  to  me,  if  impious  war  — 
Array'd  in  flames,  like  to  the  prince  of  fiends,— 
Do,  with  his  smirch'd'  complexion,  all  fell'  feaU 
Enlink'd  to  waste  and  desolation  ? 
JVhat  is't  to  me,  when  you  yourselves  arc  caujw. 
If  your  pure  maidens  fall  into  the  hand 
Of  hot  and  forcing  violation  / 
What  reia  can  hold  licentious  wickedness. 
When  down  the  hill  he  holds  his  fierce  career? 
\y  e  may  as  bootless"  spend  our  vain  command 
Upon  the  enraged  soldiers  in  their  spoil, 
As  send  precepts  to  the  Leviathan 
To  come  ashore.   Therefore,  you  men  of  Harfleui 
Take  pity  of  your  town,  and  of  your  people, 
W  hiles  yet  my  soldiers  are  in  my  command ; 
Whiles  yet  the  cool  and  temperate  wind  of  grace 
O'erblows  the  fiithy  and  contagious  clouds 
Of  deadly  murder,  spoil,  and  villany. 
If  not,  why,  in  a  moment,  look  to  see 


do  nothing ;  'tis  shame  for  us  all :  so  God  sa'  mo,|Tlie  blind  and  bloody  soldier  with  foul  hand 

'tis  shame  to  stand  still ;  it  is  shame,  by  my  hand :  Defile  the  locks  of  your  shrill-shrieking  daughters* 

and  there  is  throats  to  be  cut,  and  works  to  be  done ;  Four  fathers  taken  by  the  silver  beards,  ' 

onri  thprp  ish  nnthinf  dnnc.  so  Chrish  .«n'  irip    In  And  thr-irmn«t  rovprpnH  kcfiili:  ^o^KM  tn  «>.<>».ll.. 


and  there  ish  nothing  done,  so  Chrish  .«a'  me,  la 

Jamy.  By  the  mess,  ere  theise  eyes  of  mine  take 
themselves  to  slumber,  aile  do  gude  service,  or  aile 
ligge  i'the  grund  for  it ;  ay,  or  go  to  death ;  and 
aile  pay  it  as  valorously  as  I  may,  that  sail  I  surelv 
do,  that  is  the  breftand  the  long :  Mary,  I  wad  full 
fain  heard  some  question  'tween  you  tway. 

Fhi.  Captain  Macmorris,  I  think,  look  you, 
under  your  correction,  there  is  not  many  of  your 
nation 

Mac.  Of  my  nation?  What  ish  my  nation?  ish 
a  villain,  and  a  bastard,  and  a  knave,  and  a  rascal? 
What  ish  my  nation  ?  Who  talks  of  my  nation  ? 

Flu.  Look  you,  if  voii  take  the  matter  otherwise 
than  is  meant^  captain  Macmorris,  peradventure,  I 
shall  think  you  do  not  use  me  with  that  aiiability  as 
in  discretion  you  ought  to  use  mc^look  you  ;  being 
as  goot  a  m.-in  as  yourself,  both  in  the  disciplines 
of  wars,  and  in  the  derivation  of  my  birth,  and  in 
other  particularities. 

Mac.  I  do  not  know  you  so  good  a  man  as  my- 
self: so  Chrish  save  me,  I  will  cut  oft" your  head. 

Goic.  Grenllcnien  both,  you  will  mistake  each 
other. 

Jamy.  Au  !  that's  a  foul  fault,  [.^parley  sounded. 

Gow.  The  town  sounds  a  parley. 

Flu.  Captain  Macmorris,  when  there  is  more 
better  opportunity  to  be  required,  look  you,  I  will 
be  so  bold  as  to  tell  you,  I  know  the  disciplines  of 
war ;  and  there  is  an  end.  [Extunt 

SCEXE  III.— The  name.    Before  the  pales  of 
Harjleur.     The  Governor  and  some  citizens  on 
the  icalls :    the   English  forces  below.    Enter 
King  Henry  and  his  train. 
K.  Hen.  How  yet  resolves  the  governor  of  the 
town  ? 
This  is  the  latest  parle  we  will  admit : 
Therefore,  to  our  best  mercy  give  yourselves ; 
Or,  like  to  men  proud  of  destruction. 
Defy  us  to  our  worst :  for,  as  I  am  a  soldier, 

}A  name,  that,  in  my  thoughts,  becomes  me  best.) 
f  I  begin  the  battery  once  again, 
I  will  not  leave  the  half-achieved  Harfleur, 
Till  in  her  ashes  she  lie  buried. 
The  gates  of  mercy  shall  be  all  shut  up ; 

(I)  Requite,  answer.      (2)  Soiled.      (S)  Cm*!. 


And  their  most  reverend  heads  dash'd  to  the  walla; 
Your  naked  infants  spitted  upon  pikes ; 
Whiles  the  rnad  mothers  with  their  howls  confus'd 
Do  break  the  clouds,  as  did  the  wives  of  Jewry 
At  Herod's  bloody-hunting  slaughtermen. 
>Vhat  say  you  ?  will  you  yield,  and  this  avoid  ? 
Or,  guiltv  in  defence,  be  thus  destroy'd  ? 

Gov.  Our  expectation  hath  this  day  an  end: 
The  dauphin,  whom  of  succour  we  entreated. 
Returns  us — that  his  powers  are  not  yet  ready 
To  raise  so  great  a  siege.    Therefore,  dread  king, 
We  yield  our  town,  and  lives,  to  thy  soft  mercy: 
Enter  our  gates  ;  dispose  of  us,  and  ours  ; 
For  we  no  longer  are  defensible. 

K.  Hen.  Open  your  gates. ^^ome,  uncle  Exeter, 
Go  vou  and  enter  Harfleur ;  there  remain, 
And  fortify  it  strongly  'gainst  the  French : 
Use  mercy  to  them  all.    For  us,  dear  uncle, — 
The  winter  coming  on,  and  sickness  growing 
Upon  our  soldiers, — we'll  retire  to  Calais. 
To-night  in  Harfleur  will  we  be  your  ^est ; 
To-morron"  for  the  march  are  we  addrest' 

[Flourish.    The  King,  ^c.  enter  tht  town. 

SCEXE  7F.— Rouen.    ^  room  in  the  palace. 
Enter  Katharine  and  Alice. 

Kath.  Mice,  tu  as  esli  en  ,ingleterre,  et  tu  paries 
bien  le  language. 

Alice.  Un  peu,  madame. 

Kath.  Jeteprie,  m^enseignez;  Ufaut  que  j*ap- 
prenne  a  parltr.  Comment  appelles  vcus  la  mam, 
en  Jinglms  ? 

Alice.  Le  main  ?  elle  est  appellte,  de  hand. 

Kath.  De  hand.    Et  les  doigts  ? 

Alice.  Les  doigts  ?  ma  foy,  je  oublie  les  doigts  ; 
mats  je  me  souviendray.  Les  doigts  ?  je  pense, 
quails  sont  appelle  de  fingres ;  ouy,  de  finrres. 

Kath.  Le  main,  de  hand  ;  les  doigts,  de  fingres. 
Je  pense,  que  je  suis  le  bon  escolier.  fay  garni 
deux  mots  ICJlnglois  vistement.  Cmnmetft  appeUez 
vous  les  angles  f 

Alice.  Les  ongles  7  les  appelUms.  de  nails. 

Kath.  De  nails.  Escoutez  i  dites  moy,  ri  je 
parle  bien  ;  dc  hand,  de  fingres,  de  nails. 

Alice.  Cest  bien  dit,  madamt;  il  est  fort  hm 
Jnglois. 


(4)  Without  luccess. 
91. 


(5)  Freptni. 


430 


KING  HENRY  V. 


^d  III. 


Kath.  DiUs  moy  en  Jlnglois,  le  bras. 

Mice.  De  arm,  madame. 

Kath.  Et  le  coude. 

Mice.  De  eibovv. 

Kath.  De  elbow.  Je  vi'en  failz  la  repetition  de 
ious  les  mots,  que  vous  vVavez  appris  des  a  present. 

.Alice.  //  est  trap  difficile,  madame,  comme  je 
pense. 

Kath.  Excusez  may,  Mice  ;  escoutez :  De  hand, 
de  fingre,  de  nails,  de  arm,  de  bilbow. 

Mice.  De  elbow,  madame. 

Kath.  0  Seigneur  Dieu !  je  vi'en  oublici  De  el- 
bow.    Comment  appellez  vous  le  col  ? 

Mice.  De  neck,  madame. 

Kath.  De  neck ;  Et  le  menton  ? 

Mice.  De  chin. 

Kath.  De  sin.  Le  eol,  dc  neck :  U  menton,  de 
sin. 

Alice.  Ouy.  Sauf  vostre  honneur;  en  veriti 
vous  prononces  les  mots  attssi  droict  que  lesjiatifs 
W  Jingleterre. 

Kath.  Je  ne  daute  point  d'apprendre  par  la 
^ace  de  Dieu;  et  en  peu  de  temps. 

Alice.  JV'orez  vous  pas  deja  oubliS  ce  queje  vous 
ay  enseignie  ? 

Kath.  J^on,  je  reciteray  a  vous  promptement. 
De  hand,  de  finpre,  de  mails. 

Mice.  De  nails,  madame. 

Kath.  De  nails,  de  arme,  de  ilbow. 

Alice.  Sauf  vostre  honneur,  de  elbow. 

Kath.  Mnsidisje  ;  de  elbow,  de  neck,  et  de  sin : 
Comment  appellez  vous  le  pieds  et  la  robe  ? 

Mice.  De  foot,  madame  ;  et  de  con, 

Kath.  De  foot,  et  de  con  ?  O  Seigneur  Dieu ! 
ces  sont  mots  de  son  mauvais,  corruptible,  grosse, 
et  impudique,  et  no7i  pour  les  dames  d'fionneur 
tPuser :  Je  ne  vmidrois  prononcer  ces  mots  devant 
let  seigneurs  de  France,  pour  tout  le  monde.  II 
faut  de  foot,  et  de  con,  neant-moins.  Je  reciterai 
une  autre  fois  ma  leqon  ensemble:  De  hand,  de 
fjngre,  de  nails,  de  arm,  de  elbow,  de  neck,  dc  sin, 
de  foot,  de  con. 

Alice.  Excellent,  madame ! 

Kath.  Cest  assez  pour  une  fois  ;  allons  nous  a 
disner.  [Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E  V. — The  same.  Jlnother  room  in  the 
sanu.  Enter  the  French  King-,  the  Dauphin, 
Duke  of  Bourbon,  the  Constable  of  France,  and 
others. 

Fr.  King.  'Tis  certain,  he  hath  pass'd  the  river 
Some. 

Con.  And  if  he  be  not  fought  withal,  my  lord. 
Let  us  not  live  in  France  ;  let  us  quit  all, 
And  give  our  vineyards  to  a  barbarous  people. 

Dau.  0  Dieu  vivant !  shall  a  few  sprays  of  us, — 
The  emptying  of  our  fathers'  luxury,' 
Our  scions,  put  in  wild  and  savage  stock. 
Spirt  up  so  suddenly  into  the  clouds. 
And  overlook  their  grafters  ? 

Bmar.  Normans,  but  bastard  Normans,  Norman 
bastards ! 
Mart  de  ma  vie !  if  they  march  along 
Unfought  withal,  but  I  will  sell  my  dukedom, 
To  buy  a  slobbery  and  a  dirty  farm 
In  that  nook-shotten^  isle  of  Albion. 

Con.  Dieu  de  battaUes !  where  have  they  this 
mettle  ? 
Is  not  their  climate  foggy,  raw,  and  dull  ? 
On  whom,  as  in  despite^  the  sun  looks  pale,  \ 

Killing  their  fruit  with  frowns  ?  Can  sodden  water, 
A  drench  for  sur-rein'd'  jades,  their  barley  \iro\h, 

(I)  Lust,      (2)  Projected.      (3)  Over-strained, 


Decoct  their  Cold  blood  to  sueh  valiant  heat  ? 

And  shall  our  quick  blood,  spirited  with  wine, 

Seem  frosty  ?  O,  for  honour  of  our  land, 

Let  us  not  hang  like  roping  icicles 

Upon  our  houses'  thatch,  ivhiles  a  more  fr6stf 

people 
Sweat  drops  of  gallant  youth  in  our  rich  fields ; 
Poor — we  may  call  them,  in  their  native  lords. 

Dau.  By  faith  and  honour. 
Our  madams  mock  at  us ;  and  plainly  say. 
Our  mettle  is  bred  out ;  and  they  will  give 
Their  bodies  to  the  lust  of  English  youth. 
To  new-store  France  with  bastard  warriors. 

Bour.   They  bid  us — to  the  English  dancing- 
schools. 
And  teach  lavoltas"  high,  and  swift  corantos ; 
Sayinir,  our  grace  is  only  in  our  heels, 
And  that  we  are  most  lofty  runaways. 

FA  King.  Where  is  Montjoy,  the  herald?  speed 
him  hence ; 
Let  him  greet  England  with  our  sharp  defiance. — 
Up,  princes ;  and,  with  spirit  of  honour  edg'd, 
More  sharper  than  your  swords,  hie  to  the  field : 
Charles  De-la-bret,  high  constable  of  France ; 
You  dukes  of  Orleans,  Bourbon,  and  of  Berry, 
Alencon,  Brabant,  Bar,  and  Burgundy  ; 
Jaques,  Chatillon,  Kambures,  Vaudemont, 
Beaumont,  Grandpre,  Roussi,  and  Fauconberg, 
Foix,  Lestrale,  Bouciqualt,  and  Charolois ; 
High  dukes,    great  princes,   barons,   lords,   and 

knights, 
For  your  great  seats,  now  quit  you  of  great  shames. 
Bar  Harry  England,  that  sweeps  through  our  land 
With  penons*  painted  in  the  blood  of  Harfleur : 
Rush  on  his  host,  as  doth  the  melted  snow 
Upon  the  vallej's  ;  whose  low  vassal  seat 
The  Alps  doth  spit  and  void  his  rheum  upon  : 
Go  down  upon  him, — ^you  have  power  enough,— 
And  in  a  captive  chariot,  into  Rouen 
Bring  him  our  prisoner. 

Con.  This  becomes  the  great. 

Sorry  am  I,  his  numbers  arc  so  feiv, 
His  soldiers  sick,  and  famish'd  in  their  march  ; 
For,  I  am  sure,  when  he  shall  see  our  army. 
He'll  drop  his  heart  into  the  sink  of  fear, 
And,  for  achievement,  ofler  us  his  ransom. 

Fr.  Kin^.  Therefore,  lord  constable,  haste  on 
Montjoy : 
And  let  him  say  to  England,  that  we  send 
To  know  what  willing  ransom  he  will  give. — 
Prince  dauphin,  you  shall  stay  with  us  in  Rouen. 

Dau.  Not  so,  I  do  beseech  your  majesty. 

Fr.  King.  Be  patient,  for  you  shall  remain  with 
us, — 
Now,  forth,  lord  constable,  and  princes  all ; 
And  quickly  bring  us  word  of  England's  fall. 

[Exeunt, 

SCEXE  VI.— The  English  camp  in  Picardy. 
Enter  Gower  and  Fluellcn. 

Gow.  How  now,  captain  Fluellen?  come  you 
from  the  bridge  ? 

Flu.  I  assure  you,  there  is  very  excellent  ser- 
vice committed  at  the  pridge, 

Gow.  Is  the  duke  of  Exeter  safe  ? 

Flu.  The  duke  of  Exeter  is  as  magnanimous  as 
Agamemnon ;  and  a  man  that  I  love  and  honour 
wth  my  soul,  and  my  heart,  and  my  duty,  and  my 
life,  and  my  livings,  and  my  uttermost  powers :  he 
is  not  (Got  be  praised,  and  plessed !)  any  hurt  iij 
the  'orld ;  but  keeps  the  pridge  most  valiantly,  with 
excellent  discipline.    There  is  Sti  ensign  there  at 

(4)  Dances,  (b)  Pendants,  small  flags. 


Stent  VI. 


KING  HENRY  V. 


451 


the  prid^e,— I  think,  in  my  very  conscience,  he  is 
as  valiant  as  Mark  Antony  ;  and  he  is  a  man  of  no 
estimation  in  the  'orld :  6ut  I  did  see  him  do  gal- 
lant service. 

Goto.  Wliat  do  Toii  call  him  ? 

Fill.  He  is  called— ancient  Pistol. 

Goic.  I  Imow  him  not. 

Enler  Pistol. 

Flit.  Do  you  not  know  him?  Here  comes  the  man. 

Fist.  Captain,  I  thee  beseech  to  do  me  favours : 
The  duke  of  Exeter  doth  love  thee  well. 

Fin.  Ay,  I  praise  Got ;  and  I  have  merited  some 
love  at  his  hands. 

Fisi.  Bardolph,  a  soldier,  firm  and  sound  of 
heart, 
Of  buxom  valour,'  hath, — ^by  cruel  fate, 
And  giddy  fortune's  furious  tickle  wheel, 
That  goddess  blind. 
That  stands  upon  the  rolling  restless  stone, — 

JVk.  By  your  patience,  ancient  Pistol.  Fortune 
is  painted  pliiid,  with  a  muffler^  before  her  eyes,  to 
signify  to  you  that  fortune  is  plind :  And  she  is 
painted  also  wiih  a  wheel ;  to  signify  to  you, 
which  is  tiie  moral  of  it,  that  slie  is  turning,  and 
inconstant,  and  variations,  and  mutabilities :  and 
her  foot,  look  you,  is  fixed  upon  a  spherical  stone, 
which  rolls,  and  rolls,  and  rolls ; — In  good  truth, 
the  poet  is  make  a  most  cscelleiit  description  of 
fortune :  furtuiie,  look  you,  is  an  excellent  moral. 

Fist.  Fortune  is  Bardolph's  foe,  and  frowns  on 
him  ; 
For  he  hath  stolen  a  pix,^  and  hanged  must  a'  be, 
A  damned  death ! 

Let  eallows  gape  for  dopr,  let  man  jro  free. 
And  let  not  liemp  his  wind-pipe  suflbcale : 
But  Exeter  hath  given  the  doom  of  death, 
For  pLv  of  little  price. 

Therefore,  go  speak,  the  duke  will  hear  thy  voice ; 
And  let  not  Bardolph's  vital  thread  be  cut 
Witli  edge  of  penny  cord,  and  vile  reproach : 
Sp?ak,  captain,  for  his  life,  and  I  will  thee  requite. 

Flu.  Ancient  Pbtol,  I  do  partly  understand 
your  meaning. 

Fist.  ^Vhy  then  rejoice  therefore. 

Flu.  Certainhr,  ancient,  it  is  not  a  thing  to  re- 
joice at :  for  if^  look  you,  he  were  my  brother,  I 
would  desire  the  duke  to  use  his  goot  pleasure,  and 
put  lum  to  executions ;  fur  disciplines  ought  to  be 
used. 

Fist.  Die  and  be  damned ;  and  figo*  for  thy 
friendship ! 

JTit.  It  is  Avcll. 

put.  The  fig  of  Spahi !  [ExU  Pistol. 

FUi.  ^'ery  good. 

Goio.  U  hv,  tliis  is  an  arrant  counterfeit  rascal ; 
I  remember  liim  now  ;  a  bawd,  a  cut-purse. 

Flu.  I'll  assure  you,  a'  utter'd  as  prave  'ords  at 
the  pridge,  as  you  shall  see  in  a  summer's  day : 
But  it  is  very  well ;  what  he  has  spoke  to  me,  that 
is  well,  I  warrant  you,  when  time  is  serve 


bravely,  who  was  shot,  who  disgraced,  what  terms 
the  enemy  stood  on ;  and  this  they  con  perfectly  in 
the  phrase  of  war,  which  thcv  trick  up  with  new- 
tuned  oaths :  And  what  a  beard  of  the  general's 
cut,  and  a  horrid  suit  of  the  camp,  will  do  among 
foaming  bottles,  and  ale-washed  wits,  b  wonderful 
to  be  thought  on  !  But  you  must  learn  to  know  such 
slanders  of  the  age,  or  else  you  may  be  marvellous 
mistook. 

17m.  I  tell  you  what,  captain  Gower;— I  do  per- 
ceive he  is  not  the  man  that  he  would  gladly  make 
show  to  the  'orld  he  is  ;  if  I  find  a  hole  in  his  coat, 
I  will  tell  him  iny  mind.  [Drum  heard.]  Hark  you, 
the  king  is  coming ;  and  I  must  speak  with  him 
from  tlie  pridge. 

Enter  King  Henry,  Gloster,  and  soltUers. 

Flu.  Got  pless  your  majesty  ! 

K.Hen.  How  now,  Fluellen  ?  earnest  Ihou  from 
tlie  bridge  ? 

Flu.  Ay,  so  please  your  majesty.  The  duke  of 
Exeter  bus  very  gallantly  maintained  the  pridge  ; 
the  French  is  gone  oft',  look  you  ;  and  there  is  gal- 
lant and  most  prave  jjassages :  Marry,  th'alhversary 
uas  have  possession  of  the  pridge ;  but  he  is  en- 
forced to  retire,  and  the  duke  of  Exeter  is  master 
of  the  pridge :  I  can  tell  your  majesty,  the  duke 
is  a  prave  man. 

K.  Hen.  ^Vhat  men  have  you  lost,  Fluellen  ? 

Flu,  The  perdition  of  th'athversary  hath  been 
very  great,  very  reasonable  ^reat :  marry,  for  my 
part,  I  think  the  duke  hath  lost  never  a  man,  but 
one  that  is  like  to  be  executed  for  robbing  a  church, 
one  Bardolph,  if  your  majesty  know  the  man  •  hU 
face  is  ail  bubuklcs,  and  whelks,  and  knobs,  and 
flames  of  fire ;  and  his  lips  plcAvs  at  his  nose,  and 
it  is  like  a  coal  of  fire,  sometimes  pluc,  and  jome- 
times  red ;  but  his  nose  is  executed,  and  his  fire's  out. 

K.  Hen.  We  would  have  all  such  oflenders  so 
cut  off: — and  we  give  express  charge,  that  in  our 
marches  through  the  country,  there  be  nothing  com- 
pelled from  ther villages,  nothing  taken  but  puid  for : 
none  of  the  French  upbraided,  or  abusca  in  dis- 
dainfid  language  ;  For  when  lenity  and  cruelty 
[)lay  for  a  kingdom,  the  gentler  gamestu'  is  the 
soonest  winner. 

Tucket  sounds.    Enler  Monljoy. 

.Mont.  You  know  me  by  mv  habit.* 

K.  Hen.  WeH  then,  I  know  thee;  Wiit  shall 
I  know  of  thee  ? 

^lotit.  My  master's  mind. 

K.  Heti.  Unfold  it. 

J\Tont.  Thus  says  my  king : — Say  thou  to  Harry 
of  England,  Though  wc  seemed  dead,  wc  did  but 
sleep:  Advantage  is  a  better  soldier,  than  rash- 
ness. Te'l  iiim,  we  could  have  rebuked  him  at 
Harfleur;  but  that  we  thought  not  good  to  bruise 
an  injury,  till  it  were  full  ripe: — now  we  speak 
upon  our  cue,'  and  our  voice  is  imperial :  England 
shall    repent    his    folly,    sec    his  weakness,    and 


Goic.  Why,  'tis  a  gull,  a  fool,  a  ro-^ue ;  that  nowjadmire  oar  sufferance.  Bid  him,  therefore,  con 
and  then  goes  to  the  wars,  to  grace  himself,  at  his  sider  of  his  ransom  ;  which  mtl^t  proportion  the 
return  to  London,  under  the  form  of  a  soldier.  Andilosses  we  have  borne,  the  subjects  we  have  lost, 
such  fellows  are  perfect  in  great  commanders'  the  disgrace  we  have  digested  ;  which  in  weiirht 
names  :  and  they  will  learn  you"  bvrote,  where  ser-|to  re-answer,  his  pcttincsi  would  bow  under.  For 
vices  were  done ;— at  such  and  such  a  sconce,'  al  our  losses,  his  exclie(iuer  is  too  poor  •  forthe  cflu- 
such  a  breach,  at  such  a  convoy ;  who  came  oft"|Sion  of  our  blood,  the  muster  of  his  kingdom  too 

faint  a  number ;  and  for  our  disgrace,  his  own  per- 


(1)  Valour  under  good  command. 

(2)  A  fold  of  linen  wliich  partially  covered  the 
face. 

(3)  A  small  box  in  which  were  kept  the  conse- 
crated wafers. 


(4)  .\n  allusion  to  the  custom  in  Spain  and  Italy, 
of  giving  poisoned  figs. 

(5)  An  entrenchment  hastily  thrown  up. 

(6)  i.  e.  By  his  lierald's  coat.    (7)  In  our  lum, 


452 


KING  HENRY  V. 


jict  in. 


«on,  kneeling  al  our  feet,  but  a  weak  and  worth- 
less satisfaction.  To  this  add — defiance:  and  tell 
him,  for  conclusion,  he  hath  betrayed  his  followers, 
whose  condemnation  is  pronounced.  So  far  my 
king  and  master ;  so  much  my  office. 

K.  Hen.  What  is  thy  name  ?  1  know  thy  quality. 

J^Iont.  Montjoy. 

K.  Hen.  Thoii  dost  thy  oflice  fairly.    Turn  thee 
back, 
And  tell  thy  king, — T  do  not  seek  him  now ; 
But  could  be  willinij  to  march  on  to  Calais, 
Without  impeachment : '  for,  to  say  the  sooth, 

i Though  'tis  no  wisdom  to  confess  so  much 
Into  an  enemy  of  craft  and  vantage,) 
My  people  are  with  sickness  much  enfeebled  ; 
My  immbers  lessen'd ;  and  those  icw  I  have. 
Almost,  no  better  than  so  many  French  ; 
Who  ^vhell  they  ivere  in  health,  I  tell  thee,  herald, 
I  thought,  upon  one  pair  of  Enirlish  le^s 
Did  march  three  Frenchmen. — Yet,  forgive  me,  God, 
That  I  do  brag  thus  ! — this  your  air  of  France 
Hath  blown  that  vice  in  me  ;  I  must  repent. 
Go,  therefore,  tell  thy  master,  here  I  am; 
My  ransom,  is  this  frail  and  worthless  trunk ; 
My  armv,  but  a  weak  and  sickly  guard  ; 
Yet,  Go^  before,^  tell  him  we  will  come  on, 
Though  France  him.self,  and  such  another  neigh- 
bour. 
Stand  in  our  way.  There's  for  thy  laboiu',  Montjoy. 
Go,  bid  thy  master  well  advise  himself: 
If  we  may  pass,  we  will ;  if  we  be  hinder'd. 
We  shall  your  taivny  ground  with  your  red  blood 
Discolour :  and  .so,  Alontjoj,  fare  you  well. 
The  sum  of  all  our  answer  is  but  this : 
We  would  not  seek  a  battle,  as  we  arc ; 
Nor,  as  we  are,  we  say,  we  will  not  shun  it ; 
So  tell  your  master. 
Mont.  I  shall  deliver  so.  Thanks  to  your  high- 
ness. [Exit  Montjoy 
Glo.  I  hope  they  will  not  come  upon  us  now. 
K.  Hen,  We  are  in  God's  hand,  brother,  not  in 
theirs. 
March  to  the  bridge  ;  it  now  draws  toward  night  :— 
Beyond  the  river  we'll  encamp  ourselves  ; 
And  on  to-morrow  bid  them  march  away.      [Exe. 

SCEKE    Vn. — The  French  camp,   near  Jl'An- 

court.    Enter  the  Constable  of  France,  the  Lord 

Rambures,  the  Duke  o/ Orleans,  Dauphin,  and 

others. 

Con.  Tut !  I  have  the  best  armour  of  the  world 
'Would,  it  were  day  ! 

Orl.  You  have  an  excellent  armour ;  but  let  my 
norse  have  his  due. 

Con.  It  is  the  best  horse  of  Europe. 

Orl.  Will  it  never  be  morning  ? 

Dau,    My  lord   of  Orleans,  and  my  lord   high 
constable,  you  talk  of  horse  and  armour, — 

Orl.  You  arc  as  well  provided  of  both,  as  any 
prince  in  the  Avorld. 

Dau.  What  a  long  night  is  this ! 1  will  not 

change  my  horse  with  any  that  treads  but  on  four 
pasterns.  Ca,  ha !  He  bounds  from  tlie  earth,  as 
if  his  entrails  were  hairs ;'  le  che.val  volant,  the 
Pegasus,  qui  a  les  narines  de  fen  !  When  I  bestride 
him,  I  soar,  I  am  a  hawk :  he  trots  the  air ;  the 
earth  sings  when  he  touches  if ;  the  basest  hom  of 
his  hoof  is  more  mu.sical  than  the  pipe  of  Hermes. 

(hi.  He's  of  the  colour  of  the  nulm*g. 

Dmi.   And   of  the  heat  of  the  ginger.     It  is  a 
peast  for  Perseus :  he  is  pure  air  aiid  fire ;  and  the 


1)  Hinderance. 

8)  Then  used  for  God  being  my  guide. 


dull  elements  of  earth  and  water  never  appear  in 
him,  but  only  in  patient  stillness,  while  his  rider 
mounts  him  :  he  is,  indeed,  a  horse;  and  all  other 
jades  you  may  call — beasts. 

Cmi.  Indeed,  my  lord,  it  is  a  most  absolute  and 
excellent  horse. 

Dau.  It  is  the  prince  of  palfreys ;  his  neigh  is 
like  the  bidding  of  a  monarch,  and  his  countenance 
enforces  homage. 

Orl.  No  more,  cousin. 

Dcui.  Nay,  the  man  hath  no  wit,  that  cannot, 
from  the  rising  of  the  lark  to  the  lodging  of  the 
Iamb,  vary  deserved  praise  on  my  palfrey  :  it  is  a 
theme  as  fluent  as  the  sea  ;  turn  the  sands  into  elo- 
quent tongues,  and  my  horse  is  argument  for  them 
11:  'tis  a  subject  for  a  sovereign  to  reason  on,  and 
for  a  sovereign's  sovereign  to  ride  on  ;  and  for 
the  world  (familiar  to  us,  and  unknown,)  to  lay 
apart  their  particular  functions,  and  wonder  at  him. 
I  once  Avrit  a  sonnet  in  his  praise,  and  began  thus : 
Wonder  of  nature, — 

Orl.  I  have  heard  a  sonnet  begin  so  to  one's 
mistress. 

Dau.  Then  did  they  imitate  that  which  I  com- 
posed to  my  courser ;  for  my  horse  is  my  mistress. 

0(7.  Your  mistress  bears  well. 

Dau.  Me  well  ;  which  is  the  prescript  praise 
and  perfection  of  a  good  and  particular  mistress. 

Con.  J\Ia  Joy  !  the  other  day,  methought,  your 
mislrcssishreivdly  shook  your  back. 

Dau.  So,  perhaps,  did  yours. 

Con,  Mine  was  not  bridled. 

Dau.  O  !  then,  belike,  she  was  old  and  gentle  ; 
and  you  rode,  like  a  kerne'  of  Ireland,  your  French 
hose  off,  and  in  your  strait  trossers.* 

Con.  You  have  good  judgment  in  horsemanship. 

Dau.  Be  warned  by  me  then :  they  that  ri<ie  so, 
and  ride  not  warily,  fall  into  foul  bogs ;  I  had 
rather  have  my  horse  to  my  mistress. 

Con.  1  had  a.^  lief  have  my  mistress  a  jade. 

Dau.  I  tell  thee,  constable,  my  mistress  wears 
her  own  hair. 

Con.  I  could  make  as  true  a  boast  as  that,  if  I 
had  a  sow  to  my  mistress. 

D;iu.  I.e  chien  est  relourne  «  ,901?  propre  romisse- 
ment,  et  la  t/uie  lavet  an  bourbier :  thou  makest 
u.sc  of  any  thing. 

Con.  Yet  do  I  not  use  my  horse  for  my  mistress  ; 
or  any  such  proverb,  so  little  kin  to  the  purpose. 

Ram.  My  lord  constable,  the  armour,  that  I 
saw  in  your  tent  to-ni^it,  are  those  stars,  or  suns, 
upon  it? 

Con.  Stars,  my  lord. 

Dau.  Some  of  them  will  fall  to-morrow,  I  hope. 

Coll.  And  yet  my  sky  shall  not  want. 

Dau.  That  may  be,  for  you  bear  a  many  superflu- 
ously; and 'twere  more  honour,  some  were  away. 

Con.  Even  as  yonr  horse  bears  your  praises  ; 
who  would  trot  as  well,  were  some  of  your  brags 
dismounted. 

Dan.  'Would  I  were  able  to  load  him  with  his 
desert!  Will  it  never  be  dav?  I  will  trot  to-mor- 
row a  mile,  and  my  way  shall  be  paved  with  Eng- 
lish faces. 

Con.  I  will  not  say  so,  for  fear  I  should  be 
faced  out  of  mv  way :  But  I  would  it  were  morn- 
ing, for  I  would  fain  be  about  the  ears  of  the 
En<rlish. 

Ram.  Who  will  go  to  hazard  with  me  for  twenty 
English  prisoners  ? 

(3)  Alluding  to  the  bounding  of  tennis-balls, 
which  were  stuffed  with  hair. 


(4)  Soldier. 


(5)  Trowsers, 


Seme  1. 


KING  HENRY  V. 


453 


Con.  You  must  first  go  fourself  to  hazard,  ere 
you  have  them. 

Dau.  'Tis  midnight,  I'll  go  arm  myself.     [Exit. 

Orl.  The  dauphui  longs  lor  morning. 

Ram.  He  longs  to  eat  the  English.  " 

Con.  I  think,  he  will  eat  all  he  kills. 

Orl.  By  the  white  hand  of  my  lady,  he's  a  gal- 
lant prince. 

Con.  Swear  by  her  foot,  that  she  may  tread  out 
the  oath. 

Orl.  He  is,  simply,  the  most  active  gentleman 
of  France. 

Con.  Doing  is  activity :  and  he  will  still  be  doing. 

Orl.  He  never  did  harm,  that  I  heard  of. 

Ccwi.  Nor  will  do  none  to-morrow ;  he  will  keep 
that  (rood  name  still. 

Oi7.  I  know  him  to  be  valiant. 

Con.  I  was  told  that,  by  one  that  knows  him 
belter  than  you. 

Orl.  What's  he? 

Con.  Marry,  he  told  me  so  himself;  and  he  said, 
he  cared  not  who  knew  it. 

Orl.  He  needs  not,  it  is  no  hidden  virtue  in  him 


only  stomachs  to  eat,  and  none  to  fight.  Now  u  K 
time  to  arm :  Come,  shall  we  about  it? 
Orl.  It  is  now  two  o'clock :  but,  let  me  see.— by 
ten,  I.J 

VVc  shall  have  each  a  hundred  Englishmen.  [Exe. 


ACT  IV. 

Enter  Chorus. 

Chor.  Now  entertain  conjecture  of  a  time, 
^Vhen  creeping  murmur,  and  the  poring  dark, 
Fills  the  wide  vessel  of  the  universe. 
From  camp  to  camp,  through  the  foul  womb  of  night. 
The  ham  of  either  army  stilly'  sounds, 
That  the  fix'd  sentinels  almost  receive 
The  secret  whispers  of  each  other's  watch: 
Fire  answers  fire  ;  and  through  thtir  paly  flames 
Each  battle  sees  the  Other's  umber'd*  face : 
Steed  Ihrenlens  steed,  in  high  and  boastful  neigha 
Piercing  the  night's  dull  ear ;  and  from  the  tenu. 
The  armourers,  accomplishir.tr  the  knights, 
Con.  By  my  faith,  sir,  but  it  is;  never  any  bod v.  With  busv  hammers  closing  rivets  up, 
saw  it,  but  his  lackey :  'tis  a  hooded  valour ;  and,  JGivc  drca'dful  note  of  preparation, 
when  it  appears,  it  will  bate.'  iThc  country  cocks  do  crow,  the  clocks  do  toll, 

Orl.  Ill  will  never  said  well.  [And  the  third  hour  of  drowsy  morning  name. 

Con.   I  will  cap  that  proverb  with— There  is  Proud  of  their  numbers,  and  secure  in  soul, 
flattery  in  friendship.  The  confident  and  o^er-lusty»  French 

Orl.  And  I  will  Uke  up  that  with— Give  the  Do  the  low-rated  English  play  at  dice  ; 
devil  his  due.  And  chide  the  cripple  tardy-gaitcd  night. 

Con.  Well  placed  ;  there  stands  your  friend  for  I  Who,  like  a  foul  and  ugly  witch,  doth  limp 
the  devil:  have  at  the  very  eye  of  that  proverb,!  So  tediously  away.  The  poor  condemned  Enghah, 
with — A  pox  of  the  devil.  Like  sacriliccs,  by  their  watchful  fires 


Orl.  You  are  the  better  at  proverbs,  by  how 
much — A  fool's  bolt  is  soon  shot. 
Con.  You  have  shot  over. 
Orl.  'Tis  not  the  first  time  you  were  overshot. 

Eiiler  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  My  lord  high  constable,  the  English  lie 
within  fifrecn  hundred  paces  of  your  tent. 

Con.  Who  hath  measured  the  ground  ? 

JSIess.  The  lord  Grandprt. 

Coii.  A  valiant  and  most  expert  gentleman. — 
Would  it  were  day! — Alas,  poor  Harryof  England! 
— he  lonss  not  for  the  dawnin;!,  as  we  do. 

Orl.  What  a  wretched  and  peevish-  fellow  is 
this  king  of  England,  to  mope  with  his  fat-brained 
followers  so  far  out  of  his  knowledge! 

Con.  If  the  English  had  any  apprehension,  they 
would  rim  away. 

Orl.  That  thev  lack ;  for  if  their  heads  had  any  -     •     •    ,   i,     .v. 

intellectual  armour,  Ihey  could  never  wear  such  A. lariress  universal,  like  the  sun, 
heavv  head- pieces  I  His  liberal  eye  doth  give  to  every  one. 

Rim.  That  island  of  Engbnd  breeds  very  valiant  Thawing  cold  fear.    Then,  mean  and  gentle  afl, 
creatures;  their  mastitis  are  ofunmatchable  courage.  Behold,  as  may  iinworthincss  define, 

Orl.   Foolish  curs!   that  run  winking  into  the  A  little  touch  of  Harry  m  he  night : 
mouth  of  a  Russian  boar,  and  have  their  heads  And  so  our  scene  mu.^  to  the  bat^^^ 
crushed  like  rotten  apples  :  You  may  as  well  say,-  Where  (O  for  pity !)  wc  shall  much  dwgracc- 
thal's  a  valiant  flea,  that  dare  eat  his  breakfast  onhv.th  four  or  five  most  vile  and  ragp«i  foils, 
iht  lin  nf  1  lion  f^'-ht  ill-dispos'd,  lu  bmw  I  ndiculous,— 

C^rJust,  just ;  and  the  men  do  sympathize  withiThc  name  of  Aeineourt :  J.^».  »;' »"d  »«f. ?    .     . 

B  mastifts,in  robustious  and  rough  coming  on,  Mmding"  true  things,  by  what  their  mpckcresbf. 


Sit  patiently,  and  inly  ruminate 
The  morntnp's  danger ;  and  their  gesture  sad, 
Investing  lar.k-Iean  t-h<'eks,  and  ivar-worn  coats, 
Presenteth  them  unto  the  gazing  moon 
I  So  many  horrid  ghosts.     O,  now,  who  will  behold 
jThe  royal  captain  of  this  rtiin'd  band, 
Walking  Iroin  v.ateh  to  watch,  from  tent  to  tent. 
Let  him  cry — Praise  and  glory  on  his  head  ! 
For  forth  he  goes,  and  visits  till  his  host ; 
Bids  them  good-morrow,  with  a  modest  smile ; 
And  calls  them — brothers,  friends,  and  countrymen. 
Ujion  his  royal  face  there  is  no  note. 
How  dread  an  army  hath  cnroundca  him ; 
Nor  doth  he  dedicate  one  jot  of  colour 
Unto  the  weary  and  all-watchcd  night: 
But  freshly  looks,  and  overbears  attaint. 
With  cheerful  semblance,  and  sweet  majesty ; 
That  every  wretch,  pining  and  pale  before. 
Beholding  luin,  plucks  comfort  from  his  looks : 


the  ,-  J    ,.     -  . 

leaving  their  wits  with  their  wives  :  and  then  give 
them  great  meals  of  beef,  and  iron,  and  steel,  they 
will  eat  like  wolves,  and  fiu'ht  like  devils. 

Orl.  Ay,  but  these  English  are  shrewdly  out  of 
beef. 

Con.  Then  we  shall  find  to-morrow— they  have 

(1)  An  equivoque  in  terms  in  falconry:  he  means, 
his  valour  is  hid  from  every  bodv  but  his  lackey, 
and  when  it  appears  it  will  fall  olT. 


[ExU. 

SCEXE  J.—The  English  camp  at  ^gineourt. 
Etiler  King  Henry,  Bedford,  and  Gloster. 

A'.  Hen.  Gloster,  'tis  tru^  that  we  are  in  great 
danger ; 

(2)  Foolish.        (3)  Gently,  lowly. 

(4)  Discoloured  by  the  gleam  of  the  fires. 

(5)  Over-saucv.      (6)  Calling  to  remembranee. 


454 


KING  HENRY  V. 


Mt  IP  : 


The  £;reater  therefore  should  our  courage  be. — 
Good-morrow,  brotlier  Bedford. — God  Almighty', 
There  is  some  soul  of  goodness  in  things  evil, 
Would  men  obscrvingily  distil  it  out ; 
For  our  bad  neij^hbour  makes  us  early  stirrers, 
Which  is  both  healthful,  and  pood  husbandry  : 
Besides,  they  arc  our  outward  consciences, 
And  preachers  to  us  all ;  admonishinfr, 
That  we  should  dress  us  fairly  for  our  end. 
Thus  may  we  gather  honey  from  the  weed, 
And  make  a  moral  of  the  devil  himself. 

Enter  Erpinjhara. 

Good-morrow,  old  sir  Thomas  Erpingham : 
A  good  soft  pillow  for  that  good  white  head 
Were  better  than  a  churlish  turf  of  France. 

£17). ^ Not  so,  my  liege;  this  lodging  likes  me 
better, 
Since  I  may  say — now  lie  I  like  a  king. 

A',  lien.  'Tis  good  for  men  to  love  their  present 
pains. 
Upon  example  ;  so  the  spirit  is  cased : 
And,  when  ihe  mind  is  quickoii'd,  out  of  doubt. 
The  organs,  though  defunct  ai;d  tlcad  before, 
Break  up  their  drowsy  tirave,  and  neivly  move 
With  casted  slouch'  and  fresh  legerity. 2 
Lend  me  thy  cloak,  sir  Thomas. — Brothers  both. 
Commend  me  to  the  princes  in  our  camp  ; 
Do  my  trood-morrow  to  them  ;  and,  anon. 
Desire  tliem  ail  to  my  paviUon. 

Glo.  We  shall,  my  liege.      [Exe.  Glo.  and  Bed. 

Erp.  Shall  I  attend  your  grace? 

K.  Hen.  No,  my  good  knight ; 

Go  with  my  brothers  to  my  lords  of  England  : 
)  and  my  bosom  must  debate  a  while, 
And  then  I  would  no  other  company. 

Erp.  The  Lord  in  heaven  bless  thee,  noble  Harry ! 
[Erit  Erpinghani. 

K.  Hen.  God-a-mercy,  old  heart !  thou  speakest 
cheerfully. 

Enter  Pistol. 

Fist,  (ltd  va  Id  ? 

K.  Hen.  A  friend. 

Pisl.  Discuss  unto  me ;  art  Ib.ou  officer; 
Or  art  f  hou  base,  common,  and  popular  ? 

K.  Hen.  I  am  a  gentleman  of  a  company. 

Pist.  Trailest  thou  the  puissant  pike? 

K.  Hen,  Even  so  :  What  are  you  ? 

Pist.  As  good  a  gentleman  as  the  emperor. 

K.  Hen.  Then  you  are  better  than  the  kinar. 

Pist.  The  kind's  a  ba  wcock,  and  a  heart  of  gold, 
A  lad  of  life,  an  imp'  of  fame; 
Of  parents  good,  of  list  most  valiant: 
I  kiss  his  dirty  shoe,  and  from  my  heart-strings 
I  love  the  lovely  bully.    What's  thy  name  ? 

K.  Hen.  Harry  le  Roy. 

Pist.   Le  Roy !  a  Cornish  name :  art  thou  of 
Cornish  crew  ? 

K.  Hen.  No,  I  am  a  Welshman. 

Pist.  Knowest  thou  Fluellen  ? 

A'.  Hoi.  Yes. 

Pist.  Tell  him,  I'll  knock  his  leek  about  his  pate, 
Upon  Saint  Davy's  day. 

K.  Hen.  Do  not  you  wear  your  dagger  in  your 
cap  that  day,  lest  he  knock  that  about  yours. 

Pist.  Art  thou  his  friend  ? 

K.  Hen.  And  his  kinsman  too. 

Pist.  The /igo  for  thee  then  ! 

K.  Hen.  1  thank  you:  God  be  with  you  ! 

Pist.  My  name  is'Pistol  called.  [Exit. 

(1)  Slough  is  Uic  skinTvhic^  serpents  anni^^Uy 
HiroTVoff, 


K.  Hen.  It  sorts  well*  with  your  fierceness. 
Enter  Fluellen  and  Gowcr,  severally. 

Goto.  Captain  Fluellen ! 

Flu.  So !  in  the  name  of  Chcshu  Christ,  speak 
lower.  It  is  the  greatest  admiiation  in  the  univer- 
sal 'orld,  when  the  true  and  auncient  prerop'atifes 
and  laws  of  the  wars  is  not  kept :  if  you  would  take 
the  pains  but  to  examine  the  wars  of  Pompey  tho 
Great,  you  shall  find,  I  Avarrant  you,  that  there  is 
no  tiiWle  taddie,  or  pibble  pabble,  in  Pompey's 
camp ;  I  warrant  you,  you  shall  find  the  ceremonies 
of  the  wars,  and  the  cares  of  it,  and  the  forms  of 
it,  and  the  sobriety  of  it,  and  the  modesty  of  it,  to 
be  otherwise. 

Gow.  Why,  the  enemy  is  loud;  you  heard  him 
all  night. 

Flu.  If  the  enemy  is  an  ass,  and  a  fool,  and  a 
pratinw  coxcomb,  is  it  meet,  think  you,  that  we 
should  also,  look  you,  be  an  ass,  and  a  fool,  and  a 
prating  coxcomb  ;  in  your  own  conscience  now  ? 

Gow.  I  will  speak  lower. 

Flu.  I  pray  you,  and  beseech  you,  that  you  will. 
[Exeunt  Gower  and  Fluellen. 

K.  Hen.  Though  it  appear  a  little  out  of  fashion, 
There  is  much  care  and  valour  in  this  Welshman. 

Enter  Bates,  Court  and  Williams. 

Court.  Brother  John  Bates,  is  not  that  the  morn- 
ing which  breaks  yonder  ? 

Bates.  I  think  it  be :  but  we  have  no  great  cause 
to  desire  the  approach  of  day. 

Will.  We  see  yoiuler  the  beginning  of  the  day, 
but,  1  think,  we  shall  never  see  the  end  of  it.— 
Who  (Toes  there  ? 

K.  Hen.  A  friend. 

Will.  Under  what  captain  serve  you  ? 

K.  Hen.  Under  sir  Thomas  Erpintrham. 

Will.  A  good  old  commander,  and  a  most  kind 
gentleman :  I  pray  you,  what  thinks  he  ofour  estate  ? 

K.  Hen.  Even  as  men  wrecked  upon  a  sand,  that 
look  to  be  washed  oiflhe  next  tide. 

Bales.  He  hath  not  told  his  thought  to  the  king? 

K.  Hen.  No  ;  nor  it  is  not  meet  he  should.  For, 
though  I  speak  it  to  you,  I  think  the  king  is  but  a 
man,  as  I  am :  the  vfolet  smells  to  him,  as  it  doth 
to  me  ;  the  element  shows  to  him,  as  it  doth  to  me ; 
all  his  senses  have  but  human  conditions : '  his  cere- 
monies laid  by,  in  his  nakedness  he  appears  but  a 
man ;  and  though  his  affections  are  higher  mounted 
than  ours,  yet,  when  they  stoop,  they  stoop  witli 
the  like  wing ;  therefore,  when  he  sees  reason  of 
fears,  as  we  do,  his  fears,  out  of  doubt,  be  of  the 
same  relish  as  ours  are :  Yet,  in  reason,  no  man 
should  possess  him  with  any  appearance  of  fear,  lest 
he,  by  showing  it,  should  (iishearten  his  army. 

Bates.  He  may  show  what  outward  courage  he 
will :  but,  I  believe,  as  cold  a  night  as  'tis,  he  could 
wish  himself  in  the  Thames  up  to  the  neck ;  and  so 
I  would  he  were,  and  I  by  him,  at  all  adventures, 
so  we  were  quit  here. 

K.  Hen.  By  my  troth,  I  will  speak  my  conscience 
of  the  king;  I  think,  he  would  not  wish  himself  any 
where  but  where  he  is. 

Bates.  Then  'would  he  were  here  alone ;  so 
should  he  be  sure  to  be  ransomed,  and  a  many  poor 
men's  lives  saved. 

K.  Hen.  I  dare  say,  you  love  him  not  ro  ill,  to 
wish  him  here  alone  ;'  howsoever  you  speak  this,  tc 
feel  other  men's  minds :  Methinks,  I  couM  not  die 

(2J  Lightness,  nirableness. 

(3)  Son.      (4.)  Agree?,      {^]  qualities. 


Scene/ 


KING  HENRY  V. 


4SS 


any  where  so  contented,  as  in  the  king's  company  ; 
his  cause  being  just,  and  his  quarrel  honourable. 

fViU.  Thai's  more  than  we  know. 

Bates.  Ay,  or  more  than  we  should  seek  after  ; 
for  we  know  enough,  if  we  know  we  are  the  king's 
subjects ;  if  his  cause  be  wrong,  our  obedience  to 
the  king  wipes  Ihe  crime  of  it  out  of  us. 

Will.  But,  if  the  cause  be  not  good,  the  king 
himself  hath  a  heavy  reckoning  to  make ;  when  all 
those  legs,  and  anus,  and  heads,  chopped  oti"  in  a 
battle,  sliail  join  together  at  the  latter  day,'  and 
cry  all — We  died  at  such  a  place ;  some,  swearing ; 
some,  crying  for  a  surgeon ;  some,  upon  their  wives 
left  poor  behind  them ;  some,  upon  the  debts  they 
owe  ;  some,  upon  their  children  rawly-  left.  I  am 
afeard  there  are  few  die  well,  that  die  in  battle ; 
for  how  can  they  charitably  dbposc  of  any  thing, 
ivhen  blood  is  their  argument  /  Now,  if  these  men 
do  not  die  well,  it  will  be  a  black  inatter  for  the 
king  that  led  them  to  it ;  whom  to  disol)ey,  were 
against  all  proportion  of  subjection. 

A'.  Htn.  So,  if  a  son,  that  is  by  his  fatiier  sent 
about  merchandise,  do  sinfully  miscarry  upon  the 
sea,  the  imputation  of  his  wickedness,  by  your  rule, 
should  be  imposed  upon  his  father  that  sent  him:  ori 


K.  Hen.  I  myself  heard  the  king  say,  he  woulit 
not  be  ransomed. 

Will.  Ay,  he  said  so,  to  make  us  fight  cheerfully : 
but,  when  our  throats  are  cut,  he  may  be  ransomed, 
and  we  ne'er  the  wiser. 

K.  Hen.  If  I  live  to  see  it,  I  will  never  trost  his 
word  after. 

Will.  'Mass,  you'll  pay*  him  then !  That's  a  pe- 
rilous shot  out  01  an  elder  »un,  that  a  poor  and  pri- 
vate displeasure  can  do  agamst  a  monarch !  you  may 
as  well  go  about  to  t^m  the  sun  to  ice,  with  fanning 
in  his  face  with  a  peacock's  feather.  You'll  ncTer 
trust  his  word  after !  come,  'tis  a  foolish  saying ! 

A'.  Hen.  Your  reproof  is  something  too  roimd ;' 
I  should  be  angry  with  you,  if  the  time  were  con- 
venient. 

Will.  Let  it  be  a  quarrel  between  us,  if  you  live. 

K.  Hen.  I  embrace  it. 

Will.  How  shall  I  know  thee  again  ? 

A'.  Hen.  Give  me  any  gage  of  thine,  and  I  will  . 
wear  it  in  mv  bonnet :  then,  if  ever  tliou  darest 
acknowledge  it,  I  will  make  it  my  quarrel. 

Will.  Here's  my  glove ;  ^ive  me  another  of  thine. 

A'.  Hen.  There. 

Will.  This  will  I  also  wear  in  my  cap :   if  ever 


if  a  servant,  under  his  master's  command,  transport- jthou  come  to  me  and  say,  after  to-morrow,  This 
ing  a  sum  of  money,  be  assailed  by  robbers,  anddielm^  »^'>  hy  this  hand,  1  will  take  thee  a  box  on 
in  many  irreconcilcd  iniquities,  you  may  call  tlie'theear 


business  of  the  master  the  author  of  \be  servant's 
damnation: — But  this  is  not  so:  the  king  is  not 
bound  to  answer  the  particular  endings  of  his  sol- 
diers, the  father  of  his  son,  nor  the  master  of  hb 
servant;  for  they  purpose  not  their  death,  when 
they  purpose  their  services.  Besides,  there  is  no 
king,  be  his  cause  never  so  spotless,  if  it  come  to 
the  arbitrement  of  swords,  can  try  it  out  with  all 


K.  Hen.  If  ever  I  live  to  see  it,  I  will  challenge  it. 

Will.  Thou  darest  as  well  be  hanged. 

K.  Hen.  Well,  I  will  do  it,  though  I  take  thee 
in  the  king's  company. 

Will.  Keep  thy  word :  fare  thee  well. 

Bales.  Be  friends,  you  English  fools,  be  friends ; 
we  have  French  quarrels  enough,  if  you  could  tell 
how  to  reckon. 


unspotted  soldiers.  Some,  peradventure,  have  on  K.  Hen.  Indeed,  the  French  may  lay  twenty 
them  the  guilt  of  premeditated  and  contrived  niur-' French  crowns  to  one,  they  will  beat  us  ;  for  ther 
der;  some,  of  beguiling  virgins  with  the  broken 'bear  them  on  their  shoulders  :  But  it  is  no  English 
seals  of  perjury :  some,  making  the  wars  their  bul-!  treason,  to  cut  French  crowns ;  and,  to-morrow, 
wark,  that  have  before  gored  the  gentle  bosom  of!  the  king  himself  will  be  a  clipper.    [Exe.  Soldiers. 

Eeace  with  pillage  and  robbery.   Now,  if  these  men  [Upon  the  king  !  let  us  our  lives,  our  souls, 
ave  defeated  the  law,  and  out-run  native  punish-iOur  debts,  our  careful  wives,  our  children,  and 
ment,^  though  they  can  outstrip  men,  they  have  no  Our  sins,  lay  on  the  king ; — we  must  bear  all. 
wings  to  fly  from  God :  war  is  his  beadle,  war  is  O  hard  condition  !  twin-bom  with  greatness, 
his  vengeance  ;  so  that  here  men  are  punished,  fori  Subjected  to  the  breath  of  ever>'  fool, 
before-breach  of  the  king's  laws,  in  now  the  king'sjWhose  sense  no  morccanfeel  but  his  own  wringing! 
quarrel:  where  they  feared  the  death,  they  have  WTiat  infinite  heart's  case  must  kings  neglect, 
borne  life  away;  and  where  they  would  be  safe,!  That  private  men  enjoy? 

they  perish :  Then  if  they  die  unprovided,  no  more  j  And  what  have  kings,  that  privates  have  not  too, 
is  the  kinz  truiltv  of  their  damnation,  than  he  was  i  Save  ceremony,  save  general  ceremony? 
before  guilty  of  those  impieties  for  the  which  they  [And  what  art  thou,  thou  idol  ceremony  ? 
are  now  visited.    Everv  subject's  duty  is  Hie  kind's ;  j  What  kind  of  god  art  thou,  that  suffer'st  more 
but  everv  subject's  soul  is  his  own.     Therefore  Of  mortal  griefs,  than  do  thy  worshippers? 
should  every  soldier  in  the  wars  do  as  every  sick  What  are  thy  rents?  what  are  thy  comings-in? 
man  in  his' bed,  wash  every  mote  out  of  his  con-  O  ceremony,  show  me  but  thy  worth! 
science :  and  dvini  so,  death  is  to  him  advantage  ;  What  is  the  soul  of  adoration  ?* 
or  not  dyinsr,  the  time  ivas  blessedly  lost,  wherein  I  Art  thou  aught  else  but  place,  degree,  and  form, 
such  preparation  was  gained:   and,  in  him  that;  Creating  awe  and  fear  in  otlicr  men? 
escapes,  it  were  not  sin  to  think,  that  making  God  AVherein  thou  art  less  happy  being  fear'd 
.so  free  an  offer,  he  let  him  outlive  that  day  to  see; Than  they  in  fearing. 

his  greatness,  anil  to  teach  others  how  they  should  I  Wliat  drink'st  thou  oft,  instead  of  homage  sweet, 
prepare.  i  But  poison'd  flattery  ?  O,  be  sick,  great  greatness. 

Will.  'Tis  certain,  everv  man  that  dies  ill,  the  i  And  bid  thy  ceremony  give  thee  cure  ! . 
ill  is  upon  his  own  head,  the  king  is  not  to  answer iThink'st  thou,  the  fiery  fever  will  go  out 


for  it. 

Bates.  I  do  not  desire  he  should  answer  for  me ; 
and  yet  I  dettrminc  to  fight  lustily  for  him. 

( 1 )  The  last  day,  the  day  of  judgment. 

(2)  Suddenlv. 

(3)  i.  e.  Punishment  in  their  native  country. 

(4)  To  pay  hjre  signiljes  to  brinff  to  account^  to 
punish 


With  titles  blown  from  adulation  ? 

Will  it  arive  place  to  flexure  and  low  bending  ? 

Canst  thou,  when  thou  command'st  the  be^ar's 

knee. 
Command  the  health  of  it  ?  No,  thou  proud  dream, 

(5)  Too  rough. 

(6) '  What  fs  the  real  worth  pnd  |nt|insic  ra^uQ 
ipf  adoration?' 


466 


KING  HENRY  V. 


4ct  IF. 


That  play'st  so  subtly  with  a  king's  repose ; 

I  am  a  king,  that  find  thee ;  and  1  know, 

'Tis  not  the  balm,  the  sceptre,  and  the  ball, 

The  sword,  the  mace,  the  crown  imperial, 

The  inter-tissued  robe  of  gold  and  pearl. 

The  farced'  title  running  'fore  the  kinu. 

The  throne  he  sits  on,  nor  the  tide  of  pomp 

That  beats  upon  the  high  shore  of  this  world, 

No,  not  all  these,  thrice-gorgeous  ceremony, 

Not  all  these,  laid  in  bed  majestical, 

Can  sleep  so  soundly  as  the  wretched  slave  ; 

Who,  with  a  body  fill'd,  and  vacant  mind. 

Gets  him  to  rest^  cramm'd  with  distressful  bread  ; 

Never  sees  horrid  night,  the  child  of  hell ; 

But,  like  a  lackey,  from  the  rise  to  set. 

Sweats  in  the  eye  of  Phoebus,  and  all  night 

Sleeps  in  Elysium ;  next  day,  after  dawn. 

Doth  rise,  and  help  Hyperion^  to  his  horse ; 

And  follows  so  the  ever-running  year, 

With  profitable  labour,,  to  his  grave : 

And,  but  for  ceremony,  such  a  wretch, 

Winding  up  days  with  toil,  and  nights  with  sleep, 

Had  the  fore-hand  and  vantage  ofa  king. 

The  slave,  a  member  of  the  country's  peace. 

Enjoys  it ;  but  in  gross  brain  little  wots, 

What  watch  the  king  keeps  to  maintain  the  peace, 

Whose  hours  the  peasant  best  advantages. 

Enter  Erpingham. 
Erp.  My  lord,  your  nobles,  jealous  of  your  ab- 
sence, 
Seek  through  your  camp  to  find  you. 

K.  Hen.  Good  old  knight, 

Collect  them  all  together  at  my  tent : 
I'll  be  before  thee. 
Erp.  I  shall  do't,  my  lord.       [Exit. 

K.  Hen.  O  God  of  battles !  steel  my  soldiers' 
hearts ! 
Possess  them  not  with  fear ;  take  from  them  now 
The  sense  of  reckoning,  if  the  opposed  numbers 
Pluck  their  hearts  from  them ! — Not  to-day,  O  Lord, 

0  not  to-day,  think  not  updn  the  fault 
My  father  made  in  compassing  the  crown ! 

1  Richard's  body  have  interred  new  ; 
And  on  it  have  bestow'd  more  contrite  tears. 
Than  from  it  issued  forced  drops  of  blood. 
Five  hundred  poor  I  have  in  yearly  pay, 
Who  twice  a  day  their  wither'd  hands  hold  up 
Towards  heaven,  to  pardon  blood ;  and  I  have  built 
Two  chantries,  where  the  sad  and  solemn  priests 
Sing  still  for  Richard's  soul.    More  will  I  do : 
Though  all  that  I  can  do,  is  nothing  worth  ; 
Since  that  my  penitence  comes  after  all. 
Imploring  pardon. 

Enter  Gloster. 
Glo.  My  liege ! 

K.  Hen.        My  brother  Gloster's  voice  ? — Ay ; 
I  know  thy  errand,  I  will  go  with  thee : — 
The  day,  my  friends,  and  all  things,  stay  for  me. 

[Exe]int. 

SCEJ^E  n.—The  French  camp.   Enter  Dauphin, 
Orleans,  Rambures,  and  others. 

Orl.  The  sun  doth  gild  our  armour ;  up,  my  lords. 
Dau.  Montez  a  chevai : — My  horse !  valet !  lac- 
quay  /  ha ! 
Orl.  O  brave  spirit ! 

(1 )  FarCiCd  is  stuffed.   The  tumid  puffy  titles  with 
vhicn  a  king's  name  is  introduced. 

(2)  The  sun. 

(S)  An  old  encouraging  exclamation. 
(4)  Do  them  out  extinguish  them. 


Dau.  Via ." — les  eaux  et  la  lerre 

Orl.  Rien  puis  ?  I' air  etlefm 

Dau.  del !  cousin  Orleans 

Enter  Constable. 
Now,  my  lord  constable ! 

Ccm.  Hark,  how  our  steeds  for  present  service 

neigh. 
Dau.  Mount  them,  and  make  incision  in  their 
hides  ; 
That  their  hot  blood  may  spin  in  English  eyes, 
And  dout*  them  with  superfluous  courage :  Ha ! 
Ram.    What,  will  vou   have   them  weep  our 
horses'  blood  ? 
How  shall  we  then  behold  their  natural  tears? 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  The  English  are  embattled,  jou  French 

peers. 
Con.  To  horse,  you  gallant  princes  !  straight  to 

horse  ! 
Do  but  behold  yon  poor  and  starved  band, 
And  your  fair  snow  shall  suck  away  their  souls, 
Leaving  them  but  the  shales  and  husks  of  men. 
There  is  not  work  enough  for  all  our  hands  ; 
Scarce  blood  enough  in  all  their  sickly  veins. 
To  give  each  naked  curtle-axe  a  stain. 
That  our  French  gallants  shall  to-day  draw  out, 
And  sheath  for  lack  of  sport :  let  us  but  blow  on 

them, 
The  vapour  of  our  valour  will  o'erturn  theai. 
'Tis  positive  'gainst  all  exceptions,  lords. 
That  our  superfluous  lackeys,  and  our  peasants,— 
Who,  in  unnecessary  action,  swarm 
About  our  scjuares  of  battle, — were  enough 
To  purge  this  field  of  such  a  hilding'  foe  ; 
Though  we,  upon  this  mountain's  Basis  by, 
Took  stand  for  idle  speculation  : 
But  that  our  honours  must  not.    What's  to  say? 
A  very  little  little  let  us  do. 
And  all  is  done.    Then  let  the  trumpets  sound 
The  tucket-sonuance,*  and  the  note  to  mount : 
For  our  approach  shall  so  much  dare  the  field. 
That  England  shall  crouch  down  in  fear,  and  yield. 

Enttr  Grandpr^. 

Grand.  Why  do  you  stay  so  long,  my  lords  of 
France  ? 
Yon  island  carrions,  desperate  of  their  bones, 
lU-favour'dly  become  the  morning  field : 
Their  raggej  curtains'  poorly  are  let  loose. 
And  our  air  shakes  them  passing  scornfully. 
Big  Mars  seems  bankrupt  in  their  beggar'd  host. 
And  faintly  through  a  rusty  beaver  peeps. 
Their  horsemen  set  like  fixed  candlesticks. 
With  torch-staves  in  their  hand :  and  their  poor  jade* 
Lob  down  their  heads,  dropping  the  hides  and  hips  ; 
The  gum  down-roping  from  their  pale-dead  eyes  ; 
And  in  their  pale  dull  mouths  the  gimmal'  bit 
Lies  foul  with  chew'd  grass,  still  and  motionless ; 
And  their  executors,  the  knavish  crows. 
Fly  o'er  them  all,  impatient  for  their  hour. 
Description  cannot  suit  itself  in  words, 
To  demonstrate  the  life  of  such  a  battle 
In  life  so  lifeless  as  it  shows  itself. 

Con.  They  have  said  their  prayers,  and  they  stay 
for  death. 

Dau.  Shall  we  go  send  them  dinners,  and  fresh 
suits, 

(5)  Mean,  despicable. 

(6)  The  name  of  an  introductory  flourish  on  the 
trumpet. 

(7)  Colours.  (8)  Ring. 


BeeiuUL 


KING  HENRY  V. 


And  g^ve  their  fasting  horses  proTcnder, 
And  after  fight  with  them  ? 

Con.  I  stay  but  for  my  guard ;  On,  to  the  field  : 
I  will  the  banner  from  a  trumpet  take, 
And  use  it  for  my  haste.     Come,  come  away ! 
The  sun  is  high,  and  we  outwear  the  day.      [Exe, 

SCEJ^E  III.— The  English  camp.  Enter  the 
English  host;  Gloster,  Bedford,  Exeter,  Salis- 
bury, and  Westmoreland. 

Glo.  Where  is  the  king  ? 

Bed.  The  king  himselfis  rode  to  view  their  battle. 

West.  Of  fighting  men  they  have  full  threescore 
thousand. 

Exe.  There's  five  to  one :  besides,  they  all  arc 
fresh. 

Sal.  God's  arm  strike  with  us !  'tis  a  fearful  odds. 
God  be  wi'  you,  princes  all !  'I'll  to  my  charge : 
If  we  no  more  meet,  till  we  meet  in  heaven, 
Then,  joyfully,— my  noble  lord  of  Bedford, — 
My  dear  lord  Gloster, — and  my  good  lord  Exeter, — 
And  my  kind  kinsman, — warriors  all,  adieu  ! 

Bed.  Farewell,  good  Salisbury  ;  and  good  luck 
go  with  thee ! 

Exe.  Farewell,  kind  lord ;  fight  valiantly  to-day: 
And  yet  I  do  thee  wrong,  to  mind  thee  of  it. 
For  thou  art  fram'd  of  the  firm  truth  of  valour. 

[Exit  Salisbury. 

Bed.  He  is  as  full  of  valour,  as  of  kindness : 
Princely  in  both. 

West.  0  that  we  now  had  here 

Enter  King  Henry. 
But  one  ten  thousand  of  those  men  in  England, 
That  do  no  work  to-day ! 

K.  Hen.  ^  ^Vhat's  he  that  wishes  so  ? 

My  cousin  Westmoreland  ? — No,  my  fair  cousin : 
If  we  are  mark'd  to  die,  we  are  enough 
To  do  our  country  loss;  and  if  to  live. 
The  fewer  men,  the  greater  share  of  honour. 
God's  will !  I  pray  thee,  wish  not  one  man  more. 
'By  Jove,  I  am  not  covetous  for  gold  ; 
N  or  care  I,  who  doth  feed  upon  my  cost ; 
It  yearns'  me  not,  if  men  my  garments  wear ; 
Such  outward  things  dwell  not  in  my  desires  : 
But,  if  it  be  a  sin  to  covet  honour, 
I  am  the  most  offending  soul  alive. 
No,  'faith,  my  coz,  wish  not  a  man  from  England : 
God's  peace !  I  would  not  lose  so  great  an  honour. 
As  one  man  more,  methinks,  would  share  from  me, 
For  the  best  hope  I  have.  O,  do  not  wish  one  more : 
Rather  proclaim  it,  Westmoreland,  through  my  host, 
That  he,  which  hath  no  stomach  to  this  fight, 
Let  him  depart  ;  his  passport  shall  be  made, 
And  crowns  for  convoy  put  into  J.Js  purse  : 
We  would  not  die  in  that  man's  company. 
That  fears  his  fellowship  to  die  with  us. 
This  day  is  call'd — the  feast  of  Crispian  : 
He,  that  outlives  this  day,  and  comes  safe  home, 
Will  stand  a  tip-toe  when  this  day  is  nam'd, 
And  rouse  him  at  the  name  of  Crispian. 
He,  that  shall  live  this  day,  and  see  old  age, 
Will  yearly  on  the  vigil  feast  his  friends. 
And  say — to-morrow  is  Saint  Crispian  : 
Then  will  he  strip  his  sleeve,  and  show  his  scars. 
And  say,  these  wounds  I  had  on  Crispin's  day. 
Old  men  forget ;  yet  all  shall  be  forgot. 
But  he'll  remember,  with  advantages. 
What  feats  he  did  that  day:  Then  shall  our  names. 
Familiar  in  their  mouths  as  household  words, — 

nj  Grieves. 

(2)  i.  e.  This  day  shall  advance  h'm  to  the  rank 
of  a  gentleman. 


Harry  the  king,  Bedford,  and  Exeter, 

Warwick  and  Talbot,  Salisbury  and  Gloster,— 

Be  in  their  flowing  cups  freshly  remember'd : 

This  story  shall  the  good  man  teach  his  son ; 

And  Crispin  Crispian  shall  ne'er  go  by. 

From  this  day  to  the  ending  of  the  world, 

But  we  in  it  shall  be  remembered : 

We  few,  we  happy  few,  we  band  of  brothers ; 

For  he,  to-day  that  sheds  his  blood  with  me. 

Shall  be  my  brother  ;  be  he  ne'er  so  vile, 

This  day  shall  gentle  his  condition :» 

And  gentlemen  in  England,  now  a-bed, 

Shall  think  themselves  accurs'd,  they  were  not  here ; 

And  hold  their  manhoods  cheap,  while  any  spealu, 

Ttat  fought  with  us  upon  St.  Crispin's  day. 

Enter  Salbbury. 
Sal.  My  sovereign  lord,  bestow  yourself  with 
speed: 
The  French  are  bravelv'  in  their  battles  set, 
And  will  with  all  expedience*  charge  on  us. 
K.  Hen.  All  things  are  ready,  if  our  minds  be  so. 
West.  Perish  the  man,  whose  mind  is  backward 

now! 
K.  Hen.  Thou  dost  not  wish  more  help  from 

England,  cousin  ? 
West.  God's  will,  my  liege,  'would  you  and  I 
alone, 
Withotit  more  help,  might  fight  this  battle  out ! 
K.  Hen.    Why,    now  thou  hast  unwish'd  five 
thousand  men ; 
Which  likes  me  better,  than  to  wish  us  one. — 
You  know  your  places :  God  be  with  you  all ! 

Tucket.    Enter  Monljoy. 

Mont.  Once  more  I  come  to  know  of  thee,  king 
Harry, 
If  for  thy  ransom  thou  wilt  now  compound. 
Before  thy  most  assured  overthrow : 
For,  certainly,  thou  art  so  near  the  gxilf. 
Thou  needs  must  be  ensluttcd. — Besides,  in  mercy. 
The  constable  desires  thee  thou  wilt  mind' 
Thy  followers  of  repentance  ;  that  their  souls 
May  make  a  peaceful  and  a  sweet  retire 
From  off  these  fields,  where  (wretches)  their  poor 

bodies  n 

Must  lie  and  fester. 

K.  Hen.  Who  hath  sent  thee  now  7 

J\Iont.  The  constable  of  France. 

K.  Hen.  I  pray  thee,  bear  my  former  answer  back  j 
Bid  them  achieve  me,  and  then  sell  my  bones. 
Good  God!  why  should  they  mock  poor  fellows 

thus? 
The  man,  that  once  did  sell  the  lion's  skin 
While  the  beast  liv'd,  was  kill'd  with  hunting  him, 
A  many  of  our  bodies  shall,  no  doubt, 
Find  native  graves  ;  upon  the  which,  I  trust. 
Shall  witness  live  in  brass'  of  this  day's  work : 
And  those  that  leave  their  valiant  bones  in  France, 
Dying  like  men,  though  buried  in  your  duncrhills, 
Tncy  shall  be  fam'd ;  for  there  the  sun  shall  greet 

them. 
And  draw  their  honours  reeking  up  to  heaven ; 
Leaving  their  earthly  parts  to  choke  your  clime. 
The  smell  whereof  shall  breed  a  plague  m  France. 
Mark  then  a  bounding  valour  in  our  English; 
That,  being  dead,  like  to  the  bullet's  grazing, 
Break  out  into  a  second  course  of  mischief, 
Killing  in  relapse  of  mortality. 
Let  me  speak  proudly*— Tell  the  constable, 

(3)  Gallantly.     (4)  Expedition.     (5)  Remind. 
(6)  t.  e.  In  brazen  plates  anciently  let  into  iomb- 
stones. 

8M 


458 


KING  HENRY  V. 


Jet  IF 


We  are  but  warriors  for  the  working-day : ' 
Our  gayness,  and  our  gilt,^  arc  all  besmirch'd' 
With  rainy  marching  in  the  painful  field  ; 
There's  not  a  piece  of  feather  in  our  host, 
(Good  argument,  I  hope,  we  shall  not  fly,) 
And  time  hath  worn  us  into  slovcnry  : 
But,  by  the  mass,  our  hearts  are  in  the  trim : 
And  my  poor  soldiers  tell  me — ^yet  ere  night 
They'll  be  in  fresher  robes  ;  or  they  will  pluck 
The  gay  new  coats  o'er  the  French  soldiers'  heads, 
And  turn  them  out  of  service.    If  they  do  this, 
(As,  if  God  please,  they  shall,)  my  ransom  then 
tVili  soon  be  levied.   Herald,  save  thou  thy  labour ; 
Come  thou  no  more  for  ransom,  gentle  herald  ; 
They  shall  have  none,  I  swear,  but  these  my  joints : 
Which  if  they  have  as  I  will  leave  'em  to  them, 
Shall  yield  them  tittle,  tell  the  constable. 

J\Ioiit.  I  shall,  king  Harry.  And  so  fare  thee  well ; 
Thou  never  shall  hear  herald  any  more.         [Exit. 

K.  Hen.  I  fear,  thou'ltoncc  more  come  again  for 
ransom. 

Enter  Ihe  Duke  of  York. 

York.  My  lord,  most  humbly  on  ray  knee  I  beg 
The  leading  of  the  vaward.* 
K.  Hen.  Take  it,  brave  York. — Nov/,  soldiers, 
march  away : — 
4.nd  how  thou  pleasest,  God,  dispose  liie  day ! 

[Exeunt. 

SCE^N'E  ir.—Thc-  field  of  bailie.  Alarums: 
Excursions.  Enter  French  Soldier,  Pistol,  and 
Boy. 

Pist.  Yield,  cur. 

Fr.  Sol.  Jepense,  que  vous  estes  le  genlUhomme 
de  bonne  qualilc. 

Pist.  Quality,  call  you  me  ? — Construe  me,  art 
thou  a  crentlcman?  What  is  thy  name?  discuss. 

Fr.  Sol.  0  seigneur  LHeu ! 

Pist.  O,  signieur  Dew  should  be  a  gentleman : — 
Perpend  mv  words,  O  signieur  Dew,  and  mark; — 
O  signieur  Dew,  thou  diest  on  point  of  fox,^ 
Except,  O  signieur,  thou  do  give  to  me 
Egregious  ransom. 

Fr.  Sol.  O,  prennez  misericorde !  ayez  pitie  de 
mot/.' 

Pist.  Moy  shall  not  serve,  I  will  have  forty  moys ; 
For  I  will  fetch  thy  rim"  out  at  thy  throat, 
In  drops  of  crimson  blood. 

Fr.  Sol.  Est-il  impossible  iPeschapper  la  fm-ce 
de  ton  bras  ? 

Pist.  Brass,  cur ! 
Thou  damned  and  luxurious'  mountain  goat, 
Offer'st  me  brass  ? 

Fr.  Sol.  O  pardonnez  moy  ! 

Pist.  Say'stthou  me  so?  is  that  a  ton  of  moys  ?' — 
Come  hither,  boy  ;  Ask  me  this  slave  in  French, 
What  is  his  name. 

Boy.  Escoutcz;  Comment  esles-vous  appelU  7 

Fr.  Sol.  Monsieur  le  Per. 

Boy.  He  says,  his  name  in — master  Fer. 

Pist.  Master  Fer !  I'll  fer  him,  and  firk'  him,  and 
ferret  him :— discuss  the  same  in  French  unto  him. 

Boy.  I  do  not  know  the  French  lor  fer,  and  fer- 
rety and  firk. 

Pist.  Bid  him  prepare,  for  I  will  cut  his  throat. 

Fr.  Sol.  Que  dit-il,  monsieur  1 

Boy.    II  me  commande  de  vous  dire  que  vous 
» 

(1)  We  are  soldiers  but  coarsely  dressed. 

(2)  Golden  show,  superficial  gilding. 

(3)  Soiled.        (4)  Vanguard. 

(5)  An  old  cant  word  for  a  sword,  so  called  from 
t  ruinous  sword-cutler  of  tlje  name  of  Fox, 


i/ottes  vous  prest ;  car  ce  soldat  icy  est  disposi  taui 
a  cetle  heure  de  couper  vostre  gorge. 

Pist.  Ouy,  couper  gorge,  par  ma  foy,  pesant, 
Unless  thou  give  me  crowns,  brave  crowns  ; 
Or  mangled  shalt  thou  be  by  this  my  sword. 

Fr.  Sol.  O,  je  vous  siipplie  pour  Vamour  de 
Dieu,  me  pardonner !  Je  suis  gentilhomme  de  bonne 
maison .-  gardez  ma  vie,  tl  je  vcus  donneray  deux 
cents  escus. 

Pist.  What  are  liis  words  ? 

Boy.  He  prays  you  to  save  his  life:  he  is  a  gen- 
tleman of  a  good  house  ;  and,  for  his  ransom,  he 
will  give  you  two  hundred  crowns, 

Pist.  lell  him, — my  fury  shall  abate,  and  I 
The  crowns  will  take. 

Fr.  Sol.  Pelit  monsieur,  que  dU-il  ? 

Boy.  E)u:ore  qu^U  est  contre  son  juremenl,  de 
pardonner  uucun  prisonnier ;  neantnioins,  pour 
les  escus  que  vous  Pavez  pi'omis,  il  est  content  de 
vous  donner  la  libertd,  le  franchisement. 

Fr.  Sol.  Sur  mes  genoux,  je  vous  donne  mille 
remerciemens :  et  je  m^estime  heureux  que  je  suis 
tombe  entre  les  mains  d^un  chevalier,  je  pense,  le 
plus  brave,  valiant,  ct  Ires  distingue  seigneur 
d^Jlngleterre. 

Pist.  Expound  unto  me,  boy. 

Boy.  He  (rives  you,  upon  his  knees,  a  thousand 
thanks :  and  he  esteems  himself  happv  that  he  hath 
fallen  ijito  the  hands  of  (as  he  tiiinlcs)  the  most 
brave,  valorous,  and  thrice- worthy  signieur  of 
Encrland. 

Pist.  As  I  suck  blood,  I  will  some  mercy  show. — 
Follow  me,  cur.  [Exit  Pistol. 

Boy.  Huivez  vous  le  grand  capilaine. 

[Exit  French  Soldier. 
I  did  never  know  so  full  a  voice  issue  from  so  empty 
a  heart :  but  the  saying  is  true, — The  empty  vessel 
makes  the  greatest  sound.  Bardolph,  and  Nym, 
had  ten  times  more  valour  than  this  roaring  devil 
i'thc  old  play,  that  every  one  may  pare  his  nails 
with  a  wooden  dagger ;  and  they  are  both  hanged  ; 
and  so  would  this'be,  if  he  durst  steal  any  thing 
adventurously.  I  must  slay  with  the  lackeys,  with 
the  baggage  of  our  camp:  the  French  might  have 
a  good  prey  of  us,  if  he  iuiew  of  it ;  for  there  is  none 
to  guard  it,  but  boys.  [Exit. 

SCEJ\rE  v.— Another  part  of  the  field  of  battle. 
Alarums.  Enter  Dauphin,  Orleans,  Bourbon, 
Constable,  Rambures,  and  others. 

Con.  Odiable! 

Orl.    0  seigneur! — le  jour  est  perdu,  tout  est 
perdu  ! 

Dau.  Mort  de  ma  vie !  all  is  confounded,  all ! 
Reproach  and  everlastins  shatrfe 
Sits  mocking  in  our  plumes.— 0  meschante  for^ 

tune ! — 
Do  not  run  away.  [A  short  alannn. 

Con,  Why,  all  our  ranks  are  broke. 

Dau.  O perdurable'" shame! — lel'sstab ourselves. 
Be  these  the  wretches  that  we  play'd  at  dice  for  ? 

Orl.  Is  this  the  king  we  sent  to  for  his  ransom  ? 

Bour.  Shame,  and  eternal  shame,  nothing  but 
shame ! 
Let  us  die  instant :  Once  more  back  again  ; 
And  ho  that  will  not  follow  Bourbon  now. 
Let  him  go  hence,  and,  with  his  cap  in  hand, 
Like  a  base  pander,  hoW  the  chamber-door, 
Whilst  by  a  slave,  no  gentler  than  my  dog,'« 

(G)  The  diaphragm.  (7)  Lascivious, 

(S)  Pieces  of  money.  (9)  Chastise. 

(lOJ  Lastinjr. 
(11)  t.  c,  Who  has  no  wore  gentility, 


Scene  PI,  VIL 


KING  HENRY  V. 


45!) 


His  fairest  daughter  is  containliiate. 

Con .  Disorder,  that  hath  spoil'd  us,  friend  us  now ! 
Let  us,  in  heaps,  go  offer  up  our  lives 
Unto  these  English,  or  else  die  witli  fame. 

Orl.  We  are  enough,  yet  living  in  the  field, 
To  smother  up  the  English  in  our  throngs. 
If  any  order  misrht  be  thought  upon. 

Bo'ur.  The  devil  take   order  noAV !  I'll  to  the 
throng ; 
Let  life  be  short ;  else,  shame  will  be  too  long. 

[Exeunt. 

SCEJ^E  VL—inothtr  part  of  the  field.— ,ila- 
runis.  Enter  King  Henry  a»ia  forces  ;  Exeter, 
and  others. 

K.  Hen.   Well    have   we  done,    thrice-valiant 
countrymen  : 
But  all's  not  done,  yet  keep  the  French  the  field. 

Exe.  The  duke  of  York  commends  him  to  your 
majesty. 

K'.  Ile-A.  Lives  he,  good  uncle  ?  thrice,  within 
this  hour, 
I  saw  him  down  ;  thrice  up  aeain,  and  fighting ; 
From  helmet  to  the  spur,  all  blood  he  was. 

Exe.  In  which  array  (brave  soldier)  doth  he  lie,i 
Larding  the  plain  :  and  by  his  bloody  side 
(Vokc-fcllow  to  his  honour-owing  wounds,) 
The  noble  earl  of  Suffolk  also  lies, 
Suffolk  first  died ;  and  York,  all  haggled  over, 
Comes  to  him,  where  in  gore  he  lay  insleep'd, 
And  takes  him  by  the  beard  ;  kisses  the  gashes, 
That  bloodily  did  yawn  upon  his  face ; 
And  cries  aloud, — Tarry,  dear  cousin  SuffbU:  ! 
Jtfy  soul  shall  thine  keep  company  to  heaven  : 
Tarry,  sweet  smd,  for  mine,  then  fly  a-breust ; 
Jin,  in  this  glorious  and  welUfrntghten  field. 
We  kept  together  in  cur  chivalni ! 
Upon  these  words  1  came,  and  cheer'd  him  nn : 
He  smil'd  me  in  the  face,  raught'  me  his  hand. 
And,  with  a  feeble  gripe,  says, — Dear  my  lord. 
Commend  my  service  to  my  sovereigji. 
So  did  he  turn,  and  over  Suffolk's  neck 
He  threw  his  wounded  arm,  and  kiss'd  his  lips  ; 
And  so,  espous'd  to  death,  with  blood  he  seal'd 
A  testament  of  noble-ending  love. 
The  pretty  and  sweet  manner  of  it  forc'd 
Those  waters  from  me,  which  I  would  have  stopp'd ; 
But  I  had  not  so  much  of  man  in  me, 
But  all  my  mother  came  into  mine  eyes. 
And  gave  me  up  to  tears. 

K.  Hen.  I  blame  you  not ; 

For,  hearing  this,  I  must  perforce  compound 
With  mistful  eyes,  or  they  will  issue  too.— [^ilarum. 
But  hark !  what  new  alarum  is  this  same  ? — 
The  French  have  reinforc'd  their  scatter'd  men : — 
Then  every  soldier  kill  his  prisoners ; 
Give  the  word  through.  [Exeunt. 

SCE^^E    rn.— .Another  vart  of  the  field.    Ala- 
rums.   Enter  Fluellen  and  Gower. 

Flu.  Kill  the  povs  and  the  luggage !  'tis  ex- 
pressly against  the  law  of  arms :  'tis  as  arrant  a 
piece  of  knavery,  mark  you  now,  as  can  be  offered, 
in  the  'orld :  In  your  conscience  now,  is  it  not? 

Gow.  'Tis  certain,  there's  not  a  boy  left  alive  ; 
and  the  cowardly  rascals,  that  ran  from  the  battle, 
have  done  this  slaughter :  besides,  they  have  burned 
dnd  carried  away  all  that  was  in  the  king's  tent: 
wherefore  the  king,  most  worthily,  hath  caused 
CTery  soldier  to  cut  his  prisoner's  throat.  O,  'tis 
gallant  king !  , ,  .  . 

Flu.  Ay,  he  was  porn  at  Monmouth,  captam 


ID  ReachcO. 


(?)  Scour, 


Gower :  What  Call  you  the  town's  name  where 
Alexander  the  pig  was  bom  ? 

Gow.  Alexander  the  great. 

Flu.  Why,  I  pray  you,  is  not  pig,  great?  The 
pig,  or  the  great,  or  the  mighty,  or  the  Tiuge,  or  the 
magnanimous,  are  all  one  reckoning,  save  the 
phrase  is  a  little  variations. 

Goto.  I  think,  Alexander  the  great  was  horn  in 
Macedon ;  his  father  was  called — Philip  of  Mace- 
don,  as  I  take  it. 

Fiu.  I  think,  it  is  in  Macedon,  where  Alexander 
is  porn.  I  tell  you,  captain, — If  you  look  in  the 
maps  of  the  'orld,  I  warrant,  you  shall  find,  in  the 
comparisons  between  Macedon  and  Monmouth, 
that  the  situations,  look  you,  is  both  alike.  There 
is  a  river  in  Macedon  ;  and  there  is  also  moreover 
a  river  at  Monmouth  ;  it  is  called  AVye,  nt  Mon- 
mouth: but  it  is  out  of  my  prains,  what  is  the  name 
of  the  other  rivtr ;  but  'tis  all  one,  'tis  so  like  as 
my  fingers  is  to  my  finsrers,  and  there  is  salmons  in 
both.  If  you  mark  Alexander's  life  well,  Harry 
of  ^lonmouth's  life  is  come  after  it  indifferent  well ; 
for  there  is  ficrures  in  all  things.  Alexander,  (God 
knows,  and  you  know,)  in  his  rages,  and  his  furies, 
and  his  wraths,  and  his  chnlers,  and  his  moods,  and 
his  displeasures,  and  his  indignations,  and  also  being 
a  little  intoxicates  in  his  prains,  did,  in  his  ales  and 
his  angers,  look  you,  kill  his  pest  friend,  Clytus. 

Go^r.  Our  king  is  not  like  him  in  that :  he  never 
killed  any  of  his  friends. 

Flu.  It  is  not  Avell  done,  mark  you  now,  to  take 
tales  out  of  my  mouth,  ere  it  is  made  an  end  and 
finished.  I  speak  but  in  the  figures  and  compari- 
sons of  it :  As  Alexander  is  kill  his  friend  Clvtus, 
being  in  his  ales  and  his  cups  ;  so  also  Harry  Mon- 
mouth, in  right  wits  and  his  eoot  judgments,  is 
turn  away  the  fat  knight  with  the  great  pelly  doub- 
let :  he  was  full  of  jests,  and  gipcs,  and  knaveries, 
and  mocks ;  I  am  forget  his  name. 

Gou^.  Sir  John  Falstafl: 

J7k.  That  is  he:  I  can  tell  you,  there  is  goot 
men  porn  at  Monmouth. 

Gcxc.  Here  comes  his  majesty. 

^^lantm.  Enter  King  Henry,  with  a  part  of  the 
English  forces ;  Warwick,  Gloster,  Exeter,  and 
others. 

K.  Hen.  I  was  not  angry  Since  I  came  to  France 
Until  this  instant. — Take  a  trumpet,  herald  ; 
Ride  thou  unto  the  horsemen  on  yon  hill  ; 
If  they  will  fight  v/ith  u«,  bid  them  come  down, 
Or  void  the  field  ;  they  do  ollend  our  sicht : 
If  they'll  do  neither,  we  will  come  to  them. 
And  make  them  skirr'-"  away,  as  swift  as  stones 
Enforced  from  the  old  Assyrian  slings : 
Besides,  we'll  cut  the  throats  of  those  we  hare ; 
And  not  a  man  of  them,  that  we  shall  take. 
Shall  taste  our  mercy: — Go,  and  tell  them  so. 

Enter  Montjoy. 

Exe.  Here  comes  the  herald  of  the  French,  my 
liege. 

Glo.  His  eyes  are  humbler  than  they  us'd  to  be. 

K.  Hen.  How  now,  what  means  this,  herald  7 
know'st  thou  not. 
That  I  have  fin'd  these  bones  of  mine  for  ransom  7 
Com'st  thou  again  for  ransom  ? 

Jilont.  No,  great  king: 

I  come  to  thee  for  charitable  license, 
That  we  may  wander  o'er  this  bloody  field, 
To  book  our  dead,  and  then  to  bury  them  ; 
To  sort  our  nobles  from  our  common  men  ; 
For  many  of  our  princes  (wo  the  while  !) 
tie  4r9wn'4  and  po^W^  in  mercenary  bioQ^; 


460 


KING  HENRY  V. 


^cl  ir. 


(So  do  our  vulgar  drench  their  peasant  limbs 
In  blood  of  princes  ;)  and  their  wounded  steeds 
Fret  fetlock  deep  in  ^ore,  and,  with  wild  rage, 
Yerk  out  their  armed  heels  at  their  dead  masters, 
Killing  them  twice.     0,  give  us  leave,  great  king, 
To  view  the  field  in  safety,  and  dispose 
Of  their  dead  bodies. 

K.  Hen.  I  tell  thee  trulj,  herald, 

I  know  not,  if  the  day  be  ours,  or  no  ; 
For  yet  a  many  of  your  horsemen  peer. 
And  gallop  o'er  the  field. 

J\Iont.  The  day  is  yours. 

K.  Hen.  Praised  be  God,  and  not  our  strength, 
for  it  !— 
What  is  this  castle  call'd,  tliat  stands  hard  by  ? 

J\tont.  They  call  it, — Agincourt. 

A'.  Hen.  Then  call  we  this — the  field  of  Agin- 
court, 
Fought  on  tiic  day  of  Crispin  Crispianus. 

Flu.  Your  "^'raiidlalher  of  lainous  memory,  an't 
please  your  maj'jsty,  and  your  great-uncle  Eld  ward 
the  plack  prince  of  Wales,  as  I  have  read  in  the 
chronicles,  lought  a  most  prave  pattie  here  in 
France. 

K.  Hen.  They  did,  Fluellcn. 

nM.  Your  majesty  savs  very  true:  if  your  ma- 
jesties is  remembered  of  it,  the  Welshman  did  eoot 
service  in  a  2;arden  where  leeki  did  grow,  wearing 
leeks  in  their  Monmouth  caps ;  which,  your  majestj- 
knows,  to  this  hour  is  an  honourable  pudge  of  the 
service ;  and,  I  do  believe,  your  majesty  takes  no 
scorn  to  wear  the  leek  upon  Saint  Tavy's  day.    - 

K.  Hen.  I  wear  it  for  a  memorable  honour  : 
For  I  am  Welsh,  you  know,  good  countryman. 

Flu.  All  the  water  in  Wve  caniiot  wash  j'our 
majesty's  Welsh  plood  out  of  your  pod\-,  I  can  tell 
you  that:  Got  pless  it  and  preserve  it,  as  long  as 
It  pleases  his  graec,  and  his  majesty  too  ! 

K.  Hen.  Thanks,  good  my  comitryman. 

Flu.  By  Cheshu,  I  am  your  majestj''s  country- 
man. I  care  not  who  know  it;  I  will  confess  it  to 
all  tnc  'orld  :  I  need  not  to  be  ashamed  of  your 
majesty,  praised  be  Got,  so  long  as  your  majesty 
is  an  honest  man. 

K.  Hen.  God  keep  me  so ! — Our  heralds  go  with 
him ; 
Bring  me  just  notice  of  the  numbf^rs  dead 
On  both  our  parts. — Call  yonder  fallow  hither. 
[Point.i  to  Williams.     Eve.  Mont,  and  olUers. 

Ece.  Soldier,  vou  must  come  to  the  kiiiff. 

K.  Hen.  Soldier,  why  wear'st  thou  that  glove 
in  thy  cap  ? 

Will.  An't  please  your  majestv,  'tis  the  gage  of 
one  that  I  should  tight  with:il,  if  he  be  alive. 

K.  Hen.  An  Englishman  ? 

Will.  An't  please  your  majestv,  a  rascal,  that 
swaggered  with  me  last  night:  who,  if 'a  live,  and 
ever  dare  to  challenge  this  glove,  I  have  sworn  to 
take  him  a  box  o'the  e:ir  :  or,  if  I  can  see  my 
glove  in  his  cap  (which  ho  swore,  as  he  was  a  sol- 
dier, he  would  wear,  if  alive,)  I  will  strike  it  out 
soundlv. 

K.  Hen.  What  think  you,  captain  Flucllen  ?  is 
it  fit  this  soldier  keep  his  oath  ? 

Flu.  He  is  a  craven*  and  a  villain  else,  an't 
please  your  majestv,  in  my  conscience. 

K.  Hen.  It  may  be,  his  enemy  is  a  sentleman  of 
great  sort,'^  quite  from  the  answer  of  his  degree. 

Flu.  Though  he  be  as  goot  a  gentleman  as  the 
tevil  is,  as  Lucifer  and  Belzcbiib  himself,  it  is  ne- 
cessary, look  your  grace,  that  he  keep  his  vow  and 
his  oath :  If  he  be  perjured,  see  you  now,  his  repu- 


(1)  Coward. 


(2)  High  rank. 


tation  is  as  arrant  a  villain,  and  a  Jack  sauce,'  as 
ever  his  plack  shoe  trod  upon  Got's  ground  and  his 
earth,  in  my  conscience,  la, 

A'.  Hen.  Then  keep  thy  vow,  sirrah,  when  thou 
meet'st  the  fellow. 

Will.  So  I  ^vill,  my  liege,  as  I  live. 

K.  Hen.  Who  servest  thou  under? 

WiU.  Under  captain  Gower,  my  liege. 

Flu.  Gower  is  a  goot  captain ;  and  is  goot  know- 
ledge and  iit^;rature  in  the  wars. 

A'.  Hen.  Call  him  hither  to  me,  soldier. 

Will.  I  will,  my  liege.  [Exil. 

K.  Hen.  Here,  Fluellen;  wear  thou  this  favour 
for  me,  and  stick  it  in  thy  cap :  When  Aleiicon  and 
myself  were  down  together,  I  plucked  this  glove 
from  his  helm:  if  any  man  challenge  this,  he  is  a 
friend  to  Alenoon  and  an  enemy  to  our  person  ;  if 
thou  encounter  any  such,  apprehend  him,  an  tlioi> 
dost  love  me. 

Flu.  Your  grace  does  me  as  great  honours,  as 
can  be  desired  in  the  hearts  of  his  subjects  :  I  would 
fain  sec  the  man,  tiiat  has  but  two  legs,  that  shall 
lind  himself  aggriefed  at  this  glove,  that  is  all ;  but 
1  woidd  fain  see  it  once ;  an  please  tjot  of  liis  grace, 
that  I  might  see  it. 

K.  Hen.  Knowest  thou  Gower  ? 

Flu.  He  is  iny  dear  friend,  an  please  vou. 

A'.  Hen.  Pray  thee,  go  seek  him,  and  liring  him 
to  my  tent. 

Flu.  I  will  fetch  him.  [Exit. 

K.  Hen.  My  lord  of  Wanvick, — and  my  brother 
Glostcr, 
Follow  Fluellen  closely  at  the  heels : 
The  glove,  which  I  have  given  him  for  a  favour. 
May,  hapiv,  purchase  him  a  box  o'  the  ear ; 
If  is  the  soldier's ;  I,  by  bargain,  should 
Wear  it  myself.    Follow,  good  cousin  Warwick : 
If  th;it  the  soldier  strilce  him  (as,  I  judge 
By  his  blunt  bearinir,  he  will  keep  his  word,) 
Some  sudden  mischief  maj:  arise  of  it ; 
For  fdo  knov,'  Fluellen  valiant. 
And,  toiich'd  with  choler,  hot  as  gtmpowder, 
And  cjuickly  will  return  an  injury  : 
Follow,  and  see  there  be  no  harm  between  them. — 
Go  you  with  me,  uncle  of  Exeter.  [Exeunt. 

SCEXE    rni.—Btfore  King  Henry's  PavUion. 
Enter  Gower  and  Williams. 

WiU.  I  warrant,  it  is  to  kiu'ght  you,  captain. 
Enter  Fluellen. 

Flu.  Got's  will  and  his  pleasure,  captain.  I  pe- 
seech  you  now.  Come  apace  to  tlic  king :  tiiere  is 
more  goot  toward  you,  peradventurc,  than  is  in  your 
knowledge  to  dream  of. 

Will.  Sir,  know  you  this  glove  7 

Flu.  Know  the  glove  ?  I  know,  the  glove  is  a 
glov.\ 

Will.  I  know  this  ;  and  thus  I  challenge  it. 

[Strikes  liim. 

Flu.  'Sbuld,  an  arrant  traitor,  as  any's  in  the 
universal  'orld,  or  in  France,  or  in  England. 

Gnin.  How  now,  sir?  vou  villain  ! 

Will.  Do  vou  think  I'll  be  forsworn  ? 

Fin.  Stand  away,  captain  Gower ;  I  will  give 
trcTJon  his  payment  into  plows,  I  warrant  you. 

Will.  I  am  no  traitor. 

Fin.  That's  a  lie  in  thy  throat. — I  charge  you  in 
his  majesty's  name,  apprehend  him  ;  he's  a  friend 
of  the  duke  Alenfon's. 

Enter  Warwick  and  Gloster. 
Vt'ar.  How  now,  how  now !  what's  the  matter? 

12)  For  saucy  Jack. 


Scene  Vllt. 


kING  HENRV  V. 


4C1 


Flu.  Mylord ofWarwick, here is(praised be GotjOnehuudred  twenty-six:  added  to  these, 
for  it!)  a  most  contacrious  treason  come  to  light,  Of  knights,  esquires,  and  gallant  gentlemen, 
look  you,  as  you  shall  desire  in  a  summer's  day.  I  Eight  thousand  and  four  hundred:  of  the  which, 
Here  is  his  uiajestj-.  |Five  hundred  were  but  yesterday  dubb'd  Icnights: 

So  that,  in  these  ten  thousand  they  have  lost, 


Enter  King  Henry  and  Exeter. 
K.  Hen.  How  now  !  what's  the  matter  ? 


There  are  but  sixteen  hundred  mercenaries  ; 
The   rest   arc — princes,  barons, .  lords,    knighta, 
'squires, 


Flu.  Myliegc,  here  is  a  villain  and  a  traitor,  that,  And  gentlemen  of  blood  and  quality. 

"''  ■■" "-"  ^""  "♦—-'-  " •' — "  —'-—^ The  names  of  those  their  nobles  that  lie  dead,— > 

Charles  De-la-bret,  high  constable  of  France ; 

Jacques  of  Chatillon,  admiral  of  France; 

The  master  of  the  cross-bows,  lord  Kambures ; 

Great-master  of  France,  the  brave  sir  Guischard 
Dauphin  ; 

John,  duke  of  Alcn^on  ;  Antony,  duke  of  Brabant, 


look  your  srrace,  has  struck  the  glove  which  your 
maje_sly  is  take  out  of  the  helmet  of  Alcncon. 

Will.  My  lieire,  this  was  my  glove  ;  here  is  the 
fellow  of  it :  and  he,  that  I  gave  it  to  in  change, 
promised  to  wear  it  in  his  cap ;  I  promised  to 
strike  him,  if  he  did :  I  met  this  man  with  my  glove 
in  his  cap,  aiid  I  have  been  as  good  as  my  word. 

Flu.  \oar  majesty  hear  now  (saving  jour  ma-jThe  brother  to  the  tiuke  of  Burgundy ; 
•estv's  manhood,)  what  an  arrant,  rascally,  bejj- 1  And  Edward,  duke  of  Bar :  of  lusty  earls, 
garly,  lousy  knave  it  is  :  I  hope,  your  majesty  is iGrandpr<j,  and  Roussi,  Fauconberg,  and  Foix, 
pear  me  testimonj-,  and  witness,  and  avouchments,  |  Beaumont,  and  Marie,  Vaudemont,  and  Lestrale. 

that  this  is  the  glove  of  Aleneon,  that  your  majes-iHere  was  a  royal  fellowship  of  death  ! 

ly  is  give  me,  in  your  coiiscitnce  now.  |  Where  is  the  number  of  our  English  dead? 

K.  Hen.  Give  me  thy  glove,  soldier:  Look,  here.  [Herald  prtsents  another  paper. 

is  the  fellow  of  it.  'Twas  I,  indeed,  thou  promised'st!  Edward  the  duke  of  York,  the  earl  of  SuifolK, 
to  strike  ;  and  thou  hast  given  me  most  bitter  terms,  j  Sir  Richard  Ketley,  Davy  Gam,  esquire : 

Flu.  An  please  your  majesty,  let  his  neck  answerj  None  else  of  name ;  and,  of  all  other  men, 
for  it,  if  there  is  any  martial  law  in  the  'orld.  But  five  and  twenty.     O  God,  thy  arm  was  here, 

K.  Hen.  How  canst  thou  make  me  satisfaction  ?  i  And  not  to  us.  but  to  thy  arm  alone, 

Wilt.  All  ortences,  my  liege,  come  from  the  heart :  Ascribe  we  all. — Wlien,  without  stratagem. 


never  came  any  from  mine,  that  might  oQeud  your 
majesty. 

K.  Hen.  It  was  oursclf  thou  ilitl't  abuse. 

Will.  Your  majesty  came  not  like  yourself:  you 
appeared  to  me  but  as  a  common  man ;  witness  the 
night,  your  garment'!,  your  lowliness ;  and  what 
your  highness  sufiered  under  that  shape,  I  beseech 
vou,  take  it  for  your  own  fault,  and  not  riiine :  for 
had  you  been  as  I  took  you  fur,  I  made  no  oHbnce  ; 
therefore,  I  beseech  your  highness,  pardon  me. 

K.  Hen.  Here,  uncle  Exeter,  fill  this  glove  with 
crown.', 
And  give  it  to  tiiis  fellow. — Keep  it,  fellow  ; 
And  Mcar  it  for  an  honour  in  thy  cap. 
Till  I  do  challenge  it. — Give  hiin  the  crowns  : — 
And,  captain,  you  must  needs  be  friends  with  him. 

Flu.  By  this  day  and  this  liglit,  the  fellow  has 
mettle  enough  in  his  pelly  : — Hold,  there  is  twelve 
pence  for  you,  and  I  pray  you  to  sene  Got,  and  keep 
you  out  of  prawls,  and  prabbles,  and  quarrels,  and 
Ilissensious,  and,  I  warrant  you,  it  is  the  petter  for 
you. 

Will.  I  will  none  of  your  money. 

Flu.  It  is  with  a  goot  will ;  I  can  tell  you,  it  will 
serve  you  to  mend  your  shoes  :  Come,  wherefore 
should  you  be  so  pashful  ?  your  shoes  is  not  so 
goot :  'tis  a  good  silling,  I  warrant  you,  or  I  will 
change  it. 

Enter  an  English  Herald. 


That  I  may  prompt  them :  and  of  such  as  have, 
I  humbly  pray  them  to  admit  the  excuse 
Of  time,  of  numbers,  and  due  course  of  things, 
K.  Hen.  Now,  herald  ;  arc  the  dead  number'd  ?  Which  cannot  in  their  huge  and  proper  life 
Her.    Here  is  the  number  of  the  slaughter'diJe  here  presented.     Now  we  bear  the  king 

French.  [Delivers  a  paper.  iTo\\s.rd  Calais :  grant  him  there ;  there  seen, 

K.  Hen.  What  prisoners  of  good  sort  are  taken,  |  Heave  him  away  upon  your  winged  thoughts. 


But  in  plain  shock,  and  even  phiy  of  battle, 
^Vas  ever  known  so  great  and  little  loss. 
On  one  part  and  on  the  other  ? — Take  if,  God, 
For  it  is  onlv  thine  ! 

Exe.        '  'Tis  wonderful ! 

K.  Hen.  Come,  go  we  in  procession  to  the  village* 
And  be  it  death  proclaimed  through  our  host. 
To  boast  of  this,  or  take  that  praise  from  God, 
Which  is  his  onlv. 

Hu.  Is  it  not  lawful,  an  please  your  majesty,  to 
tell  how  many  is  killed  ? 

K.  Hen.  Yes,  captain ;    but  with  this  acknow- 
ledgment. 
That  God  fought  for  us. 

Flu.  Yes,  my  conscience,  he  did  us  great  goot. 

A'.  Hen.  Do  we  all  holy  rites  ; 
Let  there  be  sung  AVn  nobis,  and  Te  Deum. 
The  dead  with  charity  enclos'd  in  clav. 
We'll  then  to  Calais  ;  and  to  England  then  ; 
Where  ne'er  from  France  arriv'd  more  happy  men. 

[Exeunt. 


Cko. 


ACT  V. 

Enter  Chorus. 
Vouchsafe  to  those  that  have  not  read  the 
story. 


uncle  ? 

Exe.  Charles,  duke  of  Orleans,  nephew  to  the  king; 
John,  duke  of  Bourbon,  and  lord  Bouciqualt: 
Of  other  lords,  and  barons,  knights,  and  'squires, 
Full  fifteen  hundred,  besides  common  men. 
K.  Hen.  This  note  doth  tell  me  of  ten  thousand 
French, 
That  in  the  field  lie  slain :  of  princes,  in  this 

number. 
And  nobles  bearing  banners,  there  lie  dead 


Athwart  the  sea  :  Behold,  the  English  beach 
Pales  in  the  flood  with  men,  with  wives,  and  bora. 
Whose  shouts  and  claps  out- voice  the  deep-mouth'd 

sea, 
Wiich,  like  a  mighty  whifiler'  'fore  the  king. 
Seems  to  prepare  his  way :  so  let  him  land ; 
And,  solemnly,  see  him  set  on  to  London. 
So  swift  a  pace  hath  thought,  that  even  now 

(1)  An  officer  Tvho  walks  first  in  processions. 


462 


KING  HENRY  V. 


UK 


You  may  imagine  him  upon  Blacklieath  :^ 
Where  that  his  lords  desire  him  to  have  borne' 
His  bruised  hehnet,  and  his  bended  sword, 
Before  him,  through  the  city :  he  ibrbids  it, 
Being  free  i'rom  vainness  and  self-s;lorious  pride ; 
Giving  full  troph.v,  signal,  and  ostent, 
Quite  from  himself,  to  God.'^    But  now  behold. 
In  the  quick  forge  and  working-house  of  thouu;ht, 
How  London  doth  pour  out  her  citizens ! 
The  mayor,  and  all  his  brethren,  in  best  sort, — 
Like  to  the  senators  of  the  antique  Rome, 
With  the  plebeians  swarmui*?  at  their  heels, — 
Go  forth,  and  fetch  their  conquering-  Csesar  in: 
As,  by  a  lower  but  by  loving  likelihood,^ 
Were  now  the  general  of  oijr  gracious  empress* 

iAs,  in  good  time,  he  may,)  from  Irelar.d  coming, 
Iringing  rebellion  broacheii'  on  his  sword, 
How  many  would  the  peaceful  city  quit, 
To  welcome  him?  much  more,  and  much  more 

cause, 
Did  they  this  Harry.    Now  in  London  place  him  ; 

iAs  yet  the  lamentation  of  tlie  French 
nvites  the  king  of  England's  stay  at  home  : 
The  emperor's  coining  in  behalf  of  France, 
To  order  peace  between  them  ;)  and  omit 
All  the  occurrences,  whatever  chanc'd, 
Till  Harry's  back-return  again  to  France  ; 
There  must  we  bring  him ;  and  myself  have  play'd 
The  interim,  by  rememberinsf  you — 'tis  past. 
Then  brook  abridgment ;  and  your  eyes  advance 
After  your  thoughts,  straight  back  again  to  France. 

[Exit. 

SCEJS'E  J.— France.  Jin  English  cowl  of  guard. 
Enter  Fluellcn  and  Gower. 

GovD.  Nay,  that's  right ;  but  why  wear  j'ou  your 
leek  to-day  /  Saint  Davy's  day  is  past. 

Flu.  There  is  occasions  and  causes  why  afii 
wherefore  in  all  thinris :  I  will  tell  you,  as  my  (ricnd, 
captain  Gower;  The  rascally,  scald,  beggarly, 
lousy,  pragging  knave,  Pistol, — which  you  and 
yourself,  and  ail  the  'orld,  know  to  be  no  petter 
than  a  fellow,  look  you  now,  of  no  merits, — he  js 
come  to  jne,  and  prings  me  pread  and  salt  yester- 
day, look  you,  and  pid  me  eat  my  leek :  it  was  in 
a  place  where  I  could  not  breed  no  contentions 
•with  him  ;  but  I  will  be  so  pold  as  to  wear  it  in  my 
cap  till  I  sec  him  once  again,  and  then  I  will  tcU 
him  a  little  piece  of  my  desires. 

Enter  Pistol. 

Gow,  Why,  here  he  comes,  swelling  like  a  tur- 
kev-cock. 

Till.  'Tis  no  matter  for  his  swellino's,  nor  his 
turkey-cocks. — Got  pless  you,  ancient  Pistol !  you 
scurvy,  lousy  knave.  Got  jilcss  you  ! 

Pist.  Ha !  art  thou  Bedlam  ?,  dost  tiiou  thirst, 
base  Trojan, 
To  have  me  fold  up  Parca's  fatal  web  ?' 
Hence !  I  am  qualmish  at  the  smell  of  leek. 

Flu.  I  peseech  you  heartily,  scurvv,  lousy  Imave, 
at  my  desires,  and  my  requests,  and  my  petitions, 
to  eat,  look  you,  this  leek  ;  because,  look  you,  you 
do  not  love  it,  nor  your  afTections,  and  your  appe- 
tites, and  your  digestions,  does  not  agree  wi^h  it,  I 
ivouid  desire  you  to  eat  it. 

(\)  i.  t.  To  order  it  to  be  borne. 

(2)  Transferrmg  all  the  honours  of  conquest  from 
himself  to  God. 

(3)  Similitude. 

(4)  The  earl  gf  Essex  in  the  reign  of  Elijabeth. 


Fist.  Not  for  Cadwallader,  and  all  his  goats. 

Flu.  There  is  one  goat  for  you.  [Strtfct*  h\m.\ 
Will  you  be  so  goot,  scald  knave,  as  eat  it? 

Pht.  Base  Trojan,  thou  shalt  die. 

Flu.  You  say  very  true,  scald  knave,  ivhen  Got'a 
will  is  :  I  will  desire  you  to  live  in  the  mean  time, 
and  eat  your  victuals ;  come,  there  is  sauce  for  it. 
\iitrikin^  him  a^am.'\  You  called  me  yesterday, 
mountain-squire ;  but  I  will  make  you  to-day  a 
squire  of  low  degree.  I  pray  you.  fall  to ;  if  you 
can  rnock  a  leek,  you  can  eat  a  leek. 

Gow.  Enough,  captain  ;  you  have  astonished'' 
him. 

Flu.  I  sav,  I  will  make  him  eat  some  part  of 
my  leek,  or  1  will  peat  his  pate  four  days : — Pile, 
i  pray  you  ;  it  is  goot  for  your  green  wound,  and 
your  ploody  coxcomb. 

Pht.  Must  I  bite  ? 

Flu.  Yes,  certainly ;  and  out  of  doubt,  and  out 
of  questions  too,  and  ambiguities. 

Pist.  By  tliis  leek,  I  will  most  horribly  revenge ; 
I  eat,  and  eke  I  swear — 

Flu.  Eat,  I  pray  you  :  Will  you  have  some  more 
sauce  to  your  leek?  there  is  not  enough  leek  to 
swear  b\-. 

Pist.  Quiet  thy  cudgel ;  thou  dost  see,  I  eat. 

Flu.  Much  goot  do  you,  scald  knave,  heartily. 
Nay,  'pray  you,  throw  none  away  ;  the  skin  is  goot 
for  your  proken  coxcomb.  When  you  take  occa- 
sions to  sec  leeks  hereafler,  I  pray  you,  mock  at 
them;  that  is  all. 

Pist.  Good. 

Flu.  Ay,  leeks  is  goot: — Hold  you,  there  is  a 
groat  to  heal  your  pale. 

Pist.  Me  a  groat ! 

Flu.  Yes,  verily,  and  in  truth,  you  shall  take  it ; 
or  I  have  another  leek  in  my  pocket,  which  you 
shall  eat. 

Pist.  I  take  thy  groat,  in  earnest  of  revenge. 

Flu.  If  I  ov.e  you  any  thing,  I  will  pay  you  in 
cudgels ;  j-ou  shall  be  a  woodmongcr,  and  buy 
nothing  of  me  but  cudgels.  God  be  wi'  you,  and 
keep  you,  and  iieal  your  pale.  \Exit. 

Pist.  All  hell  shall  stir  for  this. 

GovB.  Go,  go ;  you  are  a  counterfeit  cowardly 
knave.  Will  you  mock  at  an  ancient  tradition, — 
begun  upon  an  nonourable  respect,  and  worn  as 
a  memorable  trophy  of  predeceased  valour, — and 
dare  not  avouch  in  your  deeds  any  of  your  words  ? 
I  have  seen  you  glccking'  and  galling  at  this  gen- 
tleman twice  or  thrice.  You  thought^  because  he 
could  not  speak  English  in  the  native  garb,  he 
could  not  therefore  handle  an  English  cudgel :  you 
lind  it  otlierwise  ;  and,  henceforth,  let  a  Welsh  cor- 
rection teach  you  a  good  Englisli  condition.'  Fare 
ye  well.  {Exit. 

Pist.  Doth  fortune  play  the  huswife'"  witli  me 
now  ? 
News  have  I,  that  my  Nell  is  dead  i'the  spital" 
Of  malady  of  France  ; 
And  there  my  rendezvous  is  quite  cut  off. 
Old  I  do  wax ;  and  from  my  weary  limbs 
Honour  is  cudgell'd.    Well,  bawd  will  I  turn. 
And  something  lean  to  cutpurse  of  quick  hand. 
To  England  will  1  steal,  and  there  I'll  steal : 
And  patches  will  I  get  unto  these  scars, 
And  swear,  I  got  them  in  the  Gallia  wars. 

[Exit. 

(5)  Spitted,  transfixed. 

(6)  'Dost  thou  desire  to  have  me  put  thee  to 
death  ?' 

(7)  Stunned.  (8)  Scoffing,  sneering. 

(9)  Temper.      (10)  For  ^ilt.      (11)  HospiUl. 


Been*  //. 


KING  HENRY  V. 


4^ 


SCEJ^E  //.— Troyes  i?!  Champagne,  ^n  apart- 
me7it  in  the  French  Kmg's  palace.  Enter,  at 
one  door,  King  Henry,  Bedford,  Gloster,  Exeter, 
Warwick,  Westmoreland,  and  other  lords;  at 
another,  the  French  kivg:,  queen  Isabel,  the  prin- 
cess Katharine,  lords,  ladies,  ^c.  the  duke  of 
Burgundy,  and  his  train. 

K.  Hen.  Peace  to  thiis  meeting,  wherefore  we 
are  met ! 
Unto  our  brother  France, — and  to  our  sister. 
Health  and  fair  time  of  day :— joy  and  £;ood  wishes 
To  our  most  fair  and  princely  cousin  Ivatharine  ; 
And  (as  a  branch  and  member  of  this  royalty,' 
By  whom  this  great  assembly  is  contriv'd,) 
W^e  do  salute  you,  duke  of  Burgundy  ; — 
And,  princes  French,  and  peers,  heaith  to  vou  all ! 

Fr.  King.  Right  joyous  are  we  to  behold  your 
face. 
Most  worthy  brother  England ;  fairly  met : — 
So  are  you  princes  English,  every  one. 

Q.  Isa.  So  happy  be  the  issue,  brother  England, 
Of  this  good  day,  and  of  tiiis  gracious  meeting, 
As  we  are  now  glad  to  behold  your  eyes  ; 
Your  eyes,  ivhicli  hitherto  have  borne  in  them 
Asrains't  the  French,  that  met  them  in  their  bent, 
The  fatal  balls  of  murdering  basilisks : 
The  venom  of  such  looks,  we  fairly  hope, 
Have  lost  their  qualitif;  and  that  this  day 
Shall  change  all  griefs,  and  quarrels,  into  love. 

K.  Hen.  To  cry  amen  to  that,  thus  we  appear. 

Q.  Isa.  You  English  princes  all,  I  do  salute  you. 

Bur.  My  duty  to  you  both,  on  equal  love, 
Great  kings  of  France  and  England !  That  I  have 

labour'd 
With  all  my  wits,  my  pains,  and  strong  endeavours. 
To  bring  your  most'imperial  majesties 
Unto  this  bar'  and  royal  interview. 
Your  mightiness  on  both  parts  best  can  witness. 
Since  then  my  office  hath  so  far  prevail'd, 
That,  face  to  face,  and  royal  eye  to  eye, 
You  have  conareeted ;  let  it  not  disgrace  me, 
If  I  demand,  before  this  royal  view. 
What  rub,  or  what  impediment,  there  is. 
Why  that  the  nalccd,  poor,  and  mangled  peace, 
Dear  nurse  of  arts,  plenties,  and  joyful  births. 
Should  not,  in  this  best  garden  of  the  world. 
Our  fertile  France,  put  up  her  lovely  visage  ? 
Alas  !  she  hath  from  France  too  long  been  chas'd^ 
And  all  her  husbandry  doth  lie  on  heaps, 
Corrupting  in  its  own  fertility. 
Her  vme,  the  merry  cheerer  of  the  heart, 
Unpruned  dies :  her  hedges  even-pleached, — 
Like  prisoners  wiidh'  over-grown  with  hair, 
Put  forth  disordcr'd  tw  igs  :  her  fallow  leas 
The  darnel,  hemlock,  and  rank  fumitory. 
Doth  root  upon ;  while  that  the  coulter-  rusts. 
That  should  deracinate'  such  savagery : 
The  even  mead,  that  erst  brought  sweetly  forth 
The  freckled  cowslip,  hurnet,  and  green  clover. 
Wanting  tlie  scythe,  all  uncorrected,  rank. 
Conceives  by  idleness :  and  nothhig  teems. 
But  hateful  ilocks,  rough  thistles,  kecksies,  burs, 
Losing  both  beauty  and  utility. 
And  as  our  vineyards,  fallows,  meads,  and  hedges, 
Defective  in  their  natures,  grow  to  wildness  : 
Even  so  our  houses,  and  ourselves,  and  children. 
Have  lost,  or  do  not  learn,  for  want  of  time, 
The  sciences  that  should  become  our  country ; 
But  grow,  like  savages, — as  soldiers  will. 
That  nothing  do  but  meditate  on  blood, — 

(I)  Barrier.  (2)  Plowshare. 

(3)  To  deracinate  is  to  force  up  the  roots. 


To  swearing,  and  stem  looks,  diffus'd*  attii«. 
And  every  thing  that  seems  unnatural. 
Which  to  reduce  into  our  former  favour,' 
You  are  assembled  :  and  my  speech  entreats, 
That  I  may  know  the  let.^  why  gentle  peace 
Should  not  expel  these  inconveniences. 
And  bless  us  with  her  former  qualities. 

K.  Hen.  If,  duke  of  Burgundy,  you  would  the 
peace. 
Whose  want  gives  growth  to  the  imperfections 
VVhich  you  have  cited,  you  must  buy  that  peace 
With  full  accord  to  all  our  just  demands  ; 
Whose  tenors  and  particular  effects 
You  have,  enschedui'd  briefly,  in  your  hands. 

Bur.  The  king  hath  heard  them ;  to  the  which, 
as  yet. 
There  is  no  answer  made. 

A'.  Hen.  Well  then,  the  peace, 

Which  you  before  so  urg'd,  lies  in  his  answer. 

Fr.  King.  I  have  but  with  a  cursorary  eye 
O'er-glanc'd  the  articles :  plcaseth  your  grace 
To  appoint  some  of  your  council  presently 
To  sit  with  us  once  more,  witli  better  heed 
To  re-survey  them,  we  will,  suddenly. 
Pass  our  accept,  and  peremptory  answer. 

K.  Hen.  Brother,  wc  shall.— Go,  uncle  Exeter,— 
And  brother  Clarence— and  you,  brother  Gloster,— 
Warmck— and  Huntingdon, — go  with  the  king  : 
And  take  with  you  free  power,  to  ratify. 
Augment,  or  after,  as  your  wisdoms  best 
Shall  see  advantageable  for  our  dignity, 
Any  thin^  in,  or  out  of,  our  demands  ; 
And  we'llconsign  thereto. — Will  you,  fair  sister, 
Go  with  the  princes,  or  stay  here  vVith  us  ? 

Q.  Isa.   Our  gracious  "brother,  I  will  go  with 
them; 
Haply,  a  woman's  voice  may  do  some  good. 
When  articles,  too  nicely  urg'd,  be  stood  on. 

K.  Hen.  Yet  leave  our  cousin  Katharine  here 
with  us ; 
She  is  our  capital  demand,  compris'd 
Within  the  fore-wink  of  our  articles. 

Q.  Isa.  She  hath  good  leave.       [Exeunt  all  but 
Henry,  Katharine,  and  lur  gentlewoman. 

K.  Hen.  Fair  Katharine,  and  most  fair, 

Will  you  vouchsafe  to  teach  a  soldier  terms 
Such  as  will  enter  at  a  lady's  ear. 
And  plead  his  love-suit  to  her  gentle  heart  ? 

Kath.  Your  majesty  shall  mock  at  me ;  I  cannot 
speak  your  England. 

K.  Hen.  O  fair  Katharine,  if  you  will  love  me 
soundly  with  your  French  heart,  I  will  be  elad  to 
hear  you  confess  it  brokenly  with  your  English 
tongue.     Do  you  like  mc,  Kate  ? 

Kath.  Pir.-ilonncz  moy,  I  cannot  tell  vat  is — ^like 

e. 

K.  Hen.  An  angel  is  like  you,  Kate ;  and  you 
are  like  an  angel. 

Kath.  Q,ue  dit-il  ?  qiu  je  suis  semblabU  i  Us 
anzes  ? 

Alice.  Ouy,  vrayment  (saiif  vostre  grace)  ainsi 
dit  H. 

K.  Hen.  I  said  so,  dear  Katharine ;  and  I  must 
not  blush  to  aiSrm  it. 

Kath.  O  ban  Dien !  les  langues  des  hammea  sont 
pleines  des  tromperies. 

K.  Hen.  What  says  she,  fair  one?  that  the 
toncues  of  men  are  full  of  deceits? 

Alice.  Oity ;  dat  de  tongues  of  de  mans  is  be 
full  of  deceits :  dat  is  de  princess. 

K,  Hen.    The  princess  is  the  better  English 


(4^  Extravagant. 
(6)  Hinderance. 


(5)  Appearance^ 


464  KING  HENRY  V.  Ml  V. 

•woman.    I'faith,  Kale,  my  wooing  is  fit  for  thy  un-j  shall  nerer  move  thee  in  French,  unless  it  be  to 
derstanding  :    I  am  glad,  thou  canst  speak  no  bet-  lau^h  at  me. 

ter  English  ;  for,  if  thou  couldst,  thou  wouldst  findj  Kath.  iiaufyostre  honneur,  le  Francois  quevous 
me  such  a  plain  kintr,  that  thou  wouldst  think,  I  parlez,  est  meiUeur,  queVAngloislequtljeparle. 
had  sold  my  farm  to  buy  my  crown.  I  know  noj  i^.  Jtfen.  No, 'faith, 'tis  not,  Kate;  but  thy  speak- 
ways  to  mince  it  in  love,  but  directly  to  say— I  love  ing  of  my  tongue,  and  I  thine,  most  truly  falsely, 
you  :  then,  if  you  urge  me  further  than  to  say — must  needs  be  granted  to  be  much  at  one.  But, 
Do  you  in  faith?  I  wear  out  my  suit.  Give  me  Kate,  dost  thou  understand  thus  much  English? 
your  answer ;  i'faith,  do  ;  and  so  clap  hands  and  a  Canst  thou  love  me  ? 
bargain:  How  say  you,  lady  ?  j     Kath.  I  cannot  tell. 

Kath.  Haufvostrt  lionneur,  me  understand  well.  |     A".  He^i.  Can  any  of  your  neighbours  tell,  Kate? 

K,  Hen.  Marry,  if  you  would  put  me  to  verses,  I'll  ask  them.  Come,  I  know,  thou  lovest  me :  and 
or  to  dance  for  your  sake,  Kate,  why  you  undid  me;  I  at  night  when  you  come  into  your  closet,  you'll 
for  the  one,  I  have  neither  words  nor  measure ;  and  question  this  gentlewoman  about  me ;  and  I  know, 
for  the  other,  I  have  no  strength  in  measure,'  yet  a  Kale,  you  will,  to  her,  dispraise  those  parts  in  me, 
reasonable  measure  in  strength.  If  I  could  win  a  that  you  love  with  your  heart;  but,  good  Kate,  mock 
lady  at  leap-frog,  or  by  vaulting:  into  my  saddle  me  mercifully;  the  rather,  gentle  princess,  because 
witti  my  armour  on  my  back,  uncier  the  correction  I  love  thee  cruelly.  If  ever  thou  be'st  mine,  Kate, 
of  bragging  be  it  spoken,  I  should  quickly  leap  into  I  (as  I  have  a  saving  faith  wilhin  me,  tells  me, — thou 
a  wife.  Or,  if  I  misht  bullet  for  my  love,  or  bound  shalt,)  I  get  thee  with  scambling,  and  thou  must 
my  horse  for  her  favours,  I  could  lay  on  like  a  therefore  needs  prove  a  good  soldier-breeder :  Shall 
butcher,  and  sit  like  a  jack-an-apes,  never  off:  but,'not  thou  and  I,  between  Saint  Dennis  and  Saint 
before  God,  I  cannot  look  greenly,^  nor  gasp  out  George,  compound  a  boy,  half  French,  half  English, 
my  eloquence,  nor  I  have  no  cunning  in  prolesla-  that  shall  go  to  Constantinople,  and  take  the  Turk 
lion;  only  downright  oaths,  which  I  never  use  till  by  the  beard?  shall  we  not?  what  sayest  thou, 
urged,  nor  never  break  for  urging.  If  thou  canst!flower-de-luce? 
love  a  fellow  of  this  temper,  Kate,  whose  face  is  not;     Kath.  I  do  not  know  dat. 

worth  sun-burning,  that  never  looks  in  his  glass  for  I  K.  Hen.  No;  'tis  hereafter  to  know,  but  now  to 
love  of  any  thing  he  sees  there,  let  thine  eye  be  thy  promise:  dobutnowpromise,  Kate,  you  will  endea- 
cook.  I  speak  to  thee  plain  soldier  :  If  thou  canst  vour  for  your  French  part  of  such  a  bov  ;  and,  for 
love  me  for  tiiis,  take  me :  if  not,  to  say  to  thee — thati  my  English  nioicly,  take  the  word  of  a  l»ing,  and  a 
I  shall  die,  is  true  ;  but — for  thy  love,  by  the  Lord,! bachelor.  How  answer  you,  la  plus  belle  Katlia- 
no  ;  yet  I  love  thee  too.  And  while  thou  livest,  dearjrjjifc  du  monde,  mon  tres  chere  et  divine  deesse  ? 
Kate,  take  a  fellow  of  plain  and  uncoined' con- 1  Kath.  Your  majest6'a.ve  faiisse  French  enough 
stancy  ;  for  he  perforce  must  do  thee  right,  becailse  to  deceive  the  most  sap;e  demoiselle  dat  is  en  France. 
he  hath  not  the  gift  to  woo  in  other  places ;  for  these !  A'.  Hen.  Now,  fie  upon  my  false  French !  By  mine 
fellows  ofinfinite  tongue,  that  can  rhyme  themselves 'honour,  in  true  English,  I  love  thee,  Kate:  by 
into  ladies'  favoun?, — they  do  always  reason  them-jwhichhonour  I  darenot  swear,  thoulovestme;  yet 
Helves  out  again.  What !  a  speaker  is  but  a  jiratcr  ;  'my  blood  begins  to  flatter  me  that  thou  dost,  not- 
a  rhyme  is  but  a  ballad.  A  pood  leg  will  fall ;"  a!  withstanding  the  poor  and  untempering  effect  of  my 
straight  back  will  stoop;  a  black  beard  will  turn!  visage.''  Now  beslirew  my  father's  ambition!  he 
white  ;  a  curled  pate  will  grow  bald  ;  a  fair  face  was  thinking  of  civil  wars  when  he  got  me  ;  there- 
will  wither ;  a  full  eye  will  wax  hollow  ;  but  a  good ;  fore  was  I  created  with  a  stubborn  outside,  with  an 
heart,  Kate,  is  the  sun  and  moon;  or,  rather,  the  j  aspect  of  iron,  that,  when  I  come  to  woo  ladies,  I 
sun,  and  not  the  moon  ;  for  it  shines  bright,  and 'fright  ihem.  But,  in  faith,  Kate,  the  elder  I  wax, 
never  changes,  but  keeps  his  course  truly.  If  thou  .the  better  I  shall  appear :  my  comfort  is,  that  old 
would  have  such  a  one,  take  me :  Antl  take  me.lage,  that  ill-layer  up  of  beauty,  can  do  no  more 
take  a  soldier  ;  take  a  soldier,  take  a  king :    Ana  spoil  upon  my  "face :  thou  hast  me,  if  thou  hast  me, 


what  sayest  thou  then  to  my  love  ?  speak,  my  fair, 
and  fairly,  I  pray  thee. 

Kath.  Is  it  possible  dat  I  should  love  de  enemy 
of  France  ? 

K.  Hen.  No ;  it  is  not  possible,  you  should  love 
-* . ^i*\? I.'"-...  .   1...*   ;..  i„..: ., — 


at  tlie  worst ;  and  thou  shalt  wear  me,  if  thou  wear 
ine,  better  and  better ;  And  therefore  tell  me,  most 
fair  Katharine,  will  jou  have  me?  Put  ofl  your 
maiden  blushes  ;  avouch  the  thoughts  of  your  heart 
with  the  looks  of  an  empress  •  take  me  by  the  hand, 
the  enemy  of  France,  Kate  :  but,  in  loving  me,  youiand  say — Harry  of  Englanii,  I  am  thine:  which 


1.111^(^11^111,    \Jt   Aluilv^,   jixui"^  .     i.;ui,  «ii  IV  *  iii^;  111^^,  J  uu  tuii^t     »jt*_» A*uiij      v»     .^i.^ik^iivi,     a     uiit     lllillc  ■      Wll]i;il 

should  love  the  friend  of  France ;  for  I  love  France  word  thou  shalt  no  sooner  bless  mine  ear,  withal, 
so  well,  that  I  v.ill  not  part  with  a  village  of  it ;  I  but  I  will  tell  thee  aloud — England  is  thine,  Ire- 
will  have  it  all  mine:  and,  Kate,  v.heu  France  islland  is  thine, France  is  thine,  and  Henry  Plantage- 
mine,  and  I  am  yours,  tlien  yours  is  France,  and  net  is  thine ;  who,  though  I  speak  it  before  his  face, 


you  are  mnie 

Kath.  I  cannot  tell  vat  is  dat. 

K.  Hen.  No,  Kate?  I  will  tell  thee  in  French  ; 
which,  I  am  sure,  will  hang  upon  my  tonsrue  like 
a  new-married  wife  about  hfr  husband's  neck, 
hardly  to  be  shook  off.  Q,vand  faij  la  possession 
de  France,  et  quand  vous  avez  In  possession  de 
moi,  (let  me  see,  what  then  ?  Saint  Dennis  be  my 
speed!) — done  voslre  est  France,  et  vous  esles 
tnienne.  It  is  as  easy  for  me,  Kate,  to  conquer  the 
kingdom,  as  to  speak  so  much  more  French:  I 

(H  In  dancing. 

(2^  t.  e.  Like  a  young  lover,  awkwardly. 
(3)  He  means,  resembling  a  plain  piece  of  metal, 
Vhich  has  not  yet  received  any  impression. 


if  he  be  not  fellow  with  the  best  king,  thou  shalt 
find  the  best  king  of  good  fellows.  "Come,  your 
answer  in  broken  music ;  for  thy  voice  is  music, 
and  thy  Englisli  broken :  therefore,  queen  of  all 
Katharine,  break  thy  mind  to  me  in  broken  English) 
Wilt  thou  have  me  ? 

Kaili.  Dat  is,  as  it  shall  please  de  roy  nun  pere. 

K.  Hen.  Nay,  it  will  please  him  well,  Kate  ;  it 
shall  please  him,  Kate. 

Kutli.  Den  it  shall  also  content  me. 

A'.  Hen.  Upon  that  I  will  kiss  your  hand,  and  I 
call  you — my  queen. 

(4)  Fall  away. 

(5)  t.  e.  Though  my  face  has  no  power  to  soflea 
you. 


KING  HENRY  f. 


4CK 


&ath.  LaiiStt,  mMt  teigntw,  Utmtz,  laisses: 
ffl*  jMf  je  ni  veux  point  que  vous  td>baisses  voslre 
f(rtmdeur,  en  haisatU  la  main  d'ltne  vostre  indigne 
ienitewe  ;  txcusez  moy,  je  vms  supplie,  man  tres 
puissimt  seimeur. 

K.  Hen.  Then  I  will  kiss  your  lips,  Kate. 

Kath.  Les  damis,  et  dainoiselles,  pour  estre 
haistes  devant  leur  nopces,  U  n'est  past  U  coxitume 
4i  France. 

K.  Hen.  Madam,  my  interpreter,  what  say d  slle  ? 

tllict.  Dat  it  is  not  be  de  fashion  poiir  les  ladies 
•f  France, — I  cannot  tell  what  is  baiser,  en  English. 

A".  Hen.  To  kiss. 

tllici.  Your  majesty  entendre  bettre  que  num. 

K.  Hen.  It  is  not  the  fasiiioii  fbr  the  maids  in 
France  to  kiss  before  tliey  are  married,  would  she 
say? 

Alice.  Omi,  v^rayment. 

K.  Hen.  0,  Kate,  nice  customs  curt'sy  to  great 
kings.  Dear  Kate,  you  and  I  cannot  be  confined 
within  the  weak  list'  ef  a  country's  fashion :  we  are 
the  makers  of  manners,  Kate ;  and  ti>c  liberty  that 
follows  our  places,  stops  the  mouths  of  all  find- 
faults  ;  as  I  will  do  yours,  for  upholding  the  nice 
fashion  of  your  country,  in  deiiyint;  me  a  kiss  : 
therefore,  pariently,  and  yielding.  [Kissing  her.] 
You  hare  witchcraft  in  your  lips,  Kale :  there  is 
more  eloquence  in  a  sugar  touch  of  them,  than  in 
the  tongues  of  the  French  council ;  and  they  should 
sooner  persuade  Harry  of  England,  than  a" general 
petition  of  mouarchs.     Here  couics  your  father. 

Enter  the  French  Kinar  and  Queen,  Burgundy. 

Bedford,   Gloster.   Exeter,  Westmoreland,  af.a 

other  French  ana  English  I/yrds. 

Bur.  God  sare  your  majesty  I  my  royal  cousin, 
teach  Tou  our  princess  English? 

K.  Hen.  I  would  have  her  learn,  my  fair  cousin, 
bow  perfectly  I  love  her ;  and  that  is  good  English. 

Bur.  Is  she  not  apt? 

K.  Hen.  Our  tongue  is  rough,  coz ;  and  my  con- 
dition* is  not  smooih  :  so  that,  having  neither  the 
Toice  nor  the  heart  of  flattery  about  me,  I  cannot 
so  conjure  up  the  xpirit  of  love  in  her,  that  he  will 
appear  in  his  true  likeness. 

Bur.  Pardon  tlie  frankness  of  my  mirth,  if  I  an- 
swer you  for  that.  If  you  would  coniure  in  her, 
you  must  make  a  circle :  if  conjure  up  love  in  her. 
in  his  true  likeness,  he  must  appear  naked,  and 
blind :  Can  you  blame  her  then,  being  a  maid  yet 
rosed  over  with  the  virgin  crimson  of  modesty,  if 
she  deny  the  appearance  of  a  naked  blind  boy  in 
her  naked  seeing  self?  It  were,  n»y  lord,  a  hard 
condition  for  a  maid  to  consign  to. 

K.  Hen.  Yet  they  do  wink,  and  yield ;  as  love 
is  blind,  and  enforces. 

Bur.  They  are  then  excused,  my  lord,  when  they 
■ee  not  what  they  do. 

K.  Hen.  Then,  good  my  lord,  teach  your  cousin 
to  consent  to  winking. 

Bur.  I  will  wink  on  her  to  consent,  nn'  lord,  if 
you  will  teach  her  to  know  my  meaning :  (or  maids, 
well  summered  and  warm  kept,  are  like  flies  at  Bar- 
tholomew-tide, blind,  though  they  have  their  eye;  ; 
and  then  they  will  endure  handling,  which  before 
would  not  abide  looking  on. 

K.  Hen.  This  moral'  ties  me  over  to  time,  and  a 
hot  summer ;  and  so  I  will  catch  the  fly,  your 
cousin,  in  the  latter  end,  and  she  must  be  blind  too. 

Bur.  As  love  is,  my  lord,  before  it  loves. 

K.  Hen.  It  is  so :  and  you  may,  some  of  you, 
4^  nk  love  for  my  blindness ;  who  cannot  sec  many 


(1)  BliyM  barrier. 


(2)  Temper. 


a  fair  French  city,  tor  one  ftlr  French  maid  that 
stands  in  my  way. 

Fr.  King.  Yes,  my  lord,  you  see  them  perspec- 
tively,  the  cities  turned  into  a  maid ;  for  they  are 
all  girdled  with  maiden  walls,  Uiat  war  hath  never 
entered. 

K.  Hen.  Shall  Kate  be  my  wife  ? 

fy.  King,  So  please  you. 

A'.  Hen.  I  am  content ;  so  the  maiden  cities  you 
talk  of,  may  wait  on  her :  so  the  maid,  that  stood 
in  the  way  of  my  wish,  shall  show  me  the  way  to 
my  will. 

Fr.  King.  We  have  consented  to  all  terms  of 
reason. 

K.  Hen.  Is't  so,  my  lords  of  England  ? 

Wext.  The  king  hath  granted  every  article : 
His  daughter,  first ;  and  then,  in  sequel,  all. 
According  to  their  firm  proposed  natures, 

Exe.  Only,  he  hath  not  yet  subscribed  this ; — 
Where  your  majesty  deniiands — ^That  the  king  of 
France,  having  any  occasion  to  write  for  matter  of 
grant,  shall  namo  your  highness  in  this  form,  and 
with  this  addition,  in  French, — J'Jolre  tres  cher 
fUz  Henry,  roy  d'l^nglelerre,  herelier  dt  France  ; 
and  thus  in  Latin, — Praclarisdmns  fdius  nosier 
Henricus,  re.r  .^ni^lm,  et  hacrts  Frcmciie. 

Fr.  Kiii^.  Nor  tliis  I  have  not,  brother,  so  denied 
But  your  request  shall  make  ms  let  it  pass. 

K.  Hen.    I  pray  you  then,  in  love  and  dear 
alliance, 
Let  that  one  article  rank  with  the  rest : 
And,  thereupon,  uive  me  your  daughter. 

Fr.  King.  Take  her,  fair  son  ;  and  from  her 
blood  raise  up 
Issue  to  me :  that  the  contending  kingdoms 
Of  France  and  England,  wliosc  very  shores  look 

pale 
With  envy  of  each  other's  happiness, 
May  cease  their  hatred  ;  and  this  dear  conjunction 
Plant  neighbourhood  and  christian-like  accord 
In  their  sweet  bosoms,  that  never  war  advance 
His  bleeding  sword  'Iwixt  England  and  fair  France. 

.W.  Amen! 

K.  Hen.  Now  welcome,  Kate : — and  bear  me 
witness  all, 
That  here  I  kiss  her  as  my  sovereign  qu^en, 

[Flottrish. 

Q.  ha.  God,  the  best  maker  of  all  marriages. 
Combine  your  hearts  in  one,  your  realms  in  one! 
As  man  and  wife,  being  two,  are  one  in  love. 
So  be  there  'twixt  your  kingdoms  such  a  spousal. 
That  never  may  ill  oifice,  or  fell  jealousy, 
Which  troubles  oft  the  bed  of  blessed  marriage, 
Thrust  in  between  the  paction  of  these  kingdoms. 
To  make  divorce  of  their  incorporate  league ; 
That  English  may  as  French,  French  Englishmen, 
Ileceive  eacii  other ! — God  speak  this  Amen  ! 

Jill.  Amen  ! 

A'.   Hen.  Prepare  we  for  our  marriage: — on 
ivhich  day. 
My  lord  of  Burgundy,  we'll  lake  your  oath, 
And  all  the  peers',  for  surety  of  our  leagues. — 
Then  shall  I  swear  to  Kate,  and  you  to  me  ; 
.\nd  may  our  oaths  well  kept  and  prosp'rous  be ! 

.[Exeunt. 
Enter  Chorus. 

Thus  f;ir,  with  rough,  and  all  unable  pen. 
Our  bending*  author  hath  pursu'd  the  ulory  ; 

In  little  room  confining  mighty  men. 
Mangling  by  starts  the  full'coursc  of  their  glory. 

I     (3^  Application. 

I     (4)  t.  e.  Unequal  to  the  weight  of  the  subject. 

5N 


406 


KIMU  HENKY  V. 


Aetr. 


Small  time,  but,  in  that  small,  most  greatly  liv»d, 

This  star  of  England :  fortune  made  his  sword ; 
By  which  the  world's  best  garden'  he  achicv'd, 

And  of  it  left  his  son  imperial  lord. 
Henry  the  Sixth,  in  infant  bands  crown'd  king 

Of  France  and  England,  did  this  king  succeed ; 
Whose  state  so  many  had  the  managing. 

That  they  lost  France,  and  made  his  England 
bleed : 
Which  oft  our  stage  hath  shown ;  and,  for  their  sake. 
In  your  fair  minds  let  this  acceptance  take.   [Exit. 


This  play  has  many  scenes  of  high  dignity,  and 
many  of  easy  merriment.    The  character  of  the 


(1)  France. 


king  is  well  supported,  except  in  his  courtship, 
where  he  has  neither  the  vivacity  of  Hal,  nor  ihe 
grandeur  of  Henry.  The  humour  of  Pistol  is  very 
happily  continued :  his  character  has  perhaps  been 
the  model  of  all  the  bullies  that  have  yet  appeared 
on  the  English  stage. 

The  lines  given  to  the  Chorus  have  many  ad- 
mirers ;  but  the  truth  is,  that  in  them  a  little  may 
be  praised,  and  much  must  be  forgiven;  nor  can 
it  be  easily  discovered,  why  the  intelligence  given 
by  the  Chorus  is  more  necessary  in  this  play,  than 
in  many  others  where  it  is  omitted.  The  great 
defect  cf  this  play  is,  the  emptiness  and  narrow- 
ness of  the  last  act,  which  a  very  little  diligence 
might  have  easily  avoided. 

JOHNSON. 


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